The day she’d visited Tova’s family was a small wave, kept at bay by Caleigh’s zealous recount of what had transpired in the palace during the battle, and how she’d entertained the younger children by coaxing flowers to grow in the throne room. Aya’s eyes had lined with tears as she thought of flowers pushing through the granite where Tova’s body had lain, but that had been the worst of it.
Then there was the day she burned Pa’s body. That was a monstrous wave, one that continued to tug her under, catching her in an endless riptide. Will had coaxed her back into their bedroom in the palace, where he’d held her, Akeeta and Tyr on either side of them, keeping guard as Aya cried.
“Take it away,” Aya had pleaded through her sobs, her head buried against Will’s chest. “Take the pain away.”
“I can’t,mi couera,” Will had whispered into her hair, his own voice cracking with the confession. “I can’t.”
But as the weeks passed—as Dunmeaden slowly beganto heal—so did she. The grief still came, and the waves still varied, but she could stand them now no matter their size.
It would take time, she realized. Just as it would take time for Dunmeaden to resemble the great capital it once was. It took weeks just to clear the debris from the attacks. But now, more than a month after the battle, Aya could start to see the shells of buildings being raised, especially along the docks. The Rouline, Mathias had insisted, was necessary for morale. Apparently, he was funding the rebuilding of every single gambling hall.
He’s basically just reinvesting in himself,Liam had said over dinner one night with her and Will.But,he’d shrugged, his crown catching the firelight,if he wants to front the cost, I won’t argue.
Aya was still getting used to seeing a crown on top of her friend’s head. Then again, he’d been without it at first. It had taken a few weeks for the blacksmith to fashion the one he’d wanted.
Not granite, like Ginna’s, but steel, made from the melted-down blade of his twin sister’s sword.
Grief was complex. Aya would know.
And while Liam’s certainly lingered, too, he had taken to the role of king rather effortlessly, as if the position had been made for him. Aya was not surprised in the least.
Already, he’d gotten Sarhash and Nyra to pledge gold and supplies from Milsaio and the Midlands to help Tala rebuild. In return, he promised Tala would provide soldiers to help with the recovery in Sitya and Milsaio’s capital once they had people to spare.
Of course, it wasn’t all pleasant. There was the matter of the Kakos soldiers who had survived. Their trials had been held while all four monarchs were in Tala, and Galda had urged Aya to attend.
The worst of them had been sentenced to death, while the others were to be exiled. It was Sarhash who volunteeredto oversee the transformation of Chamen and the reinforcement of its security.
For now, the prisoners would be confined to Milsaio’s second island until it could be rebuilt.
Hyacinth had been tried, too. Her sentencing for her treason was a lifetime on Katadyré.
Slowly, they were all healing, the days creeping into a new sort of normal that would take time to get used to. Yet it was beginning to feel familiar all the same. And though Aya knew Liam would never ask them to leave…she was beginning to find herself thinking of home.
Or, rather, her lack of one.
She’d gone back to Pa’s farmhouse only once, and the wave of grief it had brought had been so strong that Aya knew she could not bear to visit again, let alone live there.
There was the Quarter, which was being steadily rebuilt on the grounds that had long since belonged to the Dyminara, but she did not think that would feel like home either. Not anymore. She’d put her fighting leathers in a drawer after she’d washed them, and she hadn’t touched them since. She wasn’t sure of her future with Dyminara, and no one had pushed her to figure that out just yet.
Aya let out a long breath as she leaned against the old wood of the Athatis stall, her hand stroking Tyr’s fur idly.
“A copper for your thoughts?” Will asked as he stepped into the barn. There was a light sheen of sweat on his skin, indicative of a hard training session with Akeeta. Sure enough, his bonded followed behind him, her eyes bright from exertion.
Akeeta flopped down next to Tyr with a contented sigh.
“I was thinking of where we’re going to live,” Aya admitted. She took the hand he extended toward her, letting him help her up off the floor.
“Palace life doesn’t suit you, does it?” Will teased as he dipped his head to capture her lips in a soft kiss.
“And to think I could’ve married Aidon and been a queen,” Aya sighed, laughing as Will nudged her away playfully.
“You’re such an ass.” His grin was wide and unrestrained.
It was good to see him like this. Happy. Training not because he had to, but because it felt good.
They were both learning how to do that, how to untangle duty from desire and determine which they should listen to. They hadn’t quite figured it all out yet, but Aya supposed they had time.
She wasn’t used to that—having time. Having options. Settling into her choices.
