Burn of the Everflame — Epilogue

Epilogue

DIEM

One year later

bit more.”“A I set the bushel of carrots aside and shook the loose soil from my hands, then circled a finger to throw more of my magic Luther’s way.

He watched with awestruck appreciation, gazing at the dancing Fire instead of the cuts of meat sizzling at its base.

“More,” he said.

I bit down on my lip, but as my fingers twitched again, my smile began to rise with the Flames. Their silvery light flickered over his face, matching the glow in his blue-grey eyes. He held out a hand, marveling at the way the Fire caressed his skin but did not burn.

“More,” he insisted.

“Darling, if it gets any hotter, we’re going to be serving ashes for dinner.”

He looked down and swore, quickly snatching the charred meat from the Flames. He held up a blackened lump and grimaced. “We’re going to need more carrots.”

I laughed. “Vegetables for dinner, it is.” I set my palm on the soil and poured Arboros magic into the roots, speeding the growth of the budding crops until they turned leafy and ripe.

“Here,” Luther said, dropping the ruined meat. “You eat it, Taran.”

The goat nibbling the hem of my dress trotted over to him, stopping too slow and crashing into his leg. It sniffed at the steam rising from the meat,

reared its head, then began munching at Luther’s waistcoat instead.

“Not this one,” Luther growled, tugging the fabric away. “It’s the last good one I’ve got left. You ruined all the others.” He ran toward me in a zigzagging route to avoid the goat scampering happily behind him, loose threads still dangling from its lips. “Whose bright idea was the goat again?”

“Yours,” I reminded him, grinning.

He grumbled as he bent down and kissed me. His fingers drew shadows down the curve of my neck, and my skin shimmered as his magic absorbed into mine. Since Ophiucae’s death fulfilled the bonded bargain I’d made with Doriel, my godhood had been restored, but my magic had fundamentally changed. While I’d once believed that I could wield all types of Kindred magic, it had been only Ophiucae’s power at work, pulling from the magic that his siblings had infused into Emarion’s soil at the Forging.

That spell shattered with the heartstone, so now, my Descended magic was limited to what I absorbed from others.

Thanks to the mythical status my resurrection had earned me, there’d been no shortage of reverent Descended willing to donate their power in offering, and Luther was always vigilant to keep me strong. Even without the Kindred’s magic, the Fire the Old Gods had given me ensured that I, and the people I fought for, would never be defenseless again.

“I smell something burning,” Taran—the original one—called out as he and Zalaric rode up on horseback. “I know what that means. Either Lu’s cooking or you two just had sex.”

“Unfortunately, the former,” Luther muttered. He shouted as the goat gnawed through his pant leg and nipped at his leg. “Come get your damn namesake.”

Taran leapt off his horse and dropped to a knee, spreading his arms wide. The goat gave a jubilant bleat and scurried toward him. Taran scooped it up, curling the creature into his arms, though its gangly legs stood awkwardly straight. “There’s my favorite nephew,” he cooed, tickling the goat’s belly.

“I heard that,” Lily said as she emerged on the path from Mortal City. A woman walked beside her, cradling a sleeping babe against her chest.

“I meant my favorite goat nephew,” Taran said. He flashed a warm smile at the woman next to Lily. “Sarla, mind handing me my favorite human nephew?”

“Sorry, brother,” Luther said. “He prefers his favorite human uncle.” He gently took the child from Sarla and nestled the boy against his neck.

“Hello, Andrei Teller Bellator,” he murmured, slipping a finger into the child’s tiny hand. “Look how strong you’re getting. You’re growing even faster than your aunt’s carrots.”

My heart twisted at the tender sight. After much discussion, Luther and I had agreed that we would bear no children of our own so that Ophiucae’s line would end with me. Our family was growing in other ways that blessed me beyond measure, and I certainly didn’t mind having Luther to myself for the rest of my days.

Sarla approached me with a low nod. “I’m sorry for intruding, Your Majesty. I know this dinner is just for family. I heard there might be tigers in the forest, and I didn’t want Lily to walk alone.”

I smiled. There hadn’t been a tiger in Lumnos since the Faunosians’ last visit, and if there was, Lily’s magic would do more to protect her than Sarla’s healing magic would.

“Please, call me Diem,” I said. “You must stay for dinner.”

Lily nudged up beside her, and I didn’t miss the way her fingers brushed against Sarla’s. “Are you sure?” Lily asked. “You don’t mind?” She nervously toyed with her hair, brow furrowed. I sensed the approval she truly sought was for more than a last-minute dinner guest.

“Lily, any friend of yours is family to me.” I pulled her into a hug, whispering in her ear. “Especially if they’ve become more than a friend.”

