Epilogue

Though there was plenty of space in the half of Damarkia that was still in use to accommodate the newest additions to the household, Geybrial foresaw that they would eventually outgrow their half of the estate. Meyria, after all, was determined to find a way to free her husband’s spirit from the sword and make him a man once again, and Geybrial got the feeling that Akahenee was not a small man. A large man with a lovely wife would require far more space than a sword and a woman. He did not for one second doubt whether or not Meyria would be successful in her attempts to save her husband. If she was even half as stubborn as Meena, she would not stop until her goal had been achieved.

Even more important than ensuring the comfort of Meena’s parents, however, was the fact that they would soon be expanding their family by one. And, if Geybrial had anything to say about it, there would be many more to follow.

When he’d asked his father if it would be all right for him to start renovating sections of the unused half of Damarkia, Iain Damarkin’s response had been little more than a grunt. The man was still sore over the fact that, two days following Geybrial’s second marriage to Meena—unattended only by Shaun, who was missing in action, as usual—Emry had left home to take on the role as advisor to the king. Though he’d had one son returned to him, he’d almost immediately lost another. His only consolation was that he would still be able to visit his second oldest whenever he so desired, and Emry would be free to come and visit them whenever duty permitted.

Geybrial had no idea what Regan was thinking, adopting Emry of all people as his advisor of noble birth. The two of them had known at least three men and women whose parents were Lords or Ladies. Aside from Lucius, Lady Marrikson’s daughter Margaretta would have been an excellent candidate for the position. Perhaps he had not wished for his panel of advisors to contain more women than men. Perhaps he had another motive that was entirely beyond Geybrial’s limited comprehension. For whatever reason, a man who spent the better part of his day talking to himself was now one of the king’s advisors.

God save him from crazy people.

Because Meena was sleeping in—she seemed to do little else but sleep lately—Geybrial had not invited her to come and scope out the other half of the estate with him. He did not intend to make any important decisions, anyway. All he really wanted was to escape the fawning servants who were so pleased that he’d decided to return home for good and find a quiet place to smoke a cigar and contemplate all that had befallen him these past few months.

He found an empty room that, beneath the layers of dust, looked like it might actually make a nice master bedroom. Leaning back against a nearby wall so as to disturb as little dust as possible, he put one of his father’s cigars between his teeth and carefully lit it. He’d no more than taken his first puff when a sense of uneasiness caused him to leap away from the wall and whirl around.

He was staring into a pair of blood red eyes.

Xesomelian eyes.

Well, hell.

“I thought you said you had played this game before.”

“I thought you said that you hadn’t.”

“It is a Kittish game. Why would I bother with Kittish games? We have so many in Xesomel to keep me occupied.”

“Xesomelian games are not very fun, I imagine.”

“No, but they keep you on your toes.”

Meena stood outside of an abandoned room in an abandoned wing of Damarkia and watched with a fond smile as her husband played a game of cards with the winged creature who had helped to save her from the Xesos down in Badikawa. She had no idea what Grif was doing here—though he’d mentioned that he would take Geybrial up on his offer of a cigar after their battle in her village, she had never expected that the bird/man had actually meant those words. And though there was currently a cigar in the bird/man’s mouth, there seemed to be something else going on within that room.

Perhaps, she mused, this was the beginning of a new friendship.

Though she wanted her husband, she had no desire to interrupt his game. So, instead, she sat down outside and continued to listen to the two men banter with one another. When the game was over, she heard movement in the room as Geybrial collected the cards.

“What are you looking at out there so seriously?” her husband asked the other man.

“Just admiring the view,” Grif replied easily. A moment of silence followed during which Geybrial most likely went to the window to find out exactly what “the view” was.

He snorted. “You and every other man in Kittyana. She might have completely lost her personality in the years since I’ve been gone, but Mak still manages to attract admirers from all over the blasted country.”

“She is very beautiful,” Grif agreed, “but beauty is not everything. I, of all people, should know that.” There was a touch of sadness to his tone, barely noticeable.

“Will you come back?”

There was another pause, and finally, the other man replied, “I think that I will.”

Meena did not move from her spot as Grif left the room, and she was not surprised when his sharp eyes immediately landed upon her. “Were you entertained, my dear?” he asked gently.

“Thoroughly. You might have won the card game, but I think Geybrial won the verbal battle,” she advised him.

Fighting back a smile, Grif reached down with one clawed hand to help her to her feet. Meena accepted the offer. “Take care, little Trial,” he said to her, and somehow, she knew he was referring to more than just the custom of his people.

Did she even look like trouble?

“Well, he’s no Regan, but I think he will do,” Geybrial said as he came strolling out of the room. Grif had already disappeared into one of the other rooms and had, no doubt, flown out of a window. Her husband glanced over at her, a wry smile on his face. “You are going to be spying on me for the rest of our lives, aren’t you?”

Feeling a little bit defensive, she looked at him with her arms crossed over her chest and nodded emphatically.

Geybrial reached out and lifted her up into his arms, causing her to shriek and hold onto him for dear life. He laughed at her shock and then kissed her thoroughly. Just when her wits were becoming thoroughly addled, he pulled back and murmured against her lips, “Thank God.”

Author's Note: Thus ends Book 1. I will go ahead and say that Book 2 is going to be about Shaun, and Book 3 will be about Emry. Shaun's character is definitely going to be interesting, because unlike my other dastardly rake (Douglass) he doesn't have a deep, dark reason for being the way he is. I still think he's going to be loads of fun to write about, though. Not sure when I'll start posting that one...I really only have the prologue finished. Anyway, I hope Book 1 turned out all right. I know it probably still needs some work (details, details), but until I start suffering from writer's block again, it will remain unchanged. I usually don't go back and look over old books until I get hit with writer's block.