I was lying in a field of gold, looking up at a star-scattered sky. I smelled oranges. I smelled dry, salty air, clean and crisp.
My home. I knew it immediately. My home as I had known it when I was young.
“It’s time to get up, my love.”
There was no question in my mother’s voice. It was clear and strong. I didn’t move for a long moment, just relishing it. Then I stood and turned to her.
I choked back a sob.
The vividness of her face struck me speechless. Her features were strong and solid, no blurring, no shifting. The memory of her locked into place immediately, reclaiming what time had begun to steal from me.
How had I ever questioned what she looked like? She looked like me.
It had never been my mother’s way to fuss. Her affection was quiet and firm, the grip of a guiding hand rather than a doting caress. But she lifted her chin and surveyed me, a ghost of a smile rolling across her lips, and I felt that smile stronger than any tearful embrace.
“You grew up beautiful, my love.”
I wanted to tell her so much. I wanted to tell her about the Orders, and Reshaye, and Ara. I wanted to tell her about the Alliance and how we had toppled the Threllian empire—toppled it for her, I wanted to say, it was all for you. I wanted to tell her about Max.
Instead I found myself saying, “I’m sorry I left you.”
She gave me a stern stare. “No you are not, nor should you be. You survived.”
But I left her. I left her behind to such a terrible death.
She stepped closer, and when she closed the distance between us the scent of her surrounded me—citrus and warmth, like an embrace of childhood safety, when my mother was unbreakable protection.
“You should be going,” she said. “You have a new world to see. I only… ” Her fingertips brushed my cheeks, and for the first time, a hint of that sentimentality seeped into her expression. “I only wanted to see you.”
“No.” The word welled up in me before I could stop it. I didn’t want to leave her. Not for a second time.
She gave me another stern look. Just as she had that awful night, she flicked my tears away before they could fall.
“None of that,” she said. “You have survived, my daughter. Now live.” She was already fading.
“Wait,” I called out, frantic. “Wait. Will I see you again?” She smiled. “One day. A very, very long time from now.”
And she gave me one final kiss—the sister to the one she gave me that night, right between my eyebrows.
It burned long after she was gone.
 |
I DIDN’T KNOW how we got through those hallways. When I opened my eyes next, Max and I were on the outer platform of Ilyzath, collapsed on ivory stone that overlooked the sea. The floor beneath us no longer shuddered with unnatural life or ancient magic. Now it was still and quiet. Just one more skeleton left behind.
I felt a hand on mine, and I turned to see Max pushing himself to his elbows, face tilted to Ara’s distant silhouette. It was dark, calm. Empty ships, ships that had once held legions of undead soldiers, now floated in desolate silence.
Max turned my palm upright. The gold was gone, as was the mark on his hand. Even my magic felt different, like the most volatile parts of it had been closed away.
He let out a jagged sigh of relief. His eyes met mine, and I realized with a start that they had changed—no longer membranous blue, but the dark brown he was born with.
“It can’t be,” he rasped. “After all that, it can’t be.”
It’s over.
The words hovered between us, unspoken. I didn’t know how to believe them either. But at the same time we looked to the sky, softly tinted pink. There were no cracks, no smoke. No terrible magic. Clear, save for a smattering of lingering stars and the imminent promise of sunrise.
Max’s hand wrapped around mine, squeezed so hard our fingers trembled. I tried to speak but only let out a choked sob, which Max covered with a messy, desperate kiss. He tasted like a second chance.
We stayed like that, drowning in our elation, as the sun at last crested the horizon—bringing an end to a long, dark night.
Bringing dawn.
