The moment she finishes, a wave of magic explodes outward.
It passes through me like a shockwave, but instead of pain, I feel…release. Whatever it is that has been coiled tight in my chest for eight hundred years suddenly unravels. The curse—the invisible chain that has bound me—simply dissolves.
I gasp, staggering backward. My body feels lighter. My magic flows more freely. Everything is different, and yet everything is the same.
I see Lucian streak toward Astra, and I spin around.
Daciana is lying where Hera left her. She’s alive. Her eyes are open. The color is returning to her cheeks, and the bond—our bond—is strong and steady again.
“She’s fine,” Hera says through her exhaustion. “She’ll recover.”
I stumble to Daciana and gather her in my arms. She’s so warm, so solid, so real. I bury my face in her hair and breathe.
Together, we look at Hera.
The gypsy witch stands before us, and for the first time, I see her clearly. Not as the mysterious stranger who appeared in our lives. Not as the powerful magic-wielder who saved us.But as Elara’s mother. As the woman who loved Daciana’s soul centuries before I ever met her.
“Is it over?” For the first time I can remember, my voice actually shakes. “Can we—can we be happy now?”
Hera’s smile is soft, sad, and knowing. “Yes.”
One simple word. But it means everything.
Daciana stirs in my arms. “Were you Elara’s mother?”
Hera’s face crumples for just a moment, agony flashing across her features before she replies. “Yes,” she whispers.
Daciana struggles to stand up, and I help her, keeping my arms around her waist. She’s still weak, still recovering, but nothing can stop her as she takes slow, deliberate steps toward Hera. She wraps her arms around the ancient witch.
“Thank you,” Daciana says, and her voice breaks. “Thank you for everything.”
Hera stands rigid, her arms at her sides. I see the shock on her face, the disbelief. How long has it been since someone embraced her? How long since she has allowed herself to be vulnerable?
Then, slowly, her arms come up. She holds Daciana close, and when she speaks, her voice is barely audible.
“You have to promise me something, my daughter.” The endearment sounds strange on her lips, like she’s testing it out. “Live every moment like you’ve earned it. We have all sacrificed so much for this moment.”
Daciana pulls back, confused. “What do you mean?”
Hera’s smile turns brittle. “The curse we cast had a consequence. Now that you and Kieran are free, the gypsy witches…We will die soon. In a few days.”
“No!” Daciana’s face goes white. “No, we can fix this. There has to be some way—”
“We are ready to go.” Hera’s voice is firm but gentle. “Cassandra will go with us. She has suffered enough, beentortured for long enough. This is our last meeting, Daciana. Now, I want to be with Elara.”
Tears stream down Daciana’s face. She nods, unable to speak.
Behind us, Astra screams.
The sound cuts through the moment, and we all turn to see Selene kneeling beside Astra in the grass, coaching her through the birth. Lucian hovers nearby, looking more shaken than I’ve ever seen him, his usual composure completely stripped away.
Hera and the other gypsy witches fade back into the shadows, their forms growing translucent. Daciana sees this and reaches out to them, but they’re already gone.
“Come.” I start to guide Daciana toward Astra, but I can feel her body trembling. The healing worked, but she is nowhere near full strength.
We make it to Astra’s side just as Selene catches the baby. A daughter. Tiny and perfect and screaming with healthy lungs.
Lucian stares at his child, his hands shaking as Selene quickly cleans her. His face is pale, his trademark control nowhere to be found.
