Luca’s fingers flexed, wishing to touch her coat—this extinct symbol who shouldn’t exist but did, just like him.
The black wolf closed the space between them, backtracking, until she was by his side. She nuzzled the top of her head against his palm, waiting.
Luca smoothed her fur, squared his shoulders, and set his attention to those who had been waiting for him all this time.
With each step, an audible thrum of energy welled up from the walls, growing until it was more than a hum, a buzz, an ache. The promise of what they’d come for, the swell of it vibrant, an energy and presence.
The wolf walked with him, perceptive eyes glancing up at him so often that he finally smiled and bent to her with a whisper. “Do not worry, Beltza. I haven’t changed my mind—I want this.”
And then, when the noise and sound and movement from beyond were so great they made Luca’s ears ring, the wolf again halted and sunk to her haunches, waiting silently with her snout tossed over her shoulder, watching Luca advance.
Luca closed his eyes and thought of Amarande.
In the meadow devouring their lunch after swordplay, eyes alight over lemon cake.
In the slim shadows after their escape, kissing him for that first time.
In the firelight at the Hand, sharing her heart.
And, now, back at the Itspi, repairing the damage the Pyrenee wedding had done, awaiting the messenger with word that he had connected with the resistance.
Soon they would be together. Forever this time. And nothing would stand in their way.
I want this.
One final step and Luca, the Otsakumea, beheld the vast, open cavern filled with hundreds—no, thousands—of people.
Yes, his people.
The black wolf tipped her face to the ceiling and howled.
All movement ceased. All eyes fell upon Luca, standing above and before them.
For the first time in seventeen years, the people of the Otxoa beheld their Otsakumea.
Luca stared back, not sure what to say. This was something he should’ve prepared for. He should’ve been ready; he should have—
Tala took a commanding step forward and yanked the neck of Luca’s tunic aside, exposing the wolf on his chest.
At once—silence.
Then an explosion of noise that nearly tipped him back—the crowd, loud and speaking as one.
“My Otsakumea, we have been waiting for you.”
As the sound filled the space, the black wolf howled again, joining her voice to theirs.
And then every one of those thousands of people began to clap. It was completely overwhelming—in that moment, and then even more so as Luca, the black wolf, and the crew picked their way along the switchback ramp that guided them the rest of the way down.
Luca, Tala, and Beltza hit the ground level to a crush of people and hands and repeated exclamations of “My Otsakumea!” that echoed across the cavern.
Luca’s reaction was to do what he’d seen Amarande do nearly every day of their life together. He clasped every hand. Repeated every name. Eye contact, eye contact, eye contact.
“My Otsakumea! You are the very vision of King Lotyoa!”
“My Otsakumea, your timing could not be better!”
“Oh, how I have prayed to the stars for this day, my Otsakumea! Seventeen years! I daresay I was beginning to believe the stars had grown tired of my requests!”