When I drew back, Lily’s cheeks were bright pink, but her shoulders eased. Her fingers brushed Sarla’s again, then wove together and squeezed.

“I brought an extra guest, too,” Taran said, his smirk turning mischievous. “He’s a real jackass sometimes, but he’s alright.”

Luther froze. “Taran, if you brought a fucking—”

“Language,” Taran scolded. “Little Andrei is listening.” He whistled into the forest, and a screechy, braying sound answered back. A moment later, a scrawny donkey with patchy fur and one upturned eye lumbered lazily toward us, carrying a scowling Aemonn on its back.

“Get that thing away from my house,” Luther growled.

Taran grinned. “That’s not a very nice way to talk about my brother.”

The donkey brayed again. Luther’s jaw twitched, daggers forming in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” Aemonn muttered, sliding off the donkey’s back and brushing off his clothes with a disgusted scoff. “Someone let all the other horses out of the stable so this was the only thing left to ride.”

“Taran,” Luther rumbled.

Taran bounced the goat in his arms, his voice rising two octaves as he scratched its chin. “Wasn’t my idea, was it Taran Junior? I was ordered to

bring you a friend.”

Luther’s glare drifted to me.

I pressed my lips tight, trying and failing to hide my grin. “You know, I could have sworn we discussed this . . .”

The donkey let out another shriek, the sound painfully loud as it echoed through the trees. Luther took a slow, deep breath and turned to Lily.

“Sister, would you mind taking your son?”

Taran whistled. “Uh-oh, Queenie.”

The others laughed as I squealed and took off running for the house. By the time I reached the porch, Luther’s shadows had already spiraled around me. I considered absorbing them so I could slip away. My blood heated as I imagined fleeing up the stairs to our bedroom and the wicked punishment that might await when Luther found me there.

But there was time enough for that when the others left.

There was time for everything—friendly pranks and family dinners under the stars and steamy nights making love in each other’s arms. Time for politics and governance. Time to rebuild, time to create anew. Time to heal. After all that we’d been through, all that we’d lost, time was our truest reward, and I cherished every second.

Luther’s shadows grew, blotting out the early evening light as they hid me within their shroud, and Luther’s body crashed against my back. He grabbed my wrists and lifted them high as he pinned me against the door.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he warned, breath hot against my neck.

My skin tingled, heat pooling low in my belly. “Promises, promises,” I purred.

Luther stilled. His hands loosened on my wrists as the energy of his aura turned dark.

I winced, feeling his mood shift across our bond. Though I’d found my peace on the island, Luther had not been so lucky. The pain he’d suffered, both at my death and in the months that followed, still lingered in invisible scars. Sometimes he’d grip me in his sleep, fingers digging into my flesh

with frantic terror. Swords had become a trigger—he rarely wore his, and when he did, I felt his chest tighten each time his fingers closed around its handle. Though I’d only meant to tease him with my comment, I knew his mind had carried him to the terrible, violent promise I’d once asked him to keep.

I pulled my arms free and twisted around. “I’m here,” I reassured him, burrowing a hand beneath his tunic until it brushed against his mark. “I’m safe. I’m alive.”

His forehead pressed to mine. “You’re here,” he repeated quietly.

“You’re safe.” His hands looped around my waist. “You’re alive.”

I nodded. “The only promise we need now is to love each other forever.”

He let out a long exhale. “That’s a promise I’m happy to keep.”

I laid a tender kiss on his lips, then another, goading him out of his shadows and back into the light. He pulled me closer on the third, lips moving slowly against mine, until finally his touch relaxed, his kiss turning indulgent.

“See that, little Andrei?” Taran called out. “Aunt Queenie and Uncle Kingie are about to teach you how babies get made.”

Luther groaned, and my head fell back with laughter. “We’ll resume this later,” he said, setting a line of kisses down my neck as his shadows drifted away. “But if we have to fuck to the sound of that donkey all night long, just know that you’re the one to blame.”

He took my hand and we returned to others, chattering while we set to work preparing dinner. My mother arrived from the healers’ center, and much later, Remis and Eleanor appeared on the path, having been forced to walk the long distance from Lumnos City thanks to Taran’s stunt at the stables.

Luther cast orbs of light above a long wooden table he’d built himself, and we dragged chairs around it, piling it high with Fire-roasted vegetables, fluffy breads, and bowls of glistening, freshly picked fruits. Wine flowed freely, and so did the laughter. We toasted to Alixe and Teller, taking turns predicting their adventures in the After. Though our grief would never fully leave us, the pain of our past felt blissfully distant. Despite the occasional brays of a roaming donkey, the smile didn’t fade from Luther’s face all night.

The sky grew dark, and the hour grew late. The others hugged us tight and said goodbye as we promised to do it all again in a fortnight. I curled into Luther’s side on the steps of our porch, listening to chirping crickets and marshland frogs.

