Page 143 of An Archer's Reckoning

“A lifetime, it was,” he mused, squeezing my hand.

I shook my head.

“During that lifetime, I found—and lost—Órla.” I couldn’t help thinking about her flying among the stones, bathing in the sacred waters of the bowl, annoying me while I struggled to master the most basic magics.

“I still feel her in this place. I feel her tottering up beside me, hopping onto my shoulder, nuzzling her beak into my neck.” My hand reflexively reached up and rubbed the spot she loved to nuzzle the most.

A part of me felt such emptiness, but in that melancholy moment, I realized something even more powerful.

“I know this will sound strange, but I just realized something. The people I cared for most remained in my life. My mother, my island family, Atikus—Keelan.”

He squeezed my hand again.

“Above all, you.” It was my turn to squeeze. “I even gained magic along the way, something I never imagined possible in my wildest dreams.”

He looked at me sideways, a lopsided grin on his lips.

“Fine, that’s not true. My childhood dreams always included a wild-haired magician saving the day with his incredible Enchantments and charms.”

I chuckled at the image of a dandelion-puff streaking through the Mages’ Guild wielding a willow branch for a wand as old men scurried out of the way or trailed in his wake.

I leaned my head back against the cold stone pillar and recalled my brother, all salt and gruff even at the tenderest age, standing watch over my every step.

I closed my eyes and sighed at the image of Atikus, the kindly old man who let me perch on his knee the first day we’d entered the guild’s vaunted halls.

Then I thought of Ayden. I turned and stared at his fiery mane flowing past his shoulders as moonlight kissed his skin. My pulse quickened, and my heart leaped, knowing my life would be long and full thanks to a man I detested not so long ago.

Together, Ayden and I sat on the edge of the world with our backs to magic pillars . . . and we smiled.

Chapter 60

Epilogue

Danai

Iclimbed the snow-capped peaks, staff in hand, boots vanishing with each stride. My once-lustrous mane was now matted against my head and neck.

I had searched the mountains for weeks, weeks of frigid cold and endless snow. And yet, my shadowy coat still flared to a robed bottom with unmarred perfection. Its golden buttons glittered as if newly polished. The cold dared not touch my skin.

I had fled Irina’s camp the night the missive was sent to the Triad regarding their people’s evacuation. Irina was many things, but stupid was not one of them. She would know someone had betrayed her. She might never be able to prove my guilt, but that would not stop her ire—or her flame.

I had ever been her ally, her one staunch friend in a world that had turned its back on her dreams. There was a time when I longed for more.

And yet, in the last weeks, I had come to see clearly.

Irina had no family.

She had no friends.

I was as disposable as the rest of them.

And so, I had fled.

I reached the peak of the second highest of the Silver Mountains and drew in the crisp, clean air. The view was magnificent. To the south, Saltstone still smoldered, though most of the fires had long since been extinguished. The city was a charcoal smear on a canvas of white. To the east and west, unmarred fields covered in snow spanned as far as I could see. My northern view was blocked by the range’s tallest peak, but I imagined the peaceful rolling of the ocean some leagues away. I knew I would need to return home, but the moment of nature’s perfect peace settled my troubled spirit.

A few moments later, resolved to begin my return, I took the first steps down the other side of the mountain. A gleam from the lowest limb of the only stray tree brave enough to grow that high caught my eye.

I waded across the ocean of snow and gaped.

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