“Thank you for not choosing any of them as your sacrifice.” It had been my greatest fear when I figured out what the Angels were doing. That Damien would take one of my friends for the offering. He’d chosen an older general who had won many battles, and while it was a horrible loss felt across our army, selfishly, I was grateful.
“We needed them.” That was true—many of my friends had been needed in those final moments to tighten the knot of Echnid’s demise—but based on the sorrow in his voice, I had a feeling Damien had partially done it for me.
“Good luck, Damien,” I said, and though he’d caused me so much strife, it was sincere. “I hope we don’t see each other soon.”
“Farewell, Ophelia,” he muttered. “And thank you.”
And instead of pushing to learn more about the ongoing quests of Angels, I turned away from the Mystique Prime Warrior and returned home.
We saton the dunes until the sun was fully set, basking in the truth that we were here. Tolek and me, Malakai and Mila. Cypherion and Vale, who had disappeared inside only a moment ago to gather drinks for all of us.
Santorina was curled in Lancaster’s lap, the fae’s grip on her achingly tight and his eyes distant as he reeled with the loss of his sister. He’d barely spoken to anyone besides Rina, and we were giving him—both of them—the space to figure out what came next, both with grieving and their bond.
Erista and Jezebel were laying on their backs, gazing at the stars, and the three Engrossians were here, too. Barrett had returned to his normal self, thank the Spirits, though his charismatic humor seemed dulled. Tolek’s, too. Everyone whose mind had been touched by Thorn seemed to be working through that violation. I was sure they would for years to come.
There were great losses in every clan. Vale shed silent tears for Harlen, and Ezalia’s last words floated through my mind.
You are…good leader.
Tell my daughter I’m sorry.
I would have to visit her family. And as I sat in the sand, head on Tolek’s shoulder, I watched the stars and quietly vowedto support Ezalia’s daughter in whatever that apology carried, however she’d allow.
Still, for the most part, my family was here. Bruised and scarred and haunted, but here. And that was a result I hadn’t dared hope for.
Tomorrow. We would start restoring Xenovia tomorrow. When that was done, we’d return to Damenal and figure out what the world looked like in the wake of two gods dying and the Angels returning to Ambrisk.
For the rest of my days, I’d do my best to live up to the words Ezalia spoke with her dying breath. To be a good leader.
But tonight, we’d rest and remember those we lost.
“Congratulations, Chosen Child,” a melodic voice said from behind us, and our entire group spun. Aimee nodded to me, a small smile growing on her lips as her gaze flitted across the group. “And thank you.”
“Aimee,” I greeted, standing. “Why did you come?”
“It was the place I needed to be” was all she offered. “I have taken care of the ashes of the god.”
I swallowed the enormity of that truth. Damien had promised it, but every time someone said it, it all slammed back into me.
“Thank you,” I said.
She nodded once more, then turned. “I will see you later, Chosen Child.” The Storyteller walked barefoot across the night-bathed dunes. Her long skirts trailed behind her, swishing in the sand until she was no more than a speck.
And then she was gone. Malakai and Mila were whispering to each other, the latter shaking her head as they watched the Storyteller disappear.
“Who was that?” Vale asked, returning with Cypherion, a basket in her arms while Cyph carried a tray of drinks.
“Aimee,” I breathed as I took a glass and sat in the sand beside Tol. “The Storyteller I first saw in the Wayward Inn. The one Tolek saw in Bodymelder Territory months later. Then again in the pleasure house in Lendelli.”
“Thatwas her?” Mila blurted. She looked up at Malakai, asking him, “You might be right. That was her, right?”
He nodded. “Like I said.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“She was in Ritalia’s palace,” Mila explained. “When we went to meet the queen in the isles, and Malakai and I snuck off to the library, that woman was the librarian.” Her brows pulled together.
Lancaster said dully, “She isn’t a fae librarian.”
