Page 243 of Season Warriors & Wolves

The two bowed and reached our side. Visha looked beyond exhausted. She’d even tied her hair up and folded back her sleeves a couple of times over her elbows.

“How?” I asked. How am I here? How is he here? How is my magic still present? Why is there no seal on my back? Had the land accepted my magic?

She took out a white flower from her sachet. “It was the galanthus,” she began. “We Crafters draw magic from portals while simultaneously pouring magic into it, feeding it back to the realm that gifted us our blessing—an act of gratefulness, but also one of survival. We are simply carriers of death, if we do not guide it away, it would consume us too, like your magic did. In a way, you are doing the same, but you are not Eldmoorian, so the magic becomes tricky. And the God of Death is the last one you wish to trick. In exchange for some freedom, you gave away the entire control of it.”

“Instead of pouring it into Caligo,” Oryn continued, seeing as Visha’s words were muddling along her exhaustion. “Your magic will pour into this realm, it will pour into Numengarth, it will feed its lands. A blessing you are giving like your ancestors have and like your god did millennia ago.”

“How is that possible?”

“A grounding. That’s what we’ve called it. We don’t know what the magic will do to the land, but the land has accepted it—perhaps even after surviving so long on forgotten belief, it needed it. To heal, to recover. It saved it from dying. You can now tap to the fullest of your magic, and when control begins slipping, you will be able to share the magic with the land, draw from it, grow from it, live among it and much more. A gate. No longer a seal to keep it shut. If it weren’t for the blood of three Delcour, it would have been unachievable, my queen. Penelope, Visha and her mother made it happen, they called a summon upon the land—a summon it heeded to because the land was dying. We are hoping that your children, your siblings and their children will be able to do so, too. We…we’ve found it,” he said, tearing up a little. “We can help other creatures such as us to live without pain or prejudice. Or fear. There might be dozens of realms out there who would welcome magic like ours did with yours. We only have to reach out and search.” He gave us all a lachrymose smile. “This. I worked all my life for this. I knew we were no curse. I’ve always known it.”

“Thank you, Oryn,” Kilian offered, holding me tightly. “We will always be in your debt.”

The Crafter shook his head quickly. “Simple calculations on my behalf. As I said, this was the work of the Delcour.”

Visha blinked sheepishly. “Accept it, Oryn. I would have never figured this out on my own.” She scratched her bare arms that were still marred with specks of blood and faint wounds. “He convinced my mother this would work.”

“And Aurora?”

My Crafter suppressed a yawn, her nostrils flaring. “The sceptre is in our possession and so is the beast. Both under my veils.”

I nodded. “What about Isjord?”

Visha looked at Kilian who said, “Thora has taken permanent lead until you decide as their new queen what you wish to do. The lands are distraught, Snow. Many lives were lost. They will need you.”

“They will certainly need someone, but it won’t be me,” I said.

Kilian kissed my temple. “Isjord is not a burden to bear, love. And certainly not your brother’s.”

“Not Eren’s, Kil.” I turned to them again. “Will he be alright? The dagger he used was a soul killer.”

The two nodded and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Visha,” I called before she left. “Thank you. For all of it. For not giving up. For trying.”

“You gave me back my life, I am happy I could help you do the same, my queen,” she said, bowing.

Hidden behind the slightly open door, I could see Penelope’s red hair peeking. “Come inside, little carrot.”

She jumped, startled, her hair jumping with her. Shyly, still wiping her eyes, she came inside and joined her mentor’s side. “It worked,” she said, fiddling with something small in her hand. “You had worn it under your leathers. My protection spell worked.”

“It did. You saved me, Penelope.”

She finally looked up, sobbing uncontrollably and for some reason so did I.

Once the chest rattling wave of cries passed, I asked, “Will you forgive me for forcing you to do what you did?”

She nodded. “I will.”

“Hand me back my trinket,” I said, holding a hand up.

The piece of wolf fur was coarse now and stained with blood, mine or his, I didn’t know. Maybe this had been what saved me. Maybe not. No one would know. Not even the girl beyond the portal.

Cerina.

People hugged and kissed and cried all around me, the blanket of peace had finally warmed their expressions that were still marred with the weight and losses of war. There had been too many to bury. More than I’d ever thought there would have been. Even two days later, we were still not even close to being done. My arms were sore and heavy were my shoulders, but I’d gone past the day without relenting to my own grief. There were too many to console. Too many ‘I am sorry’ to give. And an abandoned kingdom sitting under ruin, all of its eyes on me, full of hope yet again.

Winter in Isjord had somewhat softened even though we were dead in the middle of it. Perhaps it was the white flame that warmed the season, perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it was the white flowers children were plucking and leaving over graves that had lined the periphery.