“I need you.” The Zenith of Solvantis dropped to his knees before his secret mate. “I’m ready to be better. To be true to you. All these years, you’ve been my secret strength. My wisdom. I can’t—Iwon’t—live without you by my side any longer.”
“What about the Council?”
“They can accept my mate or find a new Zenith.” He pressed her palm to his chest. “I’m done hiding what matters most to me.”
The way they looked at each other, with decades of things unsaid, gave Brandt the resolve he needed. “Go on. Take your rightful place, Mother. You have earned it a hundred times over.”
“What about you?” She took them all in with the word, him and Idabel and Loïc, too. “I only just got my son back.”
“I have learned that love is never simple, and it’s rarely easy.” He pulled Idabel into his side and felt their bond tighten and strengthen with the proximity. “If the connection exists, nurture it. Don’t use it to punish each other for the past. We will meet again, and we can send moths in the meantime.”
Ghantal studied his face, then looked back at Gérald, still on his knees for her. “I have your forgiveness if I stay, then?”
“Of course.” He understood why she could not refuse Gérald. And he needed time to make peace with the lifetime of lies by omission. He had a great well of compassion for what it must have been like, living at the bottom of the Tower while her mate lived at the top, so he knew he would forgive her in the end, even if he couldn’t quite manage it yet.
Gérald rose, still holding Ghantal’s hand. “Go. Now. Before the guard shift changes. I’ll ensure no one follows.”
“And I’ll ensure the moths don’t talk,” Ghantal added grimly.
“Loïc?” Brandt crouched before his son. “Are you ready for your first long flight?”
The boy’s fear transformed into excitement. “Really? I can fly all the way to the cliffs?”
“All the way. Do you think you can do it?”
“I’ve been practicing during the day,” Loïc admitted in a rush. “When you’re stone. Sorry, Papa. But I wanted to learn faster.”
Pride flooded through him. “Then let’s see what you’ve learned.”
He lifted Idabel, her weight familiar and right in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her trust in him absolute.Loïc studiously stretched his wings to prepare for the flight, and Brandt saw himself as a fledgling. Young, determined, ready to leave safety for something better.
“Thank you,” Brandt told his parents. “For the truth.”
Gérald inclined his head. “I owe you much more of it.”
The three of them launched together into the vast possibility of the night. Behind them, the Tower shrank to a smudge of dust and then vanished completely.
Far ahead lay the familiar cliffside caves of his childhood, when he’d been hopeful and adventuresome, like his son. It was like flying toward his past and his future at the same time.
Through the bond, Idabel’s thoughts twined with his:We’re free.
Not from consequence or struggle or the scars they carried. But free to build something new from the ruins of what they’d been. Free to love without permission. Free to heal without judgment.
The wind caught Loïc’s wings, lifting him higher than ever before. His delighted laughter was a salve to another of Brandt’s scars. That was his son flying alongside him, born of his mate whom he carried in his arms. He had nothing else to his name and yet still had everything he could ever want or need in this life or another.
Together, they flew toward dawn.
Epilogue
Idabel
A year later
Idabel hummed as she sorted herbs by candlelight on the wide ledge that served as both kitchen table and apothecary workshop. Deeper in their dwelling were the sleeping nests, but the main rooms were open to the wild air of the southern cliffs. She’d come to love the expansive view of the plainsand mountains that were nothing like the ordered stones of Solvantis. A year ago, the height made her dizzy, but now, it felt like home.
“Mama, watch!” Loïc’s voice carried from the schooling ledge next door where two dozen fledglings practiced their maneuvers. He executed a perfect spiral dive, wings catching the moonlight, before spreading them wide to ride a thermal back up to the roost. His instructor, a scarred old gargoyle whose wings were part feathered, part membrane, called out his approval, and several of the other young gargoyles hooted and cheered.
That was one of the things that had surprised Idabel the most about living in the cliffs. Here, differences were celebrated. Loïc’s mixed heritage made him interesting, not an abomination. He had so many friends, he rarely spent time at home. She missed her little boy sometimes, but she loved seeing him thrive.
