Epilogue

Egretta

Right now Egretta, her mother, and a young man by the name of Junco sat in their manor's sitting room. Her mother was dressed in lilac chiffron and white lace, her corset laced so tight that even her modest décolletage could not hide the cleavage line. She still looked good for her age, at least Egretta was told, with her thin frame and rather smooth pale skin. Egretta was assured that it was a sign that she herself would age gracefully as well. However, she sure hoped that looks were all they shared. Her mother had grown bitter and strict since she was younger, and so she was rather determined to morph Egretta into a truly proper woman.

Luckily for Egretta, her mother drank a laudanum-tainted wine every night, putting her out until morning. This gave Egretta an entire night to make mischief.

Junco was her mother's latest hopeful match for Egretta. He was at least less repulsive than that duke from last month, but only because he wasn't old and missing teeth. Egretta was reminded to why she always prefered stableboys and soldiers to noblemen. Noblemen drank too much wine and ate too many pastires, leaving them pale, soft, and lazy. Junco's stomach was pressing at the seams of his tunic and he had a bit of a jowl already started. If he had any propriety, he didn't see any reason to show it, because his gaze kept drifting from Egretta's breasts to her mother's.

Thank goodness Egretta had worn her high-necked gown this afternoon. She saw no need to give him a visual for what he was probably already imagining.

It was also rather nice that her mother decided to play chaperone. Egretta shuddered to think of the things Junco would probably say if left to his own devices. At least with her mother hovering he said nothing too inappropriate.

Egretta took a sip from her tea, neglecting to dab the tea that caught on her upper lip. Let her look like a slob. Perhaps that would dim Junco's interest.

"I must repeat again, Lady Vermivora, that you and your daughter are strikingly identical. I would have sworn you were sisters."

Her mother giggled. Egretta put on a faint smile but inwardly groaned. Was he attempting to court Egretta or her mother? Perhaps he was trying his hand at both. Junco would certainly be more tolerable if he conducted a scandalous affair with Lady Vermivora. At least it would make her mother more interesting, and if they were lucky, Egretta's father would eventually find out and beat Junco to a pulp. Then again, he would possibly harm her mother as well, and as much as Egretta resented her maternal figure, she didn't wish Father's violent tendencies on any woman.

There was a knock on the door, and when Lady Vermivora called out, one of the maids opened the door timidly.

"Lady Vermivora, there is a messenger here with post addressed to Lady Egretta."

Egretta's mother turned piercing eyes to her daughter. "What is this all about?"

"I don't know." Egretta casually looked at the servant. "Who is it from?"

"It merely says 'An Old Friend' on the front."

"Mother, can I attend—"

"Just put it in Egretta's room. It can wait for her," Vermivora dismissed with a flick of the hand. "My daughter is busy."

Junco smirked.

Several hours later, Egretta was rid of Junco and an awkward dinner spent with a surprisingly sober brother (who was once again broke and in need of money to fund another vice-driven adventure) and some cousin-or-other of Egretta who she saw once a year. Her cousin was a mousy young girl, unattractive yet convinced that she was. Most of dinner was spent prosthelytizing about something or other, mostly about the immorality that struck the young people these days, and how she planned to resist such foolery and be a proper avian wife. Egretta could barely keep the laughter down.

Finally Egretta was allowed up to her room. She picked up the letter on her desk. It was in a rather weathered, yellowing envelope, clearly the result of travel. Indeed, all that was written on the front was her name and address, and then "From an Old Friend" written cryptically in the corner. Egretta reached for her letter opener, but was interupted by a tap on her window. Dumping the letter unceremoniously to her desk, she rushed to the window and hurried to open it for her intruder.

He was her latest paramour, Charad, and he was their coachman. Their past one had needed replaced when he died suddenly two weeks ago of some sort of ailment (it was never truly investigated). He was old, much too old for it to be a total tragedy, and after a dreary funeral, he was replaced with Charad, everything a coachman should be. He was from the outskirts of avian land and spoke Aves with a tinted accent, almost as if it were not his native one. He was tall, much taller than Egretta, with a shock of dark hair and striking green eyes that were never serious. He was built strong, with wide shoulders, large hands, and a powerful jaw that was never properly shaven. His nose had been broken once or twice, and there was a scar along his neck. He knew not how to write or read, he needed no excuse for a brawl, and he was wonderfully dangerous. Within two days he and Egretta could be found inside the abandoned coach parked in the barn, engaged in acts that her mother would most definitely disapprove of. Egretta never let her flings intrude on her true virtue, which she still believed her husband would only have access to, but that didn't mean she didn't toe the line with delight.

"Good eveni—"

Egretta crushed his mouth under a kiss, and it only took moments for her to drag him to the bed and let him smother her in affection.

She let him stay the night, despite the danger if anyone caught him. She was only partially dressed, still wearing her chemise and bloomers. However, she'd allowed the straps of her chemise to fall, which was how the dark marks left by Charad's mouth had managed to drop so low. Charad was sleeping soundly beside her, wearing only his trousers, face pushed deep into her goosefeather pillow. It was during this lull that she recalled the letter. Carefully disentangling Chard's arm from her waist, she stepped across the chilly floor to the letter, which she finally opened and took to her bed where she could read it in the warmth of her covers.

