The Magician King

Julia turned her head and smiled at him, her beautiful unearthly smile. He felt free. He’d thought he would carry his share of that unhappiness for the rest of his life. Now, suddenly, he had shed it when he least expected it, and he felt like he was going to float up into the air. He had atoned, that was the word for it.

Julia took both his hands in hers and kissed him on the mouth, a long kiss, full at last of something like real love. Demi-goddess or no, at that moment she seemed fully herself to him in a way she hadn’t for years, not since their last day together in Brooklyn, when both their lives had been changed beyond recognition. Whatever losses she’d suffered, this was Julia, all of her. And Quentin felt pretty whole now too.

She stepped up to the doorway, but she didn’t kneel. She straightened and squared herself like an Olympic diver and then, disdaining the ladder, she dove off the edge, straight down, and disappeared.

When she was gone the beach was a little darker.

It was over and done with at last. He was ready for the curtain to come down. He wasn’t looking forward to the all-night slog back to the Muntjac, and God knew how they were going to get home from there. Surely there must be some trick, some more magic lying around somewhere that would enable them to skip over that part. Maybe Ember would come.

“Where’s the damn Cozy Horse when you need it?” Josh must have been thinking the same thing.

“And how should Quentin pay?” the Customs Agent said. She was speaking to the man in the black suit.

Suddenly Quentin felt less tired.

“What do you mean?” he said. They were whispering again.

“Hang on,” Eliot said. “That’s not how it works.”

“It is,” said the man, “how it works. Julia’s debt is now upon Quentin, and he must settle it. What is it that Quentin holds most dear?”

“Well,” Quentin said, “I’m already not going to the Far Side.”

Brilliant. He should have been a lawyer. A thought froze him: they were going to take Poppy. Or do something to her. He was afraid to even look at her in case it gave them ideas.

“His crown,” Elaine announced. “I am sorry, Quentin. As of this moment you are no longer a king of Fillory.”

“You exceed your authority,” Eliot said hotly.

Quentin had been braced for devastation, but when it came he didn’t feel anything at all. That was what they were taking, and they would take it. Had taken it. He didn’t feel any different. It was all very abstract, kingliness, in the end. He supposed what he would miss most was his big, quiet bedroom at Castle Whitespire. He faced the others, but none of them looked at him any differently. He took a deep breath.

“Well,” he said stupidly. “Easy come.”

That was the end of Quentin the Magician King, just like that. He was somebody else now. It was a silly thing to be sad about, really. For God’s sake they’d just saved magic, saved all their lives. Julia had found her peace. They had finished the quest. He hadn’t lost, he’d won.

Elaine and the man in the suit had resumed their stations, on their chairs, like a pair of seated caryatids. Job well done. God, he couldn’t believe he’d flirted with her back on the Outer Island. She wasn’t so different from her father, in the end.

He had high hopes for her daughter, anyway.

“Give my best to Eleanor,” he said.

“Oh, Eleanor,” Elaine said in the dismissive tone she reserved for her daughter. “She still talks about the time you picked her up, how far she could see. You made quite an impression on her.”

“She’s a sweet girl.”

“Can’t tell time yet. Do you know, she’s absolutely obsessed with Earth now? She asked me to send her away to school there, and I’m sorely tempted to do it, I can tell you. I’m counting the days.”

Good for Eleanor, Quentin thought. She was getting off the Outer Island. She would be all right.

“Imagine that,” he said. “When she’s old enough for college, drop me a line. I might be able to recommend one.”

It was time to go.

The sea was no longer empty. Something was coming toward them across it: it was Ember, late as usual, trotting neatly across the skim of water. Wouldn’t be like Him to miss a good dethroning.

“So,” Quentin said. “Back to the Muntjac? Or?” Maybe the magic sheep would be good for a ride home. He really did hope so. Ember took His place by Eliot’s side.

“Not for you, Quentin,” He said.

And then Eliot did something Quentin had never seen him do before, even after everything they’d been through together. He sobbed. He turned away and walked a few steps down the beach with his back to them, arms crossed, head down.

“It is a dark day for Fillory,” Ember said, “but you will always be remembered here. And all good things must come to an end.”

“Wait a minute.”

Quentin recognized this little speech. It was the canned farewell that Ember delivered in the books, every time He did what He did best, which was to kick visitors out of Fillory at the end.

“I don’t understand. Look, enough is enough.”

“Yes, Quentin, enough is enough. It is exactly that.”

“I’m sorry, Quentin.” Eliot couldn’t look at him. He took a rattling breath. “There’s nothing I can do. It’s always been the rule.”

Fortunately Eliot had a gorgeous embroidered handkerchief to blot his eyes with. He’d probably never had to use it before.

“For God’s sake!” Quentin might as well get angry, there was nothing else left to do. “You can’t send me back to Earth, I live here now! I’m not some schoolkid who has to get back in time for curfew or fifth form or whatever, I’m a fucking grown-up. This is my home! I’m not from Earth anymore, I’m a Fillorian!”

Ember’s face was impassive beneath His massive stony horns. They curled back from His woolly forehead, ribbed like ancient seashells.

“No.”

“This isn’t how it ends!” Quentin said. “I am the hero of this goddamned story, Ember! Remember? And the hero gets the reward