Catching up to Lady Neria wasn’t a challenge. With the wind artificially at their back, Pirin and Gray soared over the swatch of frantically retreating Dominion soldiers, seeking out his one target in particular. Myraden rode along below, fortifying Kythen’s body and helping him run faster.

  Finding Lady Neria was the harder part, but even then, it wasn’t difficult. She rode among a cluster of armoured ostal, but she herself wore on armour—only a flowing white coat and a green sash.

  “There she is,” Pirin said to Gray.

  This shouldn’t be a challenge, Gray replied.

  On Pirin’s command, they dove toward Lady Neria. He targeted the ground in front of her convoy with a Winged Fist, then, when he was in range, he blasted the ground, launching the horses off the ground and flinging the riders out of their saddles—including Lady Neria.

  From behind, Myraden flung a crimson arc into the remaining riders, taking them down in a single blow.

  Lady Neria, trapped under her the mass of her dead horse, thrashed and writhed. She sputtered mindless obscenities and threats.

  Pirin and Myraden both hopped up onto the horse’s body and looked down at her. Myraden pointed her spear at the woman’s chest, and Pirin pointed his sword at her throat. “Surrender,” he said, “and we will show you mercy.”

  She’d caused so much trouble. If it hadn’t been for her, Nomad would still be alive. Thousands of Sirdians soldiers and civilians would still be alive, and thousands of innocent Dominion conscripts would be too.

  He didn’t want to show mercy, but they needed to show people what happened to the likes of Lady Neria.

  “You will be taken back to Ostanor,” Myraden said, “where you will be tried for your crimes.”

  They’d discussed what they were going to do before they took off after her. Pirin kept his sword at her throat. “Try anything, I mean anything, and you will die.”

  Lady Neria spat another curse, then thrust her hands down. She pulled a dagger out from the inside of her coat, holding it in a reverse grip, and aimed for Myraden’s foot.

  Before she could stab, both Myraden and Pirin drove their weapons into Lady Neria, killing her on the spot.

  ~ ~ ~

  For the next few hours, Pirin flew high above the battlefield, cleaning up straggling Dominion soldiers, or pockets of zealots who refused to surrender no matter what. They captured any soldiers who remained in the city and killed any who wouldn’t surrender. Once the city—inner and outer—was firmly under their control, Pirin returned to the battlefield down below.

  He hadn’t seen Chancellor Ivescent, but everyone, even Myraden, had said he was with them. He hadn’t bowed out; he’d led the charge.

  Bodies of Dominion conscripts, soldiers, horses, Aerdians, and Sirdians all lay strewn in the mud and snow, staining it red. The river was slippery with blood, but it was freezing as the day grew later, and a light snowfall was falling.

  Pirin still felt refreshed after his advancement to Wildflame, almost giddy, but the sight of the carnage put a slight damper on that.

  Finally, after a half-hour of searching, a call rang out across the field. In a low dip in the ground, a group of Sirdian soldiers waved their arms. Pirin sprinted over to them. A cluster of Sirdians lay dead or wounded in a dip. Civilians with rags over their mouths hauled away the injured to the city, where they’d be treated as best as they could.

  Pirin vowed to help out as soon as he could.

  But first, he needed to see what the commotion was.

  He scrambled down the side of the dip and slid down to the bottom, where a pair of soldiers knelt beside a body. Silver armour, blue cloak, long hair going gray. It was Chancellor Ivescent. An arrow poked out his chest, and another out his shoulder.

  He didn’t move anymore. Pirin knelt beside him, shook him a few times, but he didn’t move. His body didn’t exert any spiritual pressure; his soul was long gone. He was dead.

  Pirin fell back on his hands. He didn’t cry or weep—he’d spent most of his tears for Nomad—but Ivescent didn’t deserve nothing, either. “In the end, a good man…” Pirin whispered.

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  Myraden approached from behind. “Do you think he knows?”

  “Knows?”

  “That we won.”

  Pirin pursed his lips. “No. I don’t think he does. I don’t think he was meant to know, and he finally realized that. He led the charge, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Pirin stood up, then shook the snow off his hands. “I need to get back to the city. There’s still so much work to do.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Pirin worked with the healers late into the evening, scrambling around the palace complex to help the injured. He deployed the remains of his healing knowledge of herbs and bandaging, of suturing and binding broken bones, to stabilize injured soldiers and civilians. He didn’t sit down once, and the exhaustion of the day was catching up with him. Though he’d refilled a portion of his Essence, and was using it to keep his enhanced body upright, he just needed to rest.