She recognized the writer's identity immediately. She smiled upon reading the first words.

Egretta,

I don't know why I bother writing to you of all people, since I'm sure you're doing wonderfully without me there. However, I feel as if you're my only tie to the avian world, and I don't want to totally fade from the minds of my homeland, so I've decided to elaborate to you my adventures.

I left the Colubri two years ago, because blinded as he was, Sirtalis could not explore the world without eyes to aid him. I knew that while the Colubri had housed and clothed me and treated me well, I wanted a bit more. Perhaps I wanted a home where I truly felt included. Perhaps I will never fit in anywhere but wanted to see what else lay in that vast and mysterious world. So Sirtalis and I crossed the ocean and dove into the unknown.

I've included a rather lengthy explanation of my journey. Before I start, I want to tell you that I hope you're happy at home, and I hope your devilish ways haven't put you into too much trouble. We will probably never see each other again, and there is no way for you to reach me (since my address changes often), so I want to say that while you made a rather poor friend, now I realize that you did the best you knew how to. Thank you.

May Silvertris travel with you,

—Ardea, former Princess of the Aves

Still smiling to herself, Egretta pulled out a chunk of yellowed papers tucked inside the fold of the first. Then she settled deep into her pillows and began her evening read.

Ardea

Ardea had considered not writing to Egretta. After all, she only had so much ink, and she'd already wasted a good deal on her tale to Dekayi. However, she felt like she had to tell Egretta. Egretta had thought Ardea a failure all along, and Ardea needed to prove to her that she wasn't.

So much had happened, it was difficult to know what to include and what to omit. First there had been the sea voyage. Sirtalis had been a regular sailor, waking each morning whistling and consuming the vittles onboard without a complaint. Ardea had been sea-sick for a week, and she had been rather certain she was going to die. She didn't, however, and after the sickness faded, she enjoyed the trip more. The sailors liked to play instruments and drink excessively on deck every night, and sometimes the passengers joined. Ardea was sure their language was vulgar (if their gestures had anything to say about it), but since she wasn't able to understand it, she listened to the music and even danced a bit with one of the crew members, who was thirteen and the only one not intent on feeling up females. Ardea was glad that music was still something Sirtalis could enjoy, and he smiled during those nights of gaiety and dance.

They'd told everyone that they were half-siblings, just to avoid any scandal. Many expressed doubt, looking from thin-boned, avian-sized Ardea to the sturdy and tall Sirtalis, but they let it go. Sirtalis had thought that perhaps claiming to be married would have been more believable, but the quarters offered were so small to begin with, and married couples were given cots hardly larger than single ones. No, pretending to be married would only end in awkwardness and disaster.

To truly elaborate on every amusing or frightening moment would be tedious, and her hand already hurt. She'd needed Sirtalis's help for the letter to Dekayi, since Ardea's knowledge of the Colubri alphabet had always been a fuzzy. She decided to write that they'd been caught in two storms, one worse than the other, but they survived it, if not a bit battered from being tossed around in their quarters all night.

They arrived in a country that enthralled Ardea to silence. The port city was full of wonders and enchantments. Horses were used, yes, but there were also camels and what Sirtalis called elephants, truly monstrous beasts that Sirtalis assured her were as gentle as lambs. The language was also exotic, but Sirtalis knew his way around it well enough to get them room and food for the night. Since Colubri visitors were common, he was able to exchange Colubri money for Loxodo money, which was the nation they were currently in.

The landscape was somewhat similar to Colubri, yet also different. It was hot as sin, but the wildlife was brighter and more tropical. Water wasn't so scarce either. The food was rather delectable, and Ardea had consumed half of her meal before the stares of the other guests informed her she wasn't eating properly. She'd been eating the pastries with her hands (after all, weren't they to be consumed that way?) but apparently that was a taboo in this country. After blushing and having Sirtalis apologize for her, she finished off her meal to custom.

They stayed with the Loxodo nation for a few months, picking up wares and winning the hearts of a few locals who helped them with meals and board. Ardea learned a bit of the language, though not as extensively as she knew Colubri, and was nearly comfortable in her home when Sirtalis told her they needed to move.

So they became nomads, renting and horses and camels to cross deserts and plains from nation to nation. She visited the Leos, the ones Cissa spoke so fondly of. She sent Cissa a letter saying that yes, the men there were very handsome. However, they were also known to be lazy. The women did most of the work while the men squabbled over territory. None of them warmed up much to Ardea, at least the men. They found her tiny figure laughable, though the children found her fascinating. The girls were fond of her hair, which was smooth rather than kinky, like theirs. They were also afraid of Sirtalis for a while before Ardea insisted he play their games with them. When he tripped and fell face first into some mud, they were so overcome with laughter that they instantly forgot about his physical deformities and were crawling over him, asking him intrustive and personal questions as children often did.

They moved further north. Mostly they made money through trading wares and using Sirtalis's translation skills for hire. Once they were robbed, though it was petty theft, and they didn't lament the loss of a few trinkets. Other than that, they were left alone. Few were low enough to rob a blind man and his female accomplice. Sirtalis's presence prevented lechers from leering at Ardea, even if Sirtalis couldn't see them. Overall, it was a very beneficial arrangement.

