Epilogue
The rubble of the Thomaskweld capitol building was more impressive than Fi remembered. Not that she’d seen the aftermath before now, her previous priorities centered on fleeing for her life, escaping a Beast, then getting knocked unconscious by a pair of traitors.
Antal stood beside her in the chill morning, inspecting the carnage with a dry arc to his brow. Half the building remained intact. The rest, a mess of stone and glass. His tail flicked.
“How many energy capsules did you smuggle in here?”
“I didn’t count them, Antal.” She crossed her arms, bundled in a new coat of maroon wool with a fox fur ruff.
He let out a long-suffering sigh. In the week following Verne’s defeat, they’d both found little sleep, busy surveying the damage in Thomaskweld. The usurper had left the capitol building in ruin. She’d made no repairs of sabotaged energy conduits, coercion against rebellious citizens.
No more. The people of this territory would have what they needed, at no cost of blood.
“Do you know what I think?” Fi said.
“Oh. Let’s hear it.”
“I think you never planned to eat me after all.”
Antal’s brow slipped higher. “Is that so?”
“Ithink”—she leaned into him—“your devious plan was to rid yourself of Fionamara Kolbeck, dreaded smuggler, bane of your territory.”
“A terror.”
“To save your economy, you had to tame me.”
Antal’s arm wrapped her waist. His jaw clenched, a blatant attempt not to laugh. “A clever theory. With one glaring issue.”
“That being?”
Fi stilled as his mouth brushed hers. “Why would I want to tame you? I prefer you wild.”
Behind them, Kashvi cleared her throat.
The dawn glinted lavender across the inky crop of her hair, the double line of silver buttons down her midnight jacket. Her lips pursed, unamused. Doubly so at Fi’s syrupy grin.
“Good morning, Kashvi,” Fi said in a goading lilt. “Or should I say: esteemed Governor.”
Kashvi brandished a clipboard, looking as though she’d relish putting her pen through either of their eyes. “Interimgovernor. You have me until there’s a proper election. Void knows how much of this mess we can clean up before then.”
She grumbled and flipped through her paperwork. Immaculate paperwork, every note color coded and organized in tidy columns. After Boden, Kashvi had been the beating heart of Nyskya. Trustworthy. Determined. An obvious choice to help get the territory back on its feet. And as much as she liked to complain, she’d taken the position with minimal arm twisting. Perhaps Fi wasn’t the only one who’d grown restless in their quiet village. Perhaps it was Iliha’s doing, eyeing empty storefronts along Thomaskweld’s main avenue.
Or perhaps they both realized they could do more than keep Nyskya safe, by making all of the territory just as much of a haven.
When Kashvi had accepted Antal’s offer, he’d asked if this meant a clean start between them. She’d told him it would give her time to think about it—which wasn’t ano.
“Latest reports on energy conduits are in my office,” Kashvi said. “Let’s go.”
She led them into the intact wing of the capitol. They crossed over marble tiles and under ceilings painted in starlight and aurora, halls quiet thanks to a skeleton staff. Those humans who did cross paths with their returned Lord Daeyari swerved out of his way. Trust would take time, but Fi had faith it would come. He’d won her over.
The previous governor’s office had become rubble during the explosion. Kashvi brought them to a repurposed meeting room with tall windows overlooking the capitol plaza, a long table of polished pine hidden beneath stacks of paperwork.
“Mail for you on the table,” Kashvi said. “Get rid of it, I’m low on space.” She disappeared into an adjoining room, followed by a rustle of papers.
Antal inspected a stack of three letters, distinct from government paperwork in their thick texture and wax seals, sitting against a bottle of… wine? The liquid inside was dark, oddly streaked with silver that swirled even as it sat still.
Fi, too curious to not look and not reserved enough to feign disinterest, peered over Antal’s shoulder as he popped open the first seal.