  But that could wait until they didn’t need his help.

  The clouds over the city dispersed, and magenta moonslight poured through, mixing with the torchlight and filling the cavernous halls of the palace. Pirin darted between rows of bedrolls and injured soldiers, making one more pass of the main hall to see where his help was most needed.

  When he reached the other side, a gentle hand settled down on his shoulder. Myraden.

  “Pirin,” she said, “there is nothing more you can do. The other healers and surgeons will handle it, and you look like you’re about to fall over on your feet.”

  He was about to argue, but she was right. There were still surgeons looking after them, and they’d stabilized everyone they could. He nodded, then pulled off the apron he’d borrowed and set it down on a table.

  “I’m going to get cleaned up,” he said. “If you want, I’m sure my old room is still open. There’s plenty of room.”

  ~ ~ ~

  When Pirin returned from the bathhouse, he’d washed off all the blood and grime of the day. He’d transitioned from exhaustion to that awkward, overtired feeling of needing to move, an anxious soreness in his limbs.

  In a simple, fresh coat and pants, he returned to his old room near the top of the palace. A hearth blazed, heating it, and the frosty windows provided a glimpse of the city below. Lights were returning to the buildings, and civilians scoured the streets, cleaning up debris.

  “Tomorrow,” Pirin said, “I’m going to help those guys.”

  Myraden smiled. She sat on the corner of the bed, wringing out her hair. Casually, she said, “I love you, Pirin. That attitude—please do not lose it.”

  “I’ll try.” He dropped down on the bed beside her, then flopped down on his back and stared up at the ceiling so he didn’t have to worry about what was happening outside. “No, I promise. I’ll do the best I can.”

  “I know you will.” She wrung her fingers together. “At some point, you will have to consider politics, not just helping people.”

  “But helping people comes first. Then I can worry about the political situation. And hey, I thought I wasn’t supposed to be worrying about that right now.”

  “You are not.” She dropped down beside him, laying on her stomach, then planted a kiss on his cheek. “Perhaps you are not…too tired?” She wrapped an arm around his waist and brushed her hip against his.

  He grinned. He’d have to be pretty dense to not take the hint. “I think I can stay awake a little longer.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Pirin was late.

  It’d been a few weeks after the battle, and he was due at an island in the far north. He’d left late, having been busy with the restoration of Northvel and taking care of its people, with resettling the refugees back in the farms and villages they’d fled from.

  But as a king, he had ceremonial duties too.

  For a week, the Featherflight flew over the ice floes north of the Elven continent, approaching a small island to the far north. The airship was fast, and especially with Pirin pushing from behind and Myraden holding the sails steady, they could travel faster than otherwise possible.

  They approached a speck of gravel and stone. It was only about a mile from side-to-side, but its sharp peak was enough to keep it visible among the crashing, gnashing icebergs.

  The Featherflight landed on the island’s southern coast—a plain of gravel sheltered by rock spikes and banks.

  Pirin and Myraden jumped down to the shore and sprinted along the coast, wrapping around to the north. He let her lead, because she seemed to know where she was going, and he definitely didn’t.

  Besides, by the sounds of it, she’d been here before.

  Farther up the shore were a set of cave entrances in the cliff wall. The central mountain was porous rock, with plenty of holes and entrances.

  Only one of the entrances glowed. Torchlight spilled out onto the shore, even in the midday, and a procession of onlookers stood within the slippery stone confines of the cave. As soon as they approached, Myraden let Pirin lead, and the crowd parted for him.

  He entered the cave. Pillars of sandstone lined the walls, and between them stood blocks of ice. Within each block of ice was a copper bier and a body. Most wore ceremonial armour or robes of some sort, with no sign of injuries, but they were dead.

  The most important heroes of the elves were buried here, encased in ice and left as monuments to the future. The father Pirin looked in the cave, the father he looked back in time.

  Right next to him were two open, fresh biers, with two fresh bodies laying atop them. Chancellor Ivescent and Nomad. Both wore ceremonial armour to hide their wounds. They stared peacefully up at the ceiling, faces empty of life. Nomad’s racoon cat lay on his chest, curled up and lifeless as well.

  Beside them, encased in ice, was a face Pirin recognized from his memories. Kalénier. The man, long dead, was preserved perfectly. In the alcove beside him was a middle-aged, blonde sprite who bore an uncanny resemblance to Myraden. Perhaps that was her father.

  The traditions dictated silence within the caves, and Pirin didn’t even dare to breathe. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, then thought, Thank you, all of you. I won’t let you down.