The north reminded her a bit of her avian home, with thick forests and mild weather. Then they hit the mountainous regions, and there were no cities to be found. Only craggy, unforgiving landscapes and goat farmers. This was where Sirtalis and Ardea found themselves settling down, at least for the past few months. A merchant's wife had taken them in, thrilled by their education and worldly knowledge. She claimed her daughter's dream had always been to travel to the Colubri, and when she turned sixteen next year, her parents were going to fund her journey there. So Ardea and Sirtalis paid for their board through lessons. Their student in question was a bashful girl prone to blush, but she was incredibly inquisitive, and she would whisper to Ardea how she'd heard such wonderful rumors about the Colubri.

"Is it true that women walk around half-naked?" she asked with delight.

Ardea pursed her lips. "Not exactly." Sirtalis only laughed.

Her tutoring position didn't pardon her from chores, however, and by the end of the four months spent there, Ardea was rather skilled at milking a goat and making yogurt. She preferred seamstressing, which was another skill of hers that the merchant's wife found positively wonderful. All four of her daughters were then instructed by Ardea in the afternoon, when the sun struck the hills the strongest.

All in all, Ardea had make quite a niche for herself. She was very content here, surrounded by children that looked up to her, the parents that adored her, and a relatively quiet town that was lucky to see a dozen travelers a day. The clothing was modest enough for Ardea's taste, but not constricting like avian corsets. Sirtalis also liked it here, she could tell. He'd gotten himself a puppy, who would lie at his feet and stare at him adoringly at night. The merchant and his wife eventually assumed that Sirtalis and Ardea weren't related, but they weren't scandalized by the arrangement. They saw it as Ardea and Sirtalis did: a friend helping out a handicapped man.

So now Ardea sat her desk, writing Egretta's letter by candlelight. She gazed out her window, her eyes trailing what the lamp flickering outside illuminated. There was a goat pen, and then scrubby trees beyond that. She saw the silhouette of great rugged mountains encroaching the starry sky. A knock on her door caused her to turn.

"Come in."

It was Sirtalis. It was odd to see him walking around in a dark house without a candle, but she supposed it wouldn't do him any good. The light from her flame cast an eerie shadow over the white mottled skin along his temples and upper cheeks. His eyes were still foggy and unfocused, mostly the reason why some children feared him and other adults stared. But Ardea no longer saw the deformities. He was simply Sirtalis to her. She'd even forgotten what he'd looked like before. She did recall his warm brown eyes, though. That was one memory she didn't want to lose.

"Still up?" he asked.

"So are you."

"I don't babysit little girls all day."

"I don't babysit them. I tutor them." Ardea tapped the table with her pen. "What pleasure do I owe for this night visit?"
Sirtalis sat down on the bed. "I heard you shifting around in here. Wondered why you were still awake."

"I'm writing a letter to Egretta."

"Oh. I thought you disliked her."

"I do, I suppose," she answered with a heavy sigh. "I guess I just wanted to rub the fact that I have explored much of the world in her face. While she's locked up in stuffy manor houses courting snobby men, I get to have adventures in exotic lands." She smiled.

"Your last bit of revenge."

"Well, that and I don't want her riding out to the Colubri to see me when I'm not there. I would feel bad for the horse she rode."

Sirtalis chuckled. However, there was another knock on the door. Ardea permitted entrance.

"Koza, what are you doing up?" Ardea asked with an exasperated sigh.

Koza, the oldest daughter who hoped to travel to the Colubri lands, blushed slightly. She was dressed in a heavy flannel nightgown, her feet bare, her hands folded in front of her. She had a shock of dark hair with premature gray streaks, something she had picked up from her mother, no doubt. She was a rather plain girl, though a bigger heart could not be found anywhere. She and Ardea had taken quite a liking to each other, and they almost regarded the other as one would a sister.

"I heard talking."

"It's only Sirtalis and me. Go back to sleep."

"But what are you doing?"

Ardea sighed. Apparently her letter was everyone's business. That was no surprise. There wasn't much privacy in this old creaky house. "I'm just writing a letter to an acquaintance. It is nothing."

"Ardea, I was wondering . . . "

"What is it?"

"I turn sixteen in about six months . . ."

"Yes."

"And, well, I'm not sure how long you and Sirtalis were planning on staying, or when you were planning on going home, but my mother and I were thinking and—well, we thought that perhaps—perhaps it would be beneficial if you took me back to the Colubri with you?"

Ardea had already considered it and discussed it with Sirtalis. A smile tugged on Sirtalis's mouth, and Ardea stood.

"Sounds like a decent course of action," Ardea said, arms akimbo. "After all, who else could be your personal escort to the Colubri?"

"Oh, thank you!" Koza dove in and hugged Ardea. They were practically the same size, and Koza's rather burly form had little trouble pressing the air out of Ardea's lungs. Sirtalis heard Ardea's gasping and gently pulled Koza away.

"Thank you so much! I will tell Mother tomorrow! She will be so happy to know I'll be escorted by such good and trustworthy friends!"

Koza left in a flurry, and Sirtalis took a few steps toward the door as well. He switched into Colubri, since it was easier for both of them.

"So you plan on returning to the Colubri then?"

"Do you want to?" she asked, sitting again.

