“Yes.” She did.
“Be good to my daughter, Xavier Bane. Love her deeper than any jewel or treasure. Greater than your hoard.”
“I will, Dahlia.”
And then there was one. Rosalia raised her eyes to Mira. Her friend blinked a few times. Ghosts didn’t cry, did they? “Not me. Don’t waste your wish on me. Wish for riches. Wish for jewels. Wish for the dragons to find a safe home free of slayers—”
“I wouldn’t want her to spend her wish on my people.” Xavier’s warm hand touched Rosalia’s shoulder, and he squeezed. “We will find a home one day.”
“I wish for Mira Valiente to be restored to life as she once was.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. Bring my friend back to me.” Her heart broke for the possibilities she could have had—more drinks with Hadrian, more time to learn from Frederico, a chance to know the woman who birthed her—but no other choice had resonated in her heart with the certainty of her decision to resurrect Mira.
Inja dipped his head forward and smiled. “A wise choice, my daughter. Mira, walk among the living once more. The thread that was prematurely cut shall be spun anew.”
Rosalia released a long breath, even as confidence shot through her.
The pale translucence of Mira shone with golden light, the warmth intensifying by the second until it was impossible to see her without squinting. Rosalia raised one hand to shield her face from the intense light, dazzled by its brilliance.
“We grant you good tidings and fortune.”
“Prosperity.”
Islena glanced at her brother. “Fellowship.”
“And all other good things that come in our name.”
When the light faded, Mira stood in its place, whole and hale, her cheeks bright with color and her hair loose around her shoulders. She wore a dress in sapphire blue, its silk rustled by the desert wind snaking between the dunes. The final rays of sun slanting over the desert turned her mahogany hair molten and fire-touched.
“I’m…I’m alive again. I’m really alive.”
Rosalia flew across the sand to her, nearly stumbling over a slain demon mid-sprint. They met halfway, laughing and crying together, squeezing each other tight before sinking down to the blood-soaked sand amidst the corpses of their enemies. None of the devastation mattered. The chaos faded to the background.
There they remained for several minutes longer, two friends reunited after one had achieved the impossible.
Epilogue
One Month Later
The sun slipped behind the clouds on a breezy autumn day as Rosalia walked side by side with her best friend. They were both dressed in their finest autumn attire. Rosalia wore rich amber and ripe berry silk with pops of saffron, and Mira had donned brilliant cobalt with a field of pink poppies. Nothing delighted her more than sweeping through the upscale shopping district of the Twilight Gardens without a limit to their spending spree.
They’d always dreamed of being rich. Now that dream had come true, and a whole new world had opened to them. Before, there had been plenty of frugal weeks and scarce months when the watch had a wild hair about thieves or the pickings were simply too slim to make ends meet.
But now, they didn’t need to steal at all.
It was a weight lifted from her shoulders. It was a miracle she’d never thought would come to life, though part of her thought she’d always miss the thrill of creeping through a second-story window to lift valuables from an unsuspecting noble.
The theater loomed before them, a shuttered and boarded building lacking the warmth and life it exuded a mere season ago. Vandals had broken in a few weeks prior—as it turned out, murdering every guild thief had only abolished organized crime.
“How much do you think it’ll cost to repair the windows?” Mira asked.
“As if it matters. We can afford to pay whatever they ask.”
Initially, it seemed infinite chaos would reign and the city would never find peace again. The kingdom had no official ruler, for Gregarus had no legitimate heirs to oppose Rosalia stepping forward to claim the throne, and she had no actual desire to accept it. As far as she was concerned, she had only one father.
His name was Hadrian, and he was all the father she wanted to claim.
Nobles and members of the court fought and argued in those early days, before Gregarus’s corpse even cooled. Lords and ladies bickered over who would be crowned to lead in his place. Eventually, it rounded back to her desires as the sole heir of the royal family—a claim proven by Enchantress Elora with a bloodline tracing spell proving a bond between Rosalia and the late king.
Legally, the kingdom belonged to her, and she could ascend the throne. As she had no desire for the throne and craved all other possibilities, she named Enchantress Elora as Queen Regent to rule in her stead and handle all matters of the kingdom, including the forging of a long and lasting friendship with the Moritta as well as the elves. All of the old prejudices wouldn’t end overnight, but they were one step closer to an alliance that would serve all.
Then, slowly but surely, they worked to right all of the wrongs that they could, beginning with returning the stones to the temples where they belonged. Isabis and her people left with the Heart of Moritan, and Rosalia personally delivered the Light of Arcadian to the temple with Adriano. True to her expectations, the Mori healers worked their native magic and had him on his feet again in a fraction of the time.
Clearing his name took longer, as did saving the sailors and watchmen who had been hauled away with him in the dead of night. In the end, a field of demonic bodies had spoken volumes of the king’s misdeeds and been all the proof of Gregarus’s wrongdoing needed.
Elora returned the Soul of Avarae to the temple, where she promised the mages would continue to guard it. As it turned out, the temple had been established years ago for that very purpose.
