Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(97)
Someone gasps, breaking the spell. Meredy. She buries her face in my hair and whispers, “What are we doing?”
“You tell me.” Drawing back to give her space, I force myself to smile. “Welcome back, Master Crowther.”
I risk a look at my friends. They’re all gazing tactfully away. All except Valoria, who, glancing from me to Meredy, grins her approval.
Then she turns to Jax and starts a conversation that makes him laugh, his voice deep and rich. It’s a sound I haven’t heard since Evander left us. A sound that makes me smile, if only for a moment.
I help Meredy to her feet, gazing around once again at all the destruction. Smashed windows and broken buildings, bits of ash, lives in tatters. Only now I see the hope among the rubble, glittering in Valoria’s keen eyes, in Danial’s selfless hands healing the wounded, in the voice of the girl beside me as she whispers, “I wish Evander could see this. How we fought, and won. But I’d bet my mother’s fortune he already knew we would.”
Hand in hand, Meredy and I hurry to the shop fronts where Simeon and several children are sweeping up glass. One of the Dead, a slender woman with hardly any voice, hands us spare brooms and works quietly beside us.
It’s time. For change. To clean up all evidence of destruction, but not to forget the cause. It’s time to rebuild all that was set ablaze. And maybe, in the days to come, everything that rises from the ashes will be better than before.
XXXII
The palace courtyard is more crowded tonight than I’ve ever seen it. Standing around bonfires and feasting tables, commoners mix with nobles while Valoria’s younger siblings mingle with weather mages, beast masters, and healers from all over the province. And among them all, at every fireside, at every table, holding glasses of the finest elderflower wine and plates piled high with the tastiest dishes, are most of Grenwyr’s remaining Dead.
I watch the merrymaking from an alcove at the back of the courtyard, near the garden where, not too long ago, I sank to my knees and mourned the death of who I had once been.
In the distance, Jax and Danial escort Valoria around as she talks to all the guests as their queen for the first time, though she hasn’t yet had her coronation. And nearby, Simeon leads a group of children in a dance. One he’s making up as he goes along.
Tonight and from now on, there will be new dances, new recipes, and even new fashions on display, because this is the first Festival of Change in over two hundred years. It’s a celebration of everything new and will be the first of many under Valoria’s rule, she says.
Catching Simeon’s eye, I wink and raise my glass to him.
Time is a funny thing, I realize as I take a sip. I thought Evander and I had so much more than what we were given.
And that’s what we all want, really, from the newest child in Karthia to the Dead who have stayed around to witness many generations of their family: more time.
Just a few paces away, a shrouded female figure tries to embrace a hesitant, tearful boy about my age, perhaps her son or brother. She must be one of the Dead who has chosen to return to the Deadlands tonight, who’s using the party to prepare herself for moving on to whatever comes next.
After all, this festival is a night for celebrating their lives before Simeon, Jax, and I lead them through a glowing blue gate.
“Oh, come now! There’s no room for tears here! This is a party!” Valoria pushes up her glasses, glancing worriedly between the boy and the Dead woman.
The boy throws his arms around the shrouded figure at last, and I smile. I’m surprised Valoria’s brown eyes haven’t spotted what I can see already: that in between the boy’s grief and the Dead woman’s quiet sobs is love.
And nothing, not time or distance or the Deadlands themselves, can change that. Or even make it fade.
I’m no stranger to sadness. I still cry for Evander in the long weeks since he’s been gone. I can’t smell fresh-cut grass or leather without thinking of him. Of what we had. And what I lost. But I only cry because his love is still with me, a familiar ache in my chest. I’ll carry it with me, always, something no one can ever erase.
“So?” Valoria waves a hand in front of my face, making me jump. I don’t know when she got so close. “What do you think?”
She spins around, and it’s clear she means her new trousers and strange, stiff long-sleeved jacket, with its high collar, pointed shoulders, and gleaming brass buttons. It’s a far cry from her usual party gowns, and when I say so, she flashes a wicked grin worthy of Jax. “I know it’s not fancy. But it’s what I plan to wear to my coronation.”
“It’s just . . .” I gaze around at the massive crowd of living and Dead partygoers as I search for words. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it one of your inventions?”
Valoria’s eyes shine. “Not exactly. I found an image in one of the old books I saved, and I had a tailor recreate it.” She smooths the jacket and stands taller with pride. “I believe it’s what the master inventors used to wear. It’s hard to be sure, seeing as I’ve only found evidence that three of them ever existed, but—”
“You mean four,” I cut in, tapping her on the shoulder and grinning.
“Four, then.” Valoria’s face turns pink. “And how are you enjoying the festivities?” She waves to someone across the courtyard, then returns her keen gaze to me. “There weren’t any writings on the Festival of Change that survived, at least not that I’ve found. So all this”—she spreads her arms to indicate the biggest feast I’ve ever witnessed—“was my design. If the Dead like this way of leaving our world, we’ll do it again next year, too, for any that weren’t ready this time.”