Page 120 of The Flame and the Forsaken

“If you’re trying to seduce me, all you have to do is, ah... trim those sails.”

“Is that all, lass?” Erran traced his hands up and down her back. “Trim your sails?”

“Are we speaking of the same thing?” Mariel cooed, swaying in his embrace.

Erran grinned. “Let’s find out.”

Epilogue

Destin couldn’t stop smiling as he watched Augustine and Hestia compare thoughts on the guest placards.

He didn’t realize how glum he must usually look until several asked after his unusually cheerful disposition. Caught off guard, he told them he was just happy for his sister, who was celebrating five years of “choiceful wedded bliss,” as she’d called it. She and Erran had remarried just after Agnes was born, and they considered that their true anniversary feast day. Now Agnes was five, and little Esther was two and a half, and their little family was complete.

But he had another reason for his joy, and it was the child he and Augustine were expecting. It was yet early to be announcing anything, though they’d told Mariel, Erran, and Remy, of course. They’d been married two years and trying for a child since. He wanted a huge family, with as many bairns as Augustine was willing to deliver—like Sessaly and Aliksander, who, hardly five years into their own union, already had as many children.

“Respectfully, Stewardess, how often do peoplesitat one of your celebrations?” Augustine asked, her tone good-natured but her face splotched with pink frustration. She’d become one of Hestia’s most trusted attendants, no longer her seamstress. Instead, Augustine oversaw a team of them. One of Destin’s favorite things to do was secretly watch her inspect their work, moving from gown to gown with criticisms that would seem nitpicky to others but was what set her apart from others in skill. Every detail mattered. Details were what others would notice, speak about, and marvel over. If even one was amiss, it was a reflection of the stewardess herself.

“But when theydo,Augustine, we must ensure their experience is a pleasant one.”

“Are we hoping to avoid fisticuffs or fishwife gossip?”

Hestia narrowed her eyes but laughed. “Both, I ken.”

“You need say nothing else.” Augustine gathered the cards at the table they stood by and flounced off to rearrange them.

Destin nodded at his sister-in-law, and Hestia returned the greeting. He was always fully aware that he served as a reminder that the Rutlands, however distinguished, were not above scandal. She’d been kind, if cool, since the truth had come out about Rylahn’s father and Erran’s late mother. Rylahn had been warmer, attempting in small ways to forge a bond with his much younger half brother, but Destin would never forget, or fully forgive, how the choices the steward had made had harmed so many lives. Rylahn’s monthly visits to the lake district were evidence of his remorse and desire to do better, but the dead were just as dead.

“Can I help?” Destin asked his wife, right as Agnes and Esther went tearing by in their matching lavender gowns. Agnes was screeching the noteslalalala, and Esther was taunting her, twice as loud, withwoowoowoo.

Augustine caught Esther before she tripped over her taffeta, quickly righted the girl, and sent her back into action. She laughed as she watched them play. “They’re both such spirited, beautiful lasses.”

Destin sighed wistfully as his gaze followed his nieces. Some whispered about Agnes and the twist in her spine, which no healer had resolved. Physicians had no cure for it either. It might get worse. It might improve. No one could say. None at the Spires tolerated unkindness about it. Rylahn had once escorted a man from his halls at sword’s point for making a drunken jest about how there were plenty of men who were aroused by mutants.

“Oh, you asked if you could help! Aye, aye. Where do you ken Yesenia is best sat?”

“With her family seems prudent.” Destin leaned in to read the cards. The options were Damian Law, Esta Garrick, and Sessaly, with each table seating two. “Hm. Perhaps not.”

“Hestia prefers unlikely pairings that encourage fresh conversation,” Augustine said.

“Then Esta is out.” Destin plucked the card from the stack. “Unless youwantboth of Erran’s past bedmates at the same table?”

Augustine’s eyes shot wide. “Oh. Aye. Right.”

“And Sessaly is out.” Destin pulled her name as well.

Augustine looked confused.

“Never heard the story about how Yesenia put hands on her neck?”

Augustine laughed. “Steward Law it is!” She neatly folded the name and placed it across from Yesenia’s. “Esta and Sessaly together then?”

“Esta has enough piss in her to keep Ses in line.”

Augustine finished placing the cards. She crossed her arms, examining the dozens of tables she’d helped to arrange over the past couple of hours. “Well, it will have to do. Guests are already arriving.”

Destin lifted her hand and kissed it. “As you said, no one will be sitting, and even if they do, they’ll sit wherever they please.”

“Hmm.” Augustine leaned against him. She smelled of cinnamon and linens. In their Obsidian Sky days, it had been wood smoke and pine. What a difference five years made, though there was a persistent part of him that missed those nights... the adrenaline surging through them as they’d passed ales around, recounting the close calls from whatever heist they’d pulled off. The excitement of children playing adult games, he sometimes branded it when he was feeling morose, but ithadmeant something. No matter what he’d said to Mariel, those years were just as important to him. So many had looked to them for hope, and they’d offered as much as they were able. It was a touch bittersweet that they’d been able to do far more as Rutlands. “I will miss it here when we go back to Mistgrave.”

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