“This is nice,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. “A family. A home.”

“I would have been happy if all I had was you.” He took my hand and clasped it in his, our wedding rings clinking together. “But this is everything I could have dreamed of.”

I thought back on that day in the alleys of Paradise Row where I first saw Luther and my mother under the light of the blood sun, unaware how drastically my life was about to change. That girl had resented her life as a healer and dreamed of great adventures that would take her across the realms. She’d been terrified of love, running from Henri because he’d spoken to her of families and homes. She was trapped by secrets, blinding herself with flameroot and denial. She saw the world in stark, unswerving conflict: mortal against Descended, violence against peace, good against evil. And more than anything in the world, she wanted to fight.

If that Diem could see me now, she would not recognize the woman she became.

And yet, in so many ways, this was everything she’d ever dreamed of, too.

The honk of a donkey carried through the trees, and Luther let out an irritated grunt. “Get up,” he said, taking my hand and dragging me to my

feet. “I’m ready to punish you.”

Tha-thump.

I looked over my shoulder. “Do you hear that?”

He tugged me toward the door. “Don’t even think of asking for mercy.

In fact, every time I have to hear that gods-awful noise, I’m adding an hour to your torture.”

I stopped, pulling him back. “Luther, wait. Listen.”

“Diem, I’ve been listening to that miserable beast all n—”

Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.

Luther’s head snapped around. He stilled, his stare locking with mine.

Without another word, we ran to the yard, both craning our necks at the sky.

“I don’t see anything,” he said, squinting at the darkness. “Maybe it’s not—”

“It’s her,” I said.

“It could be one of the others. We’ve seen them pass over before.”

“It’s her.”

I thrust my hand above my head and sent pale blue light swirling upward. Somewhere not far away, a gryvern let out a jubilant roar.

A smile burst across Luther’s face. “It’s her.”

Against the inky backdrop of the night, stars began to flicker as two silhouettes flew overhead, soaring in slow circles toward the ground. Luther and I backed to the edge of the clearing to make space for them to land, but they dove for the trees instead, vanishing into the forest’s leafy dark.

“Sorae,” I called out, waving an arm. “We’re over here!”

A hesitant, inquisitive trill emerged from the woods. The pocket of Faunos magic I’d been saving since the Faunosians left stirred to life.

Is it true? It’s really you?

I grinned. “It’s really me, and if you don’t get out here right now, I’m feeding all our apples to the goat.”

The ground began to rumble. Across the clearing, trees snapped in half, thrown to the side by a stampeding gryvern thundering through their midst.

Sorae burst from the darkness and hurtled toward me, and I leapt into the air just in time to lock my arms around her neck as she reared back and erupted with a roar. I covered her snout in kisses and scratched her muzzle in all the places I knew she loved as she curled her wings around me.

I couldn’t help but notice how her body had changed. The wing she’d damaged in the war was slightly crooked, and the talon Xipherus had ripped apart had healed over, though the missing toes had not regrown.

She didn’t seem to mind. Her feathers puffed as she bounced from foot to foot, sniffing me feverishly and whipping her tail against the ground in happy thwacks. Her snout pressed against my cheek, my hands, my leg, and I laughed, thinking of how Luther had done the same when I returned, touching me over and over to make sure that I was real and not a dream.

“I missed you,” I said, smoothing a hand along her iridescent scales. A happy purr vibrated in her throat.

“I’d like a hug, too, you know,” Luther called out. “And I’m not above bribery to get it.” He tossed a glossy scarlet apple from hand to hand, freshly picked from the orchard we’d planted in our garden, hoping someday it would lure her back.

Sorae’s wing stretched out and hooked around him, dragging him into our embrace. We stood together for many minutes, laughing and sharing looks of grateful disbelief that somehow, we’d all survived.

“Tybold,” I shouted at the forest, “I missed you, too. Come out and join

your mate.”

Tybold growled in answer: No.

“Come on,” I pleaded. “You saved my people. At least let me thank you face to face.”

He growled again, a rumble of irritation and gruff disdain. I laughed, but Sorae was not amused. She stomped her talon into the soil, and a flurry of snorts and grumbles flew back and forth between the trees.

And then I heard it—a quiet, high-pitched mewl.

Sorae plucked the apple from Luther’s hands, but she didn’t gulp it down. She swung her neck, flinging the apple to the far side of the clearing.

Her wings folded against her, and her chest puffed out an encouraging trill.

A small figure emerged from the forest, no taller than I was, sniffing at the air. Its chocolate brown wings trembled nervously at its sides.

“By the Flames,” I whispered.

Sorae looked at me, her golden eyes bright, and I needed no magic to see the explanation shining in them.