"It isn't that I'm homesick, but really, I don't think it's appropriate to let Koza find her own way. She'll have to travel with professionals."

"Indeed."
Sirtalis grinned. "So. Six months. Then we'll have to add another two months for travel, and another to cross the sea . . . "

"And by then we would have been away for about three years."

"Not so unreasonable."

"Not at all."

"I wonder how life has changed at home. You think anyone misses us?" Sirtalis asked.

"Oh, I'm sure. Your mother for sure."

"And Simus?"

Ardea smirked. "I'm sure our homecoming would make him rather miserable."

"Excellent. I'll be looking forward to it." Sirtalis scratched his chin. "I wonder if that lazy brute has managed to find a good woman yet. My bet is that he hasn't."

"I wonder if Storeria has found anyone."

Sirtalis sobered. "Natrix, she's getting old. Each time I go back I hardly recognize her."

"And what do you think has become of the king?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's just fine." Sirtalis chuckled. "Nothing keeps the king from having a good time."

"Interesting. By the time we get back to the Colubri, I'll be twenty years old." Ardea blinked in astonishment. "It sounds odd."

Sirtalis snorted. "Oh, so what. I'll be twenty-five. Twenty isn't so old."

"I never said it was old. Just odd."

"Very well, then. This odd Colubri man had better catch up on his sleep before the roosters start crowing in the middle of the blasted night."

"Sirtalis?"

"Yes?" He paused at the door. He didn't turn his head to face her, but that was normal. There was no reason for it. As uncomfortable as her instincts were talking to his back, she knew he wasn't ignoring her.

"Thank you for everything. You've made quite a traveler out of me. I never would have had this wonderful experience without you."

This time he turned to her smiling. "It was my pleasure, Ardea. I couldn't have asked for a more helpful and eager companion."

Ardea blushed, glad that she was the only one aware of it. "Thank you."

Sirtalis nodded his head and walked out. Sighing, Ardea turned back to her letter. It was nearly finished. Just a few more words and it would be all ready to be sent. It didn't flow just like she would have liked, but it got the general idea across: that she was having fun and Egretta wasn't.

Then again, Egretta had a knack for having a good time in mischief.

Ardea would bet on that.

With an additional sentence, Ardea signed her name with a flourish of elegant letters, a signature that would make her childhood governess proud. Ardea slipped the wad of papers into an envelope and slid it into the bottom drawer of her desk. Taking a deep breath, she headed for bed and slipped under the covers with a content sigh.

Marcianus

"You, my friend, are getting old and slow."

Braminus bent over his knees, huffing. He sent Marcianus a rather poisonous glare and then straightened.

"So are you," he argued. "Three more years and you'll be thirty, just like me."

Marcianus plunged his sword into the earth and then bent over to lean two elbows on it. "Ah, but I'll be a far more graceful thirty. Your wife has been feeding you too many cream puffs."

Braminus snorted. "And your wife hasn't been feeding you enough."

"You're simply jealous of this trim physique." Marcianus motioned to his torso, naked from the waist up, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat.

"It wouldn't do me any good. My wife likes my body the way it is, thank you very much. She says I am her favorite pillow."

Marcianus laughed and poked Braminus in the stomach. "Hmm, I think your stomach gurgles too loud to make a pillow. Care for lunch?"

"Very well. You know my weakness."

Marcianus grabbed his tunic from the grass and slung it over his shoulder. He slipped his sword into its scabbard and together he and Bramnius headed back into the palace, Braminus walking too swiftly to be indifferent. Marcianus chuckled and caught up.

Daciana was already in the dining room, though she was talking to a few servants, not eating. Marcianus motioned Braminus toward the kitchens before slowly creeping up behind her. The servants gave him away, however, when they turned to look at him. Moments before he grabbed Daciana and yelled "HA!" she turned and raised her eyebrows at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Saying hello to the most beautiful woman in the world," he remarked enthusiastically before bending over and kissing the smooth forehead of the baby in her arms. Daciana rolled her eyes and held out his daughter.

He gathered Eleganas to his chest. She was awake, and seemingly happy to see him. She had been smiling for the past month now, and she was quick to practice her skills when he leaned down over her and kissed her forehead again. She giggled softly and reached for him. He took one pudgy hand in his and shook it.

"You shouldn't flatter her so much," Daciana said over his enamored cooing. "She'll get an even bigger head than you."

Marcianus stood straight, inhaling indignantly. "I shall tell my daughter the truth, and that truth is that she is the most beautiful girl in the world."

Daciana sighed but smiled as she shook her head. Marcianus turned back to his cooing, which made Eleganas giggle again.

"Alright, alright," Daciana interrupted, extending her arms. "She's gonna be hungry soon, and you know how miserable she gets when she's hungry. I'd better feed her."

"She's like her father in that aspect. Eats like a horse. Isn't that right, my little cobra?" He tweaked her nose, and she laughed more. Her hazel eyes scrunched up into mere slits as Marcianus ran a hand over her very fine chestnut hair. There wasn't much, but at three months it was sprinkled across her generously proportioned head. She got that from him too, her large head. He remebered his mother always joking that she could have weighed down an anchor with a head like his.

"Come on, surrender the girl."

