“Priya? I saw her over by the food tent. I’ll go—”
“I’m going that way. I can tell her,” he said, waiting expectantly.
“Wren and Synové will be along. They were riding rear guard on the caravan. A wheel broke on one of the wagons. They’re staying behind until they get it rolling again.”
“Should we send someone to help them?”
“Like you?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’ve got things to do here. But there are some hands—”
“They have it covered, brother, thank you.”
Brother. They were all so infuriatingly different. But alike too. Mason had so much pride. Gunner, on the other hand, the brother I had thought I would always hate, had grown on me. Yeah, the way a tick grows on a dog, Synové had said before she left. She hadn’t quite developed the same fondness for him yet, but she had at least stopped calling him the nasty one. I missed her and Wren terribly. They had left six months ago and would only be here for a week before they were off again, escorting the queen and king’s entourage to Morrighan to attend her brother’s wedding.
* * *
The sun dropped closer to the spiked tops of the forest trees, its golden light beginning to shimmer with shades of twilight. Evening would soon tiptoe in. I told the camp cooks to ring everyone for dinner. We had a lot to feed. Between the thirty-five newcomers, the queen’s entourage, and the Ballenger crew, we had well over a hundred—double our last groundbreaking. I made sure dinner was beef stew—not venison and leek—and that there were plenty of potatoes for Priya.
I headed to the river to wash up, breathing in the smell of meadow and forest, of camp stoves bubbling, and of fields ripe with wheat ready to harvest. I soaked in the sultry summer air and the hum of distant voices. It was an entrancing balm, circling the valley. My footsteps slowed, easing into a rare leisurely pace.
For over a year our days had been nonstop and filled with vigorous work. The town was repaired and thriving again, and with news of Tor’s Watch becoming a recognized nation, the arena had rebounded and was busier than ever. There was still work to do on the family home. Vairlyn had said good riddance to Darkcottage, that she wouldn’t miss it and that she rather liked the openness created by the elimination of Cave’s End. Vairlyn always looked forward, and I tried to learn from her. Trees were planted in the new open space, and a lower garden was created that included a greenhouse, because Jalaine had loved to garden. The arrival of Lukas had created fullness in all of our lives, but he didn’t replace the hole that Jalaine had left. We talked about her often as if she were still there. We talked about her sacrifice trying to save the family, because whatever mistakes Jalaine had made, we had all made them, moments and decisions we couldn’t take back.
I destroyed Phineas’s papers that had been in Zane’s saddlebag, burning them before I ever went in search of my mother. It will never be over. Not now. A door has been unlocked. Beaufort had been executed, but his words still haunted me. For now at least, the door was locked again. I never did find the vial I had hidden in the canyon. It was a worry, but in the explosion at Tor’s Watch, the rocks in the canyon had shifted, the crevice widened, and I assumed the vial had fallen into the dark depths of the earth, maybe all the way into hell, swallowed by tons of solid rock.
Someone like Phineas only comes along once every few generations.
And someone like Montegue.
I prayed it would be even longer than that.
I prayed that hungry dragon would stay in his dark den forever.
* * *
“There you are! Hiding from us?”
I turned to see Wren and Synové walking down the embankment to the river. I jumped from the water and ran up the slope, throwing my arms around them. They were both flushed with the summer sun, and smelled of trails and heather and wheel grease.
“Okay, enough,” Wren said, pushing me away and sizing me up. She nodded approvingly. “Patrei’s been covering your back?”
“Always,” I answered.
She shrugged. “Should be us.”
“Well?” Synové asked. “Did she tell you?”
“Did who tell me what?”
Wren and Synové looked at each other. “She doesn’t know,” they said almost simultaneously.
“What?” I demanded.
They both shrugged nonchalantly, like it was suddenly unimportant. “The queen will tell you when she’s ready.”
“I’m ready.”
We all spun and looked at the top of the bank. The queen stood there—with Berdi.