“You have a daughter,” Luther said, beaming with a proud smile to rival mine. “Congratulations, Sorae. We couldn’t be happier.”

“I thought gryverns couldn’t procreate,” I said. “I assumed that’s why there were never more than the ten the Kindred brought over.”

“Maybe that’s why the Crowns kept them apart,” Luther mused. “Or else whatever stood in their way ended when you broke the spell that bound them.” He gingerly ran a hand along Sorae’s injured wing. “Perhaps that’s why these injuries didn’t fully heal, too. Without the Kindred’s magic, their bodies might work like any other creature now.”

Sorae chirped her agreement, and the reality hit me of what the gryverns had risked in joining the war. Tybold knew he could be flying to his death and leading the last of his kind to possible extinction. And still they’d come, they’d all come, to fight as one.

The young gryvern crept cautiously toward the apple, circling it four, five, six times, before finally taking a tentative bite. Her petite wings flapped with delight, and she wiggled her haunches before pouncing on the fruit and devouring it in giant chomps.

Luther tossed a second apple, letting it land closer to us. The baby scuttled backward, frightened, but when Sorae lowered her head and nudged the apple with her snout, her daughter slowly approached.

Across the garden, a donkey let out an ear-splitting honk.

I cringed, fearing the sound would scare off the youngling for good. Her eyes grew wide, apple forgotten. She stretched her neck up into the air, jet- black scales glittering in the moonlight as she let out a cry that sounded, curiously, like a honk.

The donkey’s ears twitched as it stared down the little creature with its one good eye. Its tail swished, and it brayed again, loud and grating. The little gryvern fluttered its wings and attempted a roar, though the resulting sound was not much different than the donkey’s screech.

“Oh, fuck,” Luther said under his breath. “Now there’s two of them.”

The little gryvern took off running toward her new friend with excited hops. She flapped her wings, trying to get airborne, and the donkey startled.

It tucked its tail, galloping in the opposite direction with a flurry of hee- haws echoing through the trees. The baby mistook the beast’s panic for a game, chasing behind and further terrifying him with her shrieks. Taran Junior, never one to be left out of the fun, trotted happily around the clearing, too slow to keep up but adding his loud bleats to the chorus.

Tybold finally emerged from the forest. He watched the chaos with an unamused stare, though when his daughter flap-hopped past him, he bunted her side with an affectionate snort.

Luther and I led Sorae to the garden, telling her of all that had passed in her absence as she dutifully plucked our orchard clean. Tybold stayed behind to supervise his daughter’s antics, and we made sure to toss a few apples his way, as well. When I caught his gaze and raised a fist to my chest in grateful deference, his head gave a faint dip.

I did not ask where Sorae had gone these past months, and, perhaps at Tybold’s request, she did not tell me. It was enough for me to know that she was safe, and most importantly, that she was free. I did, however, beg to see her again, offering to climb the peaks of the highest Montios mountains if that’s what was needed to keep her young one safe. She made no promises, but when Tybold began an impatient strut across our yard, signaling (to Aemonn the donkey’s great relief) that it was time to leave, her final nuzzle against my chest felt like until next time, not goodbye.

Her brave little daughter offered up a nuzzle, too, even allowing me a scratch behind her ear before she bounded away. As Sorae and her family took flight into the stars, my cheeks were wet and my heart was so very full.

Life was far from perfect in Emarion. Most of the realms still lay in ruins, and outside of those who’d joined my army, few had survived. Only a small number of Descended were left from Montios, Meros, Sophos, and Arboros.

Of the brave Centenaries of Umbros, none remained.

Though many felt passionately that the Emarion Army should be disbanded for good, leaving the soldiers of Fortos without a mission was a risk none of us wanted to take. On my orders, they’d followed Doriel, Obaneryn, and Cordellia to Meros, where they’d already managed to get the port back up and running. They were now rebuilding Sophos’s central city with the agreement of all involved that when it reopened, it would be welcome to any person who wished to learn, without restriction.

Tensions between mortals and Descended lingered, and perhaps they always would, but they were neither enshrined in law, nor encouraged by our culture. With every month that passed, the lines between them blurred.

Families blended, neighborhoods mixed, and lasting friendships formed. It was a perilously fragile flower, planted in poisoned stone and watered in blood, but Luther and I, and so many like us, were determined to make it bloom.

As for Coeurîle, it had become a sacred place, where people of all faiths would gather at the Everflame to pray. Luther would not visit, and though I didn’t fear the island as I once had, I kept my distance, too. Someday, the Undying Fire would call us both back to its shores—but not yet, and not for many years to come.

Our future was uncertain, but it was no longer dark or cold. It blazed with a brilliant, crackling glow.

Because hope isn’t just a spark—it’s a fire.

And the flames always win in the end.

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