When only the coin lingered in Rosalia’s possession, the greatest task of all remained—honoring the murdered and compensating those unjustly imprisoned. Money flowed from the royal coffers, but it would never be enough for the families who lost loved ones. Not everyone who died that night during the culling had been a thief, and not every thief had been only a burglar or con artist. Many lived double lives in roles of importance.
Then there was Frederico. His home had been seized by the crown and the theater shut down, putting performers, tailors, makeup artists, and so many more members of the staff out of work during that time.
Anticipation grew as they meandered around to the back of the theater and approached Frederico’s apartment.
Rosalia’s heart missed a beat when she saw the splintered wood.
If only she knew the name of every man present that night when Frederico died.
She would soon. Money made men talk.
Boards and a padlock secured it, otherwise it would have never stayed shut against the elements and the unruly thieves operating unchecked without a guild to oversee their behavior. Rosalia popped the padlock then pushed the door open. Fresh air rushed inside to mingle with stale, hot air.
They spent the first minutes throwing open curtains and opening windows, letting in light and the clean scent of desert autumn.
“I can’t believe his apartment was untouched.”
“The theater was as well—mostly. A few broken windows and stolen paintings.”
“We were lucky the watch patrolled the area so heavily, looking for you to return.”
“At least one good thing came out of me being a fugitive,” Rosalia said ruefully.
They found the old wardrobe in the bedroom and pushed it aside together to remove the rug beneath it. Were Rosalia unaware of what to look for, she’d have never seen the fine lines etched against the wood.
She used her knife to pry up the edge and reveal a metal door.
Rosalia didn’t need a key to open the vault beneath Frederico’s wardrobe, but she used it just the same for the satisfying click when metal twisted in the tumbler. When
the lock popped, she glanced up at Mira and hesitated.
She’d never thought they would be there together preparing to read Frederico’s final words to them. Weeks ago, when all had been lost, she’d also never thought she would be in the presence of her best friend.
“Are you ready?”
“Couldn’t be more ready.”
Rosalia lifted the vault door to reveal a linen-wrapped bundle. She lifted it from the hole in the floor and blew the dust off of it, parting the linen to reveal the wooden box. Inside, they uncovered a wealth of priceless jewelry far exceeding the value of the trinkets they wore on the stage. In addition to the jewels, they found parchment written in Frederico’s clear diction and legible writing.
To my girls,
No matter how many times I attempt to write this letter, I find no words sufficient to express my thoughts. How can a letter sum up my love and admiration for both of you? I have watched you grow since those first days on the stage, and I have watched you sacrifice to maintain a presence on the stage while leading another kind of life. I always hoped one day you’d choose the stage and spotlamps over windows and the dark—and to diminish your other love was wrong of me.
I know that my death must have come as a surprise to you, and I apologize that I kept my illness secret for so long. I feared the news would drop a somber shroud over the theater, and I had hoped to spend my final days in light and laughter. Did I? I hope so.
As they say in our business, the show must go on. Care for the theater in my absence and create beauty once more in these halls, in whatever form it may take. Make it yours. Make it prosper in whatever way you find fitting. And should the theater no longer serve the public with entertainment and song, I trust you and believe in you both to do what is right. I love you with unconditional respect.
With love,
Frederico
“He left the theater to us. To both of us,” Mira concluded in one awe-filled breath once she reached the bottom of the letter. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“You would. You loved this theater. I always imagined one day you’d find a legitimate career. Move away from stealing.”
In hindsight, Rosalia wondered if the potential for change had led to her former resentment toward Bonare. He’d represented everything that loomed on the horizon and had the potential to trigger a change from their happy status quo.
A lull passed between them, long silence without an answer to Rosalia’s speculation.
“The Thieves Guild doesn’t have to end,” Mira said abruptly.
“How do you figure?”
Mira grinned. “What better place to birth the resurrection of the Thieves Guild than a theater?”
“It’s the perfect cover,” Rosalia said, laughing. “Practice during daylight, performances in the evening, and theft by night. I love it! But…there’s a problem.”
“You have a life ahead of you in Ilyria,” Mira guessed without hesitation.
“And you have a marriage to a mage. How can we run a theater when the circumstances of our lives are destined to pull us apart?”
Mira sighed and slumped into a sheet-covered chair. Luckily, Frederico’s estate had been tied up in legal tape since his murder at the hands of the guard, the only saving grace that hadn’t sent it to auction. “Perhaps we’d be better off selling it.”
Rosalia thrust open a window and tossed off the linen cover on another chair before settling into it. The fresh breeze helped to chase away the dust and musky smell of old, aged air trapped within the apartment. Quietly, she rubbed the coin that hung from a fine chain around her neck. The Luck of Islenja was now hers to protect, and the comfort of holding something her mother had once held dear provided clarity of thought.
“Xavier doesn’t expect me to give up everything I am to live in Ilyria. I have access to a portal and the ability to cross back and forth to my heart’s content.”
