Page 156 of While the Dark Remains
I take a slow breath. “I understand,” I repeat.
“What about the Iljaria?” she asks after a moment, her voice unsteady. “What about Aelia and the threat of Aerona?”
“Aelia has seen with her own eyes that the peninsula is prepared to defend itself. We will urge her to persuade her father to reconsider his plans to invade. As for the Iljaria—they’ll go home. They’ll take my brother with them.”
“And you?” says Saga quietly.
For another brief moment, her glance meets mine.
“I will stay awhile longer. Help to negotiate peace. And then ...” My heart thrums quick, my mind buzzes with magic. “Then I’ll go home, too.”
“What does it feel like?” she asks me. “Your magic?”
“Like breathing. Like life.”
I am eager to tell her more, to share with my friend all the things I ever kept from her. But she doesn’t ask, and I have lost the right to tell her anyway.
“The darkness won’t come again, will it,” she says. “There will be no more Gods’ Fall.”
I nod. “We’ll always have the sun, now, I think.”
“I’m glad of that, at least.” She pushes her chair back. Stands. Looks me in the eyes. “Goodbye, Brynja. I can’t say I’ll miss you. But ... thank you. For saving me. For saving all of us.”
She leaves the room without another word, her skirt dragging over the marble, her perfume lingering in her wake.
The Iljaria leave in the evening, Brandr sullen and silent. I have not told my people that my brother’s true patron is the Ghost Lord. I should, perhaps. But I don’t. I do tell them he killed our father. I will let them sort out what that means for his homecoming.
“Will you not come with us, Lady Eldingar?” Gróa asks me frankly.
I stand with the Iljaria outside the mountain, snow skittering past my face in the light of the falling sun. The light was long today, stretching for nearly twelve hours, as it usually does only in the height of summer. I think of the Yellow Lord. I hope he is content with his choice; I hope he knows he chose rightly.
“When I have finished with my business here, I will return to Iljaria,” I tell her.
Gróa bows to me and swings up onto her horse. “As you say, my lady.”
“Brandr.”
He stiffens from his place on his own horse, his hands bound. He doesn’t look at me.
“I hope you find what you need,” I say. “I’m sorry it ended this way.”
Brandr curses at me.
I turn and walk back into the mountain.
It’s strange, eating dinner with such an eclectic array of people. Ballast and Gulla are here, of course, and Kallias’s other three wives, Pelagia with newborn Charis wrapped in her arms. Charis was born during the battle, Pelagia told us, and came into the world hollering. The rest of Ballast’s siblings are here, too, including little Xenia. There’s Aelia and Vil. Rute, Finnur, and the rest of the children from the Collection.
In the morning, I, along with Gulla and Kallias’s other wives—Pelagia, Elpis, and Unnur—will begin the process of bringing the children home, or finding places for them if they have no home to go to. When I’m not busy with the children, I’ll be in the council chambers, attempting to negotiate true peace between Daeros and Skaanda, and doing my level best to keep Vil and Ballast from killing each other.
Ballast meets my eyes across the table, as if sensing my thoughts. He smiles at me, and my insides turn to mush.
“Vil.”
He turns to face me, pausing in his progress down the corridor. His jaw is tense, his eyes hard.
I’m a jumble of nerves. “I hope that—I hope that my presence here won’t deter you from making peace with Daeros. I—I truly want to help.”
His lips thin. “Saga is gone, Brynja. You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me anymore. And just to be perfectly clear, I rescind my offer of marriage. There. Now we never have to speak to each other again.”
