A prophecy on the night of Moros’s death, the night before Evelina’s child was born. There were no coincidences.
The council immediately started to discuss potential meanings, but Evelina’s focus quickly drifted away. It was too much—exhaustion was catching up. And she had had enough of fate for a lifetime.
The baby was sleeping peacefully in her arms. She felt her eyelids grow heavy.
“You need to sleep, Evelina,” Senna said softly, reaching for the baby. “I’ll watch her, but you should rest.” He helped her to her feet.
The council fell silent as she stood. They all bowed, dropping to one knee before the new heir.
“What should we call her?” Ellerry asked.
Evelina looked at Senna, and he smiled.
“Leda,” Evelina said. “Leda Manor.”
Seventy-Two
Evelina
Two-hundred years later
They lived nearlytwo hundred happy years together as a family. The empire still faced small skirmishes from the last of the dark god worshippers, but their strength was greatly weakened as Vidaris’s power receded in the years of peace.
Perhaps that was what led Evelina to get so comfortable—to not consider the risk when Senna asked for a chance to go to sea again with his old shipmates. He was a hero to the people, the slayer of Moros—and the greatest enemy of the last of the rebel fae, who had nothing left to lose. His ship was overrun by a rogue group of rebels, nearly killing everyone aboard. Only one survivor was left to bring back the news of the ferrum blade that was driven through Senna’s heart.
Evelina had no words to experience the grief and guilt she felt. She should’ve been there. He was alone when he died, with her and their daughter a sea apart. Senna was her closest friend, someone who understood the pain she felt and the burden of ruling the realm.
Then he was gone—stolen in the dead of night while sheslept safely in the palace with Leda. It was almost too much to bear. How much more loss could she have weathered?
A queen without a king, a mother without her child’s father. She had to learn how to be on her own again, for the sake of her daughter and her kingdom. In the hurt that followed her loss, Evelina set a law banning worship of the dark gods. The council readily agreed, as did the people of the realm. The twisted magic of those who worshiped the dark gods would never be welcome in her land again, not after the death and destruction it had caused during the war.
The centuries floated by like leaves drifting to the ground. Her once-broken empire had become prosperous, filled with people still learning to heal all these years later. She made sure she could be there for Leda without fail; the job of being a mother to her beautiful child always came before the crown. Evelina’s heart was so full every time she looked at Leda and the woman she’d become throughout the years. Her thoughts were filled with ways to make the kingdom better, to keep Penyth fair and good.
But there were nights that were darker than the others—the stars covered by clouds—and she would find herself remembering a time when she wasn’t so alone. She would replay the fading memories, holding on to them for as long as she could. Though she was certain she was already forgetting little details.
One night every year, she felt the ice around her heart thaw. In her dreams, she could see glimpses of Daimon on the Harvest Moon—flashes, like a tether still connected them. She felt him reaching out to her from the Shadow Realm, on the one night Vidaris was bound to the Vale. Evelina reached back to him, her light at its strongest. But still, the tether never held for long.
At first, she was lucky if she saw him at all. But over time, the connection seemed to grow. Now she could see him each year through a shrouded haze, though the connection was not yet strong enough for her to hear his voice when his lips moved.
The moment she saw him, she would awake in her bed,covered in sweat and breathing heavily. She always tried to hold on to her dreams, to stay asleep beneath the Harvest Moon and talk to Daimon. It never lasted long enough for her to even hug him—to see if she could feel him.
It was the only night she allowed herself to sit in the grief that she kept stored away the rest of the year. But the loneliness she felt never faded.
She still wore a smile every day despite it.
But, as always, she wasn’t entirely alone. She and Annora were closer than ever after the heartbreak they had experienced. Annora was the only one who understood what Evelina had lost, why Evelina hadn’t moved on or taken another king. They told everyone it was because of losing Senna, and, in a way, it was. But it was more than that. She had never moved on from her first love. She and Annora had not just lost partners, but the very halves of their souls.
Annora’s daughter, Avery, had grown alongside Leda. The two were polar opposites, but they worked well together. Leda was fierce—like an Aegis. She seemed determined to honor Senna in all that she did.
Much of the council remained the same, otherwise. Seretha married an Undine named Warrick who had spent time with Ren on the warfront. They had just had their first child—a little girl named Adeline—and Iris and Cyprian were due to have their first any day.
Evelina now spent most of her days in endless council meetings, sneaking in time in the garden or to watch over Leda’s training. On rare days, she made it out toward Astern, visiting the refugee camp and making her rounds through what had become a small community. She would dress in her old healer’s garb, not wanting to draw attention. A part of her yearned to only be a healer again, not the queen sneaking out of the palace.
There were only a handful of humans left now. Most had fled to the other side of the mountains even before the curse separated the land. But a few remained, lingering in the refugeecamps. Their place in Penyth was difficult, earning little sympathy after Moros’s rebellion.
After her visits, she would stop by a small gallery on the outskirts of Astern, resting between the town and the refugee camp. A small bell chimed on the door as Evelina entered the old shop. The floorboards were uneven oak splattered with paint. There was a small counter on her right by the window, along with a sign readingLandscapes & Topography: Hand-painted Portraits of Penyth.
Splashes of gold and emerald speckled the floor, while a wide range of portraits filled every inch of the walls. Some of them were set in simple wooden frames, but others had been mounted with frames of solid gold, intricately designed.
