Still, my heart will not slow.
Not even after I plunge into the lake. Not even after I sit at its bottom, the liquid pressure bearing down on me from all sides.
Thoughts of the Eryx Bride… of the Oblation… continue to haunt me.
Until only one thought remains.
My Ironwing Commander was told not to expect me this eve. He believed I would miss the final drills as the warriors prepare their processional for the Sacrifice Ceremony.
So I am not surprised that he and the others jolt when I land in the courtyard without warning, dressed in nothing but my soaked loincloth.
“Sovereign!” Skorrin starts to kneel with the others, but I raise my hand.
“No need. Stay on your feet.”
Then I fix my eyes on him. “Andyou…”
He straightens.
“Who have you been grooming as your replacement?”
“Sire… I haven’t made a formal decision?—”
“Skorrin, I will retire you painfully right now if you don’t answer my question.”
“Kinnarick,” he replies at once. “He doesn’t know it yet, but I believe he’ll make a fine commander.”
“So do I.”
I clap his shoulder once before turning to face the rest of the warriors, hand still raised so they know not to bow.
“Kinnarick, with me,” I call to the Stone Warrior, whose long black hair is bound in a knot for training. “And the three who placed highest in the last flying-speed drills.”
Then I launch into the air, trusting them to follow.
I can only hope I complete my mission before the next moonsrise.
Last Day as a Fake Princess
SALLIE ROSE
That night,my father and I work side by side, peacefully adding the final touches to the last planter of medicinal herbs and flowers I had designed.
Then we stand to admire the castle garden, now fully realized.
It is no longer just limited to the terrace. It is a kingdom of flora, a riot of color and scent unfurling like a dream across every inch of stone. Vines spill over the black parapets, cascading down the obsidian mountain walls in waterfalls of verdant green dotted with jewel-toned blooms that glow faintly in the last light of the setting suns.
Petals as wide as platters unfurl beside tendrils no thicker than thread, all in sacred harmony.
On the next mountain over stand two new temples, their arching trellises linking columns sculpted from ancient root and crystal-veined stone. One honors Eryx, the warrior moon, its grounds overrun with crimson moss and vicious, carnivorous blooms. The other belongs to Sylvos, the moon godof plants, and it is draped in flowering ivy. Every bit of its surface is overrun with a wild, joyous melee of bloom and leaf.
As for the castle garden, it has long since spilled beyond the terrace walls. Whispervine bridges stretch across the cliff’s edge like outstretched arms, anchoring the garden’s reach down the mountainside—an emerald staircase blooming its way into legend, setting the once-black mountain ablaze with color.
“You did well, daughter,” my father says, squeezing my hand as we survey all our work.
He wears a crown of flowers and stands a few inches taller than me now that he’s no longer stooped with a severe back hunch. Even more importantly, his fingers aren’t curled with ache, even though we’ve been magicking complex medicinal plants all day.
“I’m glad you could be here with me when I finished.”