Marcianus handed her over grudgingly, and not without tickling her chin first. She didn't seem upset by the transfer and instead grabbed at Daciana's dress the moment she was back in her mother's arms.

"Traitor," he muttered, and Daciana laughed. She patted his arm and drifted away toward the exit, whispering to her daughter with a smile.

"Natrix will it, that girl will be a papa's girl," Marcianus muttered to Braminus, who had already helped himself to some goods and had reappeared at Marcianus's side. "I swear upon it!"

Braminus chuckled but said nothing.

"What's funny?"

"Just make sure she doesn't turn into a spoiled brat. Remember how your parents taught you."

Marcianus sighed heavily. "I know. I know. But it will be so hard."

Braminus patted his arm. "In the beginning. But think of the positives. When she grows old, she will be a humble and self-sacrificing queen. That's what your people would want."

Marcianus nodded. "Of course."

*****

Upon the birth of their first child, Daciana already asserted her power of how the girl was to be raised. Unlike Marcianus's parents, who'd been much too busy to not have a wet nurse and a maid care for him, Daciana was horrified by the thought of having a strange woman nurse and coddle her child. She refused the service and became Eleganas's sole provider, neglecting many of her queen duties in order to raise the girl "properly". This angered some Colubri but charmed others, and eventually the scandal died down and everything returned to normal. Daciana was as diligent a mother as anyone could have hoped for, dragging the crib into the room with them and rising whenever the child hiccupped or cried. It hadn't done wonders for the intimacy of their marriage, but Marcianus wasn't going to complain, because he wanted his daughter to have the best care possible, even if that meant some sleepless nights and an often moody Daciana. As far as mothers went, there wasn't anyone better than Daciana. She was truly Lupus in that aspect.

It was much too early to see their physical traits in her, but Marcianus insisted she had the shape of his eyes. And whimsical waves in her sparse hair. And her nose. Daciana rolled her eyes at every new conclusion, and that was the end of it. She let Marcianus believe what he wanted, because there wasn't a daughter in this world who was as loved as this little girl.

Eleganas couldn't have come at a better time, at least for Daciana. Ivailo had died a month before Eleganas's birth, and the loss weighed very heavily on the Lupus girl's heart. Marcianus promised to get her a new dog, and he had sent a letter to the Lupus requesting a new wolf hybrid to be sent down. So far nothing had showed, but he hoped it was soon. He believed Eleganas would have fun with a puppy. Daciana wouldn't allow her near any snakes, especially not Dendra, even after Marcianus insisted the mamba had never bitten a soul in her life.

Daciana had adjusted adequately to her Colubri home. She wasn't converted to their ways entirely, but by now she had a firm grasp of the language and culture. She accompanied Marcianus to the temple every other week and would go down to the city square whenever a dancing performance was promised. There were still those Colubri who disapproved of her, but luckily no one had run to the Viperi with such information, which was all Marcianus really cared about. The Viperi would never tolerate a "mixed" marriage. They thought the Colubri and Viperi breeds too "pure" to be tainted with other blood.

As far as their marriage went, it had been a slow and careful process, and they had never reached the level of intimacy that Marcianus would have liked, but at least they were comfortable with each other. They fought like married couples did, but those were the only bumps Marcianus knew of. And yes, he loved her. Not like he loved Naja, but perhaps it was healthier this way. This was a warm, friendly kind of love, the sort of love that remained for decades, a love that wasn't based on lust or beauty, a love that wouldn't fade away to reveal ugliness beneath. He atrributed much of this to Daciana. He was sometimes difficult to put up with, but she took it all with a sense of humor, and he appreciated her for that. In fact, she had proven to be quite a joker when the times called for it, and if there was anything Marcianus appreciated, it was a good laugh.

Eleganas had been put to bed, and she slept now in her crib, arms spread and cheeks bunched up around her eyes. Marcianus leaned his arms on the edge of the crib and rested his chin on them, watching her contentedly. He and Daciana bet against each other, over whether she'd say "Papa" or "Mama" first. Daciana spoke to the babe almost exclusively in Lupus, while Marcianus wavered between Colubri and Aves. He hoped she loved language as much as he did.

After watching over Eleganas for a moment, he went onto the balcony. The view of the city below him still soothed him in a bad temper, and he leaned against the railing as he watched candlelight flicker in distant windows. Someone was laughing, and another was singing. Another swell of pride rose in him; this was his home and his people.

Daciana had been seated on the bed, contemplating a few scrolls that Adamante had given her for reading practice. She was literate by now, but she still struggled a bit with speed, so she tried to read every night. She was also learning how to read and write her own native language, since she had never learned that either. Marcianus only glanced at her, but she noticed his attention and looked up. A smile teased her lips.

"It's a lovely night, isn't it?" she asked.

Marcianus nodded as a warm breeze caressed his face. In the distance he saw the shadow of the mountains, rising up to meet the deep blue abyss of the sky.

Daciana slipped off the bed and onto the balcony. She was dressed in a cheerful yellow nightgown, because she had never grown to like the dark purples that littered Colubri society. She had chosen yellows and oranges instead. Dekayi like to joke that perhaps it was a subconscious affinity with Sonora instead of Natrix. Daciana wasn't truly involved in Colubri religion, but she did seem to prefer Sonora worship over Natrix. Most outsiders were the same in that aspect. To them it made more sense to worship a goddess of light and love than one of battle and death.

This particular nightgown was one of Marcianus's personal favorites. It consisted of a skirt and strapless top, with a sheer strip of yellow gossamer that wrapped around her shoulders and bare stomach. She didn't like to wear it out of the bedroom, but he liked it. He could see her bethrothal ring through the fabric, one much like his own.

"This view always amazes me." Daciana still spoke Lupus with him alone, mostly because he needed the practice but also because she always felt more comfortable in her own tongue.

Marcianus ran his hand along a molding in the railing, silent. He caught a whiff of fireplace smoke and another unknown spice. His other hand went to Dendra, who was perched on his shoulder. She was growing old; he feared losing her, his one true connection to his late mother.

Daciana was biting her lip, looking unsure.

"What is it?" Marcianus asked.

"My father. I sent announcement of Eleganas's birth. I should have received a reply by now, don't you think?"

"Mail can be a bit slow. Perhaps he's preparing to visit himself."

Daciana looked away. "What if he doesn't want to see her? He always saw the benefits of this marriage, but I don't think he ever really approved of it. What if he—what if he doesn't want to see her? What if he won't acknowledge a 'mixed' grandchild?"

"That's ridiculous. Your father came off as stubborn, but not cruel."

"The last mail I received from my father was that Vukasin was married." Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the distance. "Perhaps my father wants to focus on that union now. It's a traditional Lupus affair. My father always approved of Vukasin more than me."

"Daciana."

"I want my daughter to have a grandparent," she murmured, looking away. "Like I did."

"He'll send reply." Marcianus wanted to tell her about his request for a wolf hybrid to replace Ivailo, but if a puppy came, he wanted it to be a surprise. "Just give it time."

"If nothing does come, do you think Dekayi will agree to—"

"Of course!" Marcianus chuckled. "It would thrill her to have a grandchild. Being as none of her children are yet married, she'd be ecstatic."

"Eleganas likes her."

"Of course she does. She has good taste. Just like her—"

"—father, I know." Daciana's forlorn gaze slipped away as she smiled knowingly.

Marcianus chuckled. "If it's any consolation, she wakes just as early as you do. She got that from you."

"That's all?" Daciana raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"It's too early to tell, of course. Perhaps she will be as diligent and hard-working as you. I hope. I wouldn't want her to waste her days playing with friends and chasing members of the opposite sex like I did when I was young." He cleared his throat and smiled. "Natrix forbid."

"You have a decent work ethic now that you've calmed down a bit." Daciana raised a finger. "Deccent, of course. Not wonderful."

"Colubri aren't work animals."

"Natrix forbid."

Marcianus smiled. He enjoyed such fair nights spent bantering with his wife, standing near the cradle of his slumbering daughter. He preferred them to the nights filled with arguments, tension, anger, exhaustion, and sleeplessness, which seemed to haunt him occasionally. He still feared he wasn't being a proper king. He feared the consequences of his actions, whether his laws were liked or resisted. He wanted to be better, smarter, stronger. He still felt inferior to his father, and to his grandfather. He didn't voice these fears to Daciana, feeling as though she'd only scold them.

Daciana reached out to him and took his hand in hers. His eyes rose, sweeping over her body. She was a lovely person, both on the inside and out. He reminded her of chilly nights spent tucked and cozy under thick blankets, of plump pastries and dips in cool streams on hot days, of leisurely trail rides in the gentle sunlight and walks around town on lazy afternoons. She was safe, warm, and always open to him, a sort of refuge he greatly appreciated.

Some nights he still thought of Naja, how she reminded him of thunderstorms, hard gallops, terrifying rapids in rivers, the crash of lightning, wine so sweet you couldn't help but get drunk on it, scorpions, steep cliffs, and poisoned fruit. Sometimes he missed that, missed the rush of adrenaline, missed the risk and the danger, the passion that took all night to wear out. Mostly the passion, actually.

Yet as he grew older, he was beginning to realize that life for him was slowing down. This was what he needed. It never shocked him or swept him off his feet, and yes, it was occasionally very boring, but it was the sort of life his daughter deserved. She'd grow up and find her own adventure, but right now, she needed a stable, loving environment.

Daciana never asked him about Naja. Nor did anyone else. He never took that painting out of the vault, but sometimes he'd slip in to look at it. He'd sit on the floor and stare at her, waiting for the pain to vanish, the yearning to subside. It never left him. He could only try to bury it, and bury it deep.

Thinking of her now, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Marcianus slipped his hand out of Daciana's and slid it up her arm until it sat on her shoulder. Daciana stepped forward, arms encircling his waist, her head resting on his chest. She was a lovely girl. She really was.

"Thank you," Marcianus murmured.

"For what?" Daciana asked, her cheek moving against his bare skin.

"Everything. My daughter. Being here, with me and with my people. You sacrificed so much, and I appreciate that."

"You're in one of your thoughtful moods again." She chuckled and squeezed him. "But you're welcome."

"You're happy, yes?"

"Of course I am."

Marcianus rested his cheek on the top of her head. A curl tickled his nose. "Me too."

She kissed him just underneath the collar bone and pulled away. "I can tell you're tired. Why don't you come to bed?"