“I’ll be living in the tower. I want to be near Bonare. I want…gods, I want so many things, I feel selfish. I really want to run the theater.”
“Then tell him. You’re not giving Bonare the credit he deserves. You don’t need to live in the tower every day. Neither of us will be needed in the theater every minute. We could have assistants.”
“Management,” Mira said.
“We’ll divide the responsibility.”
“We’ll hire a team of underlings. Consider us…benefactors and patrons of the arts. Neither of us needs money.”
“Yes! Frederico’s legacy continues, and we bring together a new generation of thieves.”
Rosalia and Mira both leapt to their feet and clasped hands.
“Thank you, Rosie. For wasting your wish on me.”
“It wasn’t wasted, Mira. Spilled milk is a waste. Molded bread is a waste. You’re my best friend, and bringing you back from the dead is the only wish I could have made. We’re going to run one hell of a theater together.”
Some time after the appropriate paperwork had been filed and they were finished visiting with Frederico’s solicitor, Mira and Rosalia split to deliver the good news to their respective men. Mira needed to go no further than the new satellite office dedicated to the mage’s guild in the Twilight Gardens, where Bonare, now assistant guildmaster, had been tasked with bringing new blood to the tower.
Elora wanted to expand, and she wanted magic available to all, and educations with emphasis on safety and responsibility to avoid creating another Caius, or to at least identify one in the making as early as possible.
For Rosalia, the journey home wouldn’t be so quick. From the Enimuran hoard, she went to Ilyria then walked by foot to the city itself. Xavier had offered to stable a fine mare, or even a lush, scarlet-coated buck for her at the hoard, but she’d begged off, swearing she enjoyed the trip between hoard and city. Then she’d seen the red hart in question a few days later in the breeder’s pasture and kicked herself a few times for graciously declining the beautiful creature.
Regardless, the time gave her a moment with her thoughts to count her blessings and all she had to be thankful for. It also gave her time to breathe in the sweet and fragrant air of the groves along the way from the mountainside hoard to the portside city, the walk seeming shorter on the lovely days as green bled away to pink and red leaves floating on the wind.
The hoard would always be one of many homes, but lately she had taken to enjoying quiet evenings in the sky chair swinging from one of the treehouse’s massive branches while reading a book and sipping a cup of tea. The tree house was hers, and she’d developed a soft spot for the quaint home.
Not yet, but soon, once the final threads to the past were cut, she and Xavier planned to fill it with little dragonling children.
A brief stop along the way to the Greenleaf Quarter provided ample time to buy fresh bread for supper. One sweet loaf, a basket of berries, and a jar of honey later, she reached the treehouse. It stretched above her in the regalia of autumn, golden leaves mingled with amber and turquoise, dotted with pops of scarlet and rose.
She inhaled the divine smell of the flowers bordering the short walk path and framing the door.
The place felt more like home in the span of a few days than the boarding house ever had. In her treehouse, she had found something similar to the warmth of living above the Salted Pearl with Lacherra and Hadrian.
“I’m home!” Rosalia called, shutting the door behind her with a bump of her hip. She kicked off her shoes and shuffled forward, only to abruptly pause and stare at the ascending trail of artfully placed flower pots along the way to the upper level. Each bell-shaped flower glowed with an internal light, the blossoms lit in shimmering shades of silver and rose.
Rosa blinked a few times and watched the little pixies buzzing in and out around the stamens, collecting nectar or whatever it was they did. Several took flight to cavort around her and a few sweetly scented darlings urged her to follow them. They beckoned with their tiny hands and tugged her dress.
“I’m coming,
I’m coming.”
Their journey ended at the uppermost level of the treehouse, through an alcove onto a branch fashioned into a balcony. Dangling leaves curtained them from the rest of the world, though they could be parted for a romantic view of the city.
The sight of her husband-to-be filled her with a frisson of delight. He reclined on a swinging hammock beside a table bearing a tall bottle of purple wine and two oversized glasses.
“Welcome home.”
“You really know how to lay out a welcome.”
Chuckling, Xavier rose and met her halfway to take her into his arms, and the heat of his embrace surrounded her with love and security. She surrendered to his kiss and the insistent exploration of his hands, and soon dinner was all but forgotten.
Dinner could always wait.
“I love you, Xavier,” Rosalia whispered against his lips.
“I love you without measure.”
“Even if I plan to resurrect a thieves guild and lead a double life as the patron of a theater?”
“Lead a dozen lives, Rosalia. As long as you come home to me, I will always support you without question.”
“But—”
Xavier quieted her with yet another soul-melting kiss, and suddenly there was nothing on her mind that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
Other Books by Vivienne
For fantasy romance with mermaids and the like, read Kingdom in the Sea.
Sci-Fi Romance
Super Sexy Aliens, Cyborgs, Psychics.
Reverse Harem Romance
Three Greek gods, one reincarnated modern goddess
Diamond in the Rough: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 3) Page 14