by Giselle Ava
He uses a silver spoon to cut into his strawberry cake and eat it. There are flowers in bloom and other people seated around him, engaging in quiet chatter.
He hears children singing, the church bells ringing. The last grey clouds have passed over London and so he stares now at the first sign of blue, the beginning of spring. It’s beautiful, he thinks to himself, taking his cup of tea and sipping it.
“Can I help you with anything else?”
Thomas looks up to see the waiter standing over him with a notepad poised. Thomas smiles and waves him off politely. “I’m okay, thank you.” Smiling, the waiter walks away and proceeds to serve the next table over, a young family and their bubbly daughter.
He feels a sinking sensation in his chest. He still thinks about Mildred. He still misses her as passionately as he had missed her when she first went away. He has not forgiven Arthur for what he did, and he never will, not even privately, but he understands. He understands that there is a cost for war and sometimes the cost is high.
You sometimes lose everything.
Was it all worth it? Thomas would give up anything for Mildred to be here with him, to share this new future with her and his unborn child. But for a second he catches a glimpse of the mother on that other table, rosy-cheeked, in love, her daughter chatting nonsense, and he realises it was worth it for them. Maybe, just maybe, there’s something yet out there for Thomas Cobbe. But not today, for his heart is still wherever she is now.
He sets down the cup of tea beside a pencil, which he picks up now and raps against his chin. There’s a notebook on the other side of his plate. Even Thomas sometimes is unable to read his own handwriting, but he makes out enough of it to know he has a meeting in twenty minutes and should probably start heading there now.
He stands up and walks out of the café, standing on the side of the road as cars stream past. Central London, once Fortescue Plaza, is as busy as it’s ever been. It perseveres. Thomas supposes he is the same. London is different now. The people have changed. He breathes in and tastes the breeze and it’s not the same as it was before this all happened.
Willcocks perished in the fighting. Vanessa remains in contact with him but she is aloof as always, and he doesn’t anticipate her remaining in the city. Many of those who fought in the war are still here, serving in the new government, doing what they can—but although they make for wonderful soldiers, they are still soldiers, not politicians. Walter Milne left the city with his wife—she’s pregnant. They talked about it and Thomas suggested it was for the best. Thomas doesn’t imagine he’ll ever leave London, not anytime soon.
Sometimes, walking these streets, as he does now, you hear the magical chime of piano music. He stops outside a jazz bar and peeks his head in. There’s a black man at the piano and he’s playing that song he used to play in the Crossroads.
Leslie Barrow plays all over London now.
As for Cecelia Craxton, she has not been since it happened, and Thomas assures himself they will not see each other again for some time. He would offer her an apology, but he knows that sometimes forgiveness is unattainable, and the pursuit of it can be dangerous.
So he’ll stay here, be content, and hope she finds a way to grieve.
Thomas Cobbe smiles, and keeps on walking.
Epilogue
The world is quiet except for the call of birdsong and leaves breaking from the highest branches of autumn trees. It is quiet save for somebody chopping firewood in the distance, the clicking of insects as they parade about the rolling hills.
I stand on the porch of the homestead and breathe in the smell of the season. It’s a new wind that finds our small homestead here in the rolling hills not too far outside of Dublin, a beautiful, slow-moving wind that smells vaguely of the ocean. I lean on my walking stick as I walk down the wooden steps to the grass, and kneel down to pluck a white flower. It shivers, its petals falling off and vanishing in the direction of the wind.
My eyesight hasn’t been good since London, but I can vaguely make out the shape of Alan Piper, slowly making his way back over from cutting wood by the trees. He’s not a strong man, by any means, but he’s a perseverant one. Sometimes I still think about London. How long has it been now? A year, maybe two? No, surely not. Time is a strange thing, is what I believe. Or, at least, it feels that way to me. I’m just glad to be alive.
I use my walking stick to prop myself up.
Alan Piper slows down and smiles. His wrinkled face has become even more sunken over time. He’s the last living connection to Mildred, and he’s basically the closest thing I have to a family right now. He looks at me with what’s either admiration or pride, or perhaps it’s simply just his face now. He’s often times difficult to read. He throws the wood down by the house.
“All ready?” he asks me in an aged voice.
I’m leaving. I’ll go to Dublin and take the next train from there to wherever it leads me. I don’t know what’s to come. I don’t know where I’ll end up or what I’ll find there, but I know I have to go, and I have to go alone. The world’s too big.
I give him a nod. “Ready.”
“I’ll just grab my coat,” Alan says as he walks back inside, the wooden door squeaking as he opens it, then lets it fall. I draw another deep breath and walk along the grass, my feet sweeping through the flowers, my walking stick digging into the dirt. It’s sturdy, a new one I built with Alan from the very same trees he’s been cutting recently for firewood. It feels solid in my hand and makes life easier. I still have scars from London. My body still aches. But I’m getting by, and one day, well, I’m hoping it’ll all be nothing but a distant memory.
I observe the horses in the stable. They wait for us patiently. I walk out across the hills and gaze forward in the direction of Dublin. I’m a long way from home. It’s hard to know where home is. When I think of home, I find myself not thinking of what’s behind me, but a place that I’m yet to find. I’ve been looking for a long time, I think.
Home.
There used to be a whine in my head and I used to hear it all the time. I haven’t heard it since London. In fact, on this one morning, in a small town just outside of Dublin, this is the first time I’ve stepped out onto these fields and felt like smiling.
I think everything’s going to be all right, after all.
Introducing: The Killing Night Series
Book 1: The Winter’s Ball
On the last night of winter, six strangers enter the famous crown city of Lavus. One morning later, every single noble-man and -woman is dead.
Sarina Mithriv was twelve when she watched the man with no eyes slit her mother’s throat, but she remembers the Killing Night like it was yesterday. For seven years, she has lived in silence with that bloody image in her mind. And to this day she is the only person in the city who has ever seen one of the six Knives and lived to speak of it.
Then she sees him again.
It’s the winter’s ball and Sarina, now High Lady of Lavus, is the only person who can keep her people safe from the threat of new assassins—but she is also deeply afraid. Tonight, nobody is safe, for the man with no eyes swears, come morning, everybody in Lavus City will be dead. So if Sarina is to pull off the impossible, she will need to conquer the court, weed out the assassins, and solve the mind-bending mystery behind the Knives’ repeating existence.
And she only has one night to do it.
The beginning of a brand new fantasy series, The Killing Night, where each instalment can be read in one sitting and the mystery will have you reading until its dramatic final moments.
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Thank you
Thank you for purchasing The Piper Revolution Trilogy. I hoped you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love your feedback on my books on Amazon! Thank you for your support and stay safe!
Giselle <3
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Giselle Ava, The Piper Revolution Boxset: An Urban Fantasy Trilogy