"I think I will stay out here for a little longer.

Daciana nodded and went inside. Marcianus gazed at the scenery for another fifteen minutes before finally sighing and retreating to his room. He heard Eleganas grunt in her sleep, so he tiptoed over to her crib and gazed inside. She was still deep in sleep, her rosy cheeks plump and her mouth set in a content line.

He leaned past the bars and kissed her forehead.

"Sleep well, sisensia, my life." He straightened, but quickly bent down to whisper, "And I don't care what your mother says. You are the most beautiful girl in the world."

With a smile, he kissed her again and then headed for bed.

Jabali

Jabali was not particularly happy to see Xanthus precariously perched on the back of a horse who had not yet been trained to ride, but perhaps that was because she wasn't Equus. No one else walking about seemed to care, and in fact offered a few amused smiles in the couple's direction. Xanthus was leaning forward, taking a handle of his zhiite-fet's mane in his hands, his face lit with a grin. He laughed and fell forward, throwing his chubby arms around the rather indifferent horse's neck. His zhiite-fet, Etonn, only snorted and shook his mane, incredibly patient for a two-year-old who Cal was just beginning to break into saddle.

"Cal," Jabali scolded. "Don't you think he's a bit too young for that? What if Etonn spooks?"

Cal snorted and waved her away dismissively. "He's fine. We Equus are practically born on horseback. Don't you like it up there, Xanthus?"

Xanthus only nodded. He was a very quiet child, and had not yet spoken past "Mama" and "Papa". He was also a shy child, and Jabali attributed his taciturnity to this. It didn't matter that he was already bigger than the tribe's other three-year-old. It seemed he was just as soft-spoken as his mother.

Jabali didn't press. Xanthus did seem to enjoy being on his zhiite-fet's back, and Etonn looked far from spooking. He kept searching Cal's pockets for treats. Cal had great hopes for Xanthus's zhiite-fet. He claimed his temperament was as sweet as pollen and his patience endless.

"He will make a perfect zhiite-fet," Cal had said with pride. Jabali agreed that compared to many of the two-year-old colts, Etonn was surprisingly mild-mannered. He almost reminded her of Cal's old sorrel zhiite-fet she had so loved, though Etonn's dark bay coat detracted from the resemblance. Etonn wasn't a particularly beautiful or striking horse, for he had no white markings nor any notable features. Jabali didn't mind that though.

Xanthus was running his fingers through Etonn's mane, then leaned over to press his cheek to the horse's neck. A calm fell over him, a sort of wisdom that boys twice his age possessed. He was fascinated by Etonn's sleek fur, the muscles that twitched to ward off flies. Cal offered to pull him down, but Xanthus shook his head and made it clear he preferred to be on board.

Jabali stepped up to the horse's other side and touched Xanthus's leg. He was the healthiest image she could hope for. He hadn't had more than a cough since he was born, ate his weight if not more, and had boundless energy, trotting about the camp without breaking wind. Sometimes he worried Jabali, especially when she noticed how rarely he cried. If he did hurt himself, he would tear up and whimper, but never wail, as if already aware that such behavior was shameful.

Jabali tried not to worry about him, though. It was hard not to, especially when she could already see the influences of his father in his structure. His hair was thick and dark, his eyes black, his nose promising to ripen into a strong profile. As a baby, she'd thought maybe, maybe he is Cal's and he just looks very much like me. But no, she was very sure that if he were Cal's, he would have shown some sign of Equus lineage. There was not a speck of Equus in him, that was for sure. He was as big as an Equus four-year-old, and he exhibited an almost frightening sort of strength and speed for someone so small.

However, she was thankful to note that his father's behavior was not so deeply imprinted in him. Xanthus was not terribly quick to smile, but he did laugh when the times demanded it, and he showed a compassion toward nature that only Equus children could exhibit. He loved his zhiite-fet fiercely, and he respected his parents as much as a two-year-old boy could be expected to. He showed no sign of violence, of unexplainable rage, of cruelty. Jabali sometimes found herself waiting with bated breath, waiting for that moment she feared, the moment when he'd act like the man who had created him. But no, that was foolish. Xanthus acted as he was raised.

Xanthus curled closer to his horse when Cal reached for him. Cal chuckled and let him sit up there longer. Jabali returned to her tent, finding no use in worrying.

Equus children could never be torn from their horses.

*****

It was at dinner when Jabali decided to tell Cal the news.

Xanthus was eating with the other children, though he kept quiet most of the time. That was not shocking, considering how much the three girls in the circle liked to chat. A six-year-old boy teased them, insisting that girls couldn't possibly run as fast as he could. The girls countered, and this eventually escalated into some tugging and pushing, which was quickly broken apart by some mothers, who scolded the perpetrators and sent them to their tents without desert. Xanthus wandered over to Jabali and sat in her lap, curling up against a thigh, sliding a thumb in his mouth and pressing his face into her dress. She stroked his hair, which had grown thick and curly, nearly falling to his shoulders. A swell of love rose in her as she ran her fingers through the strands, and she bent over to kiss his temple. He turned around and wrapped his arms as far as they'd go around her waist. She cradled him as best she could and hummed softly. Within minutes he was asleep, tucked neatly away in her lap. Cal sat down beside her, watching the coals of the dying fire glow in the dark.

Her husband reached over to run a hand through Xanthus's hair. If Cal had shown any reservation about raising a boy who wasn't his own, it had vanished long ago. He bent under Jabali's arm so that he too could kiss the child's ear. Then Cal raised a hand push fingers through her hair. She leaned into his shoulder.

"At this rate, he'll have to cut it soon," she chuckled, tugging at a lock.

"Or he can grow it out and look like a true stallion," Cal joked.

"It would only mat." Jabali would not be able to tolerate dreadlocks on him. She'd never allow it.

"Then he'll have to take good care of it. Though I must say, at this rate he and Etonn will have matching hairdos."

"Cal, I have something I want to tell you."

Cal glanced around, but they were relatively alone. Most of the tribe had broken up after dinner and headed for their tents for their late night chores or for sleep. He must have sensed the seriousness on her face, because he sobered and touched her knee.

"What is it?" he asked, clearly worried.

Jabali smiled to show him that there was no need for concern. She placed her hand over his and leaned closer. "It's good news."

"What—what sort of good news?"

She nuzzled his neck. She liked this, liked holding her son while clutching her husand. There was nothing more she wanted, nothing she wished for beyond this.

Cal smiled and reached up to stroke her cheek. The physical intimacy of their marriage had returned little by little, through his patience and her determination. She never believed she'd be completely whole again, but she now recognized that Karju and Cal were not only different men, they were different species. Cal's touch was a world away from Karju's, and now it only brought her joy, just like it used to. He was always cautious, always slow to react in fear that he'd startle her. Maybe one day he'd realize she was fine with whatever he wanted. He was beautiful to her again.

"What is it?" he whispered.

She kept a hand on Xanthus as she murmured, "I'm with child."

Cal's arm dropped and he leaned back to gape at her. She smiled up at him, tears welling in her eyes. Their fear, of course, had been that Xanthus was it, that Cal was not viable, that they'd only have one son who Cal had not even fathered. Now that their fears were no longer true, Jabali saw the elation fill Cal's eyes.

"You—you're—oh, Jabali."

He swooped down and kissed her on the mouth. She pressed against him until she could no longer breathe. Pulling back, she laughed and hugged him.

"That is good news," Cal whispered, his voice clogged with emotion. "Very good news. Oh, Jabali, Caballus has blessed us."

There was an exchange of kisses and hugs until Jabali pulled away and took on a sudden expression of solemnity.

"You must promise me something, though." She touched his chin with her thumb and finger. "Promise me that Xanthus will never be less precious in your eyes. Promise me that you'll be his father as much as you will be this child's."

Cal gaped at her a moment, then swallowed her in another embrace.

"How can you ask me that?" he asked. "Xanthus will always be my son."

Finally the tears broke past their barrier, and she was sobbing into Cal's shoulder. That was all she wanted to hear. That was why she'd waited so long to tell him. Some part of her had been terrified that with the promise of actual offspring, Cal would spurn the son she had grown to adore. She had worried over it for weeks. She couldn't imagine her son growing into a man knowing that his father resented him or didn't love him as much as his younger siblings. Xanthus needed Cal more than anyone else, needed him more than he needed his mother or his horse or his tribe. Cal was the key to making him a man unlike Karju, a true man. So now that she knew for sure that Cal would love him no matter what, a weight lifted from her chest, freeing the heart it had kept prisoner.

"Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you so much. Thank you."

He kissed her forehead and her temple. Jabali laughed and cried at the same time. Then she leaned over Xanthus and kissed him too.

"Thank you," she whispered again, though she didn't know who she said it to or why. Perhaps she was thanking Caballus, or Bar, or the sky in general. Maybe she was thanking fate, thaking life, thanking everything, everything that had brought her to this moment.

This was all she had ever wanted.

The End

Author's Note: Thank you to all the readers that stuck with me to the end! I love you all! ^_^ I can honestly say that the reviews kept me with this project and helped me determine where I went with it. It was a fun journey. This is officially the tenth full-length novel I have finished, and I have hopes of publishing it one day. So thanks again, to everyone. :) My readers are what makes my writing so enjoyable!

Second of all, tell me what you think! What did you like? What didn't you like? What needs put in or taken out? Is there something that just didn't sit right with you? Be really honest about this, because now starts the editing process, and need all the input I can get! :D

Replies to unsigned reviews:

To Dee:

I'm glad you like Cal. ^_^ He's an awesome guy, I think, the sort of guy who don't get enough credit in fiction because they're so damn nice. ;) Nice guys ftw!

Thank you. I'm glad you liked Ardea's ending, because I too was going back and forth, back and forth, and I finally decided that the best thing for Ardea would be to remain single. While I'm sure she'll find someone for her eventually, she needs to find herself first. :)

No, it's not weird that you aren't Marcianus crazy. :) Marcianus has his bad and good attributes. I'm glad he doesn't appeal to everyone, because that means he's a mult-faceted character, and I wouldn't want a flat "gorgeous, talented, super smart" character that everyone would have to love. It's good to know he has flaws. And I think he may get better with Daciana with him. She'll tame him, I bet. ;)

Thanks so much!

And thank you to everyone! I HUG YOU ALL!