by Lindsey Byrd
Then she remembered. He had said Morpheus. His eyes had looked past her shoulder. He had reached for something, someone, that she’d never gotten a chance to see. He had tried to grasp what she’d never been able to grasp. Her husband had been there. She didn’t doubt it. Somehow, in some form, perhaps only as a gatekeeper for those crossing over, her husband had been there. John had seen him.
And John’s final act on earth had been to give her the last token of energy he had remaining. He’d healed her in exchange for . . . what? Kera looked back to the field. It was quiet now. But . . . it was a natural quiet. Bugs chirped and fluttered about. Life went on as it had always been.
John wasn’t coming back. She knew it like she knew her own name. Even though there were countless reasons why it should have been impossible, she knew. He’d found his peace somehow, and taken the whole of the death march with him. The cycle was broken.
And Mori . . . if he had truly been there, if he had truly seen everything and watched John’s final moments, if he had truly been there to carry John to the other side . . . he’d had his opportunity for her to join him. She would have died in scant few minutes. And yet.
And yet.
John had healed her. Wished her all the happiness in the world. Mori had told her that. The day he’d given her the locket. He’d given her those words, and she’d believed him. Believed that he was going to give her happiness from that moment onward.
Happiness, she discovered, wasn’t something her husband was ever capable of giving to her. It wasn’t something anyone could give her. It was something that she needed to farm and cultivate on her own. Something that she needed to look for within herself in order to bring it out to the surface. And while people could influence her happiness, they couldn’t provide it to her ready-made. She couldn’t place all her dreams in one person and think it would turn out well.
“My beloved Kera, I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“It’s what he said when . . .” she trailed off, reaching for her locket. It was cool against her palm. Cool and perfect. John couldn’t have known . . . he couldn’t have known . . . “Moving on . . . it’s . . . it’s moving on.”
“What are you talking about? Do you not understand that you could have died? That we thought you were dead? That your son just watched—he watched you fall, Kera. He’s a child. A baby. And he watched you fall.”
Kera turned to look back at the horses. The children were both still on them, but Faith was holding Aiden steady. Hitched sobs were lifting up through the air, waging their own war against the euphoria that was building up within Kera’s body. She pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to shake free from the surging rise of emotion, trying to clear her thoughts.
But all she saw, all her mind was willing to accept, was the simple fact that John couldn’t have known how to speak those words, nor what they meant to her. Najah’s concern had been entirely justified. She’d been worried for Aurora’s and Kera’s sake. That they were falling into something without considering the consequences. And with no one but the children and Aurora to talk to, Kera had had no one else in the world to work through the complexities of the feelings growing within her body. And yet, hearing Mori’s words repeated back at her . . . hearing the message he no doubt knew she’d receive and understand . . . it felt like peace.
It felt like permission and acceptance and encouragement all in one. It felt like an apology and a prayer. Be happy, take all the time you need, trust yourself.
Trust yourself.
It had been far too long since anyone had suggested she trust herself. To have faith in herself. But when she closed her eyes and thought of what the future would bring, she trusted the peace she’d felt at Zakaria’s grave. She trusted the acceptance she’d felt while holding Aurora close. She trusted the strength Aurora made her feel. She felt powerful. She felt free. The shackle of misery had uncuffed itself from her ankle. The drudging gloom and the hysteria that had been burning her soul for over a year had both been snuffed out by the reminder that she was strong on her own, and that new support structures could be built around the charred remains of her first love.
No more crying, she thought.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Aurora’s. The younger woman froze, blinking warily the longer the kiss went on. But when Kera pulled back, she leaned forward, as if chasing the feeling that was being taken away.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Kera said, lifting her hand to cup Aurora’s face.
“It’s not just me you need to apologize to,” Aurora mumbled, flushing deep even as she cupped Kera’s hand to her cheek. “It’s them too. Your son too.”
“I know. I know, I will. I promise.”
“You went back to save a dead man from dying,” Aurora accused. She squeezed her fingers around Kera’s. She spoke the truth, there was no denying it, and yet Kera couldn’t think of John as a dead man.
“He didn’t know he was dead,” she explained, letting her arm fall and twisting her wrist so she could hold Aurora’s hand properly. Emotions bled from Aurora’s face and it was refreshing. It was so refreshing to see someone’s feelings without trying to navigate through a complicated backstory. Aurora’s feelings weren’t hidden behind a mask, nor obfuscated by pretty words or endless prose. Aurora had always said what she meant, and she always looked as she felt.
It was everything Kera had ever wanted, to know what existed in someone’s heart. To not be lied to or be led astray. She wanted reality and truth, she wanted consistency and understanding she could depend on. Aurora was worried for her. Worried for her! “It was not my intention to hurt you,” she said, trying not to sound too elated.
“I don’t care!” Aurora yelled. “Don’t you understand you could have died?”
“Yes.” She had known that from the start. But death hadn’t frightened her as much as the idea of that boy spending his final moments alive believing he was abandoned. “I trusted you to take care of Aiden—”
“Kera, your son wants you. He wants you, not me. And what am I going to tell him when you’re not there? When you aren’t able to help him, to look after him? He’s your son.” The words struck true, and Kera saw it now.
She’d made a choice and hadn’t thought about the consequences. She’d believed in something so much, she’d been willing to give her life for it, even if it was an impulsive decision. Perhaps she was more like her husband than she thought. “I just wanted John to be free,” she explained. “I wanted him to be at rest. He deserves to rest.”
“Yes, he does. But doing it like you did? You could have gotten yourself killed. And fine, you like talking to ghosts. I can’t stop you from talking to ghosts. I have no idea why it’s something you like doing, but whatever you want. But think about how you’re talking to ghosts, gods above. Don’t you understand how dangerous that was?”
Aurora’s hand moved to press against Kera’s throat. It cupped the scar that had no business being healed, but was nonetheless. Her palm was warm, and Kera closed her eyes so she could lean more into the pleasant touch. Her skin tingled and her heart fluttered. She knew she was supposed to be contrite and feel bad, but she was just too happy to bother.
John was at rest. Mori was with him. And in that final exchange, any doubts Najah’s concern had inspired felt like they’d been laid at the wayside. She did love her husband, she always would, but that didn’t detract from feeling a wholly different love for someone else. She deserved a life without him. She was allowed to move on, and not even he would blame her for it.
She wanted another kiss, and so she took it. Aurora was startled, but looped her arms around Kera’s body anyway, holding her gently as Kera apologized once more. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
“Why are you so . . .” Aurora trailed off. From their positions, Kera couldn’t tell what expression her face was making, but she had a suspicion.
“When John saved my life—”
“You mean after you got yourself shot
going back to sit with a dead man?”
“Yes, after that.” Kera sighed, refusing to be cowed. “Have you ever prayed for something? Wanted it so bad that it didn’t matter in what form it came, you’d take it?”
Aurora stepped back and turned away. Tension slipped up and down her muscles. Her teeth were grinding hard enough that Kera could hear them pop along the back molars.
Kera waited, letting Aurora search for the words she wanted to use. “My divorce,” she said at long last. “I wanted to be free of Jacob.”
Aurora’s fingers curled into fists. She stood, rigid and straight, tall and imposing like the trees at her back. Kera placed her hand on Aurora’s. She cradled Aurora’s fist as gently as she could manage, and said: “I wanted to stop hurting.” Aurora flinched as though Kera had struck at her, and Kera’s hands held her fist even more firm. “Ever since my husband died,” Kera continued, “he has been my existence. Him. My world came to a standstill because of him. My name was taken from me, my home, my agency. Everything about my life began and ended with him.”
“The Travers family bankers are still taking your home from you,” Aurora reminded. “John’s death hasn’t miraculously fixed that.”
No. It hadn’t. But— “I will deal with the Traverses soon enough. Ciara is keeping my home safe until I return to manage it on my own.”
“You’re still the Widow Montgomery.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “I am.”
“And you’re . . . okay with this because you went back to hold John Sarren’s ghost while he died?”
“I decided this when John Sarren saw Mori on the field, and when he quoted Mori’s vows to me.” Aurora’s eyes widened. “John never attended our wedding. He had no reason to know what Mori said, but he said the words anyway. ‘My beloved Kera, I wish you all the happiness in the world,’ and he said . . . he told me to trust my heart. And no—I never needed his permission to feel better, but gods damn it, it doesn’t hurt to know that at the end of all this I’m not betraying someone I love when I choose to move on!”
“Did you see him?” She almost seemed scared to ask. She’d gone shaky, nervous in the way ghosts always made her uncertain.
“No,” Kera said firmly. “And . . . strangely? I’m glad I didn’t. Mori’s my past . . . He will always be a part of who I am today. But he’s gone. He’s gone.” She took a deep breath, rallying herself for the end. “I told you at the general’s grave I was going to take a long time to die just to spite him, but you know as well as I do how exhausting spite can be. At least with this . . . I can still honor my husband’s memory . . . still cherish him as my best friend . . . and still find a way to be happy without him.”
Aurora’s hand squeezed tight around hers. Her precious face still looked uncertain. But when she’d finished swallowing loud enough for Kera to hear, she said, “Maybe you should spend more time with ghosts,” with a great deal more strength than Kera could have possibly anticipated.
Kera laughed like John. Free and uncaring. Good. She ran a hand through her hair, tucking her bangs out of her eyes. She wanted to get moving. She wanted to reach the griffons. She wanted to prove that she could do this. The doubts fell by the wayside and she felt stronger than she had in ages. Her foundation was no longer made of sand. She could do this.
Aurora caught her hand as she went to approach Aiden. Kera never noticed before, but their palms were the perfect size to hold each other with ease. “Just . . .” Aurora took a deep breath. “Just remember that there are people who care about you, Kera. Just remember that when you ride off to face the revelations of your circumstances . . . there are other people in the world who are left behind that aren’t just your children.”
“I’m sorry,” Kera said again.
“I care about you, Lady Montgomery. And at the end of the day . . . it’s you I want to spend time with. Not the memory of you. Not the dreams of the times we had together. Not the future that I’d face without you. I just want to know you more. So . . . if it pleases you . . . try to be a bit more careful next time?”
It was a promise that Kera had every intention on keeping. Squeeze and release. She kissed Aurora’s cheek. “I promise. Now. Let’s go save our children.”
There was work to be done.
Faith took Kera’s apology well. She seemed more than a little shaken by Kera’s risk, but when she confirmed for herself that Kera was in good health, she accepted Kera’s account and just hugged her in return. Aiden was different.
“I’m sorry, dear. I am. Please, look at me?”
The boy clung to her, sobbing through hitching breaths he couldn’t afford to lose, shivering the whole while. “I thought you were gone . . . gone like Daddy and . . .”
“No,” Kera swore. “No I’m not going to go like Daddy. I promise.” He coughed long and hard against her chest, shaking violently within her grasp. “We’re almost done, dear. We’re almost done. But I promise . . . I’m not going to leave you like him. Not if I can help it.”
After mounting her horse, she squeezed him close.
“You sure you’re ready?” Aurora asked.
“More than,” Kera said. Aurora’s map made it seem like they were almost on top of the first lake, and with each step forward Kera expected to see sparkling brown water. She urged her horse forward, desperate impatience spurring her on.
John had spoken of the griffons as though they were the most majestic and wonderful creatures in existence. He’d been fond enough to continue traveling to visit them and to take the time to edit Mori’s book the way he had. He had both praised the beasts and cautioned Mori against future stupidity. Kera couldn’t help but wonder what they looked like in reality, and if John’s drawings were as accurate as she believed them to be. Would she see one that John had seen as a child? She knew that griffon lifetimes dwarfed those of humans. John’s notes made it clear that they could live hundreds of years.
Hundreds of years of life seemed almost impossible to imagine. It was far beyond anything she would ever want for herself. “Imagine what they’ve seen,” she mused.
“The griffons?” Aiden asked, squirming in his seat.
“Four hundred years ago, Trent hadn’t invaded Absalon. Our ancestors were free, and now we are again! Things have changed quite a bit since then, I’d say.”
“And they’ll keep changing,” Aurora agreed. “It’s the one thing in the world that doesn’t change, the . . . con-con . . . idea that the world will always change.”
“‘Concept’?” Kera offered.
Aurora nodded and thanked her. “Yes, concept.”
The arc of a life always follows the same pattern. Seventy years, eighty—it seemed more than enough time to accomplish such goals. And yet . . . griffons lived so much longer than that. They saw the world move about and continue on a mad quest to hurry faster and faster from place to place. They saw humanity racing to the finish line while they took their time. They waited.
Humanity must seem so petty to griffons. So inconsequential.
Kera continued musing even as they drew closer. Letting her mind wander as one arm hugged Aiden to her chest. She stroked his side with her fingers, soothing and calming him as his breath hitched and he mewled in response. His fever burned hotter today than it had all trip. His face was already flushed bright. She’d been trying to get him to drink more water, but he started turning it away, mouth refusing to swallow.
As elated as she’d been since John’s death march ended, it didn’t overshadow everything. She was aware of her situation, but capable of balancing the feelings that combated one another. Hope, Kera reasoned, was her last stand at the moment.
There was no logic in this journey. There was only hope. Hope and the stubbornness to believe that the griffons could and would help. John believed in them, and Najah did too, even if no one else did.
They strode forward, and Kera felt it when they crossed into the griffons’ territory. Aurora did too. Both horses came to a quick stop, and Kera stared.
She half expected the great creatures to land before them just like that.
They didn’t.
In fact, nothing changed at all about their surroundings. They still couldn’t see the lakes. They still couldn’t see any signs of the creatures. There were no scratch marks on trees. No feathers lining the ground. No paw prints offset by bird claws. There was nothing at all except a feeling.
The air felt cooler here. The sounds of the woods seemed lighter. There was a sparking sensation of nerves crawling about underneath Kera’s skin. The ants returned, skittering beneath her flesh. Nipping at her joints. Her hair stood on end, and even Aurora’s curls seemed far more frizzy than normal. They sprung from her scalp like a lion’s mane, making her all the more courageous in appearance. The summer heat smelt like a lightning storm, even though the sky remained a joyous bright blue and the sun still shone up above.
Kera could taste the change on her tongue. Her mouth filled with an almost citrusy sweet flavor. She closed her eyes and imagined suckling on the nectar of a lost fruit, burying herself in the juices and lapping at the folds of its skin. She was burning with desire, and she squeezed her hand around her reins, needing to blink a few times in order to keep her mind moving forward.
She urged her horse forward, and the mare went with ease. The horse seemed almost eager to walk, as if even her concern had evaporated. They traveled another hundred yards or so, and then—there was water on the horizon.
Aurora’s breath caught. “Kera—”
“I see it.” It was a breathless response, and both of them encouraged the horses faster. Hurry, hurry, hurry. They flew through the last of the woods, cutting around the trees and over fallen logs.
Finally, they had reached the first of the Long Lakes.
And they were beautiful.
Though Kera had lived next to the ocean most of her life, she felt overcome by the glittering water and the bright, clear sky above. Unlike the thick murky green of the ocean, this water was crystalline blue. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. It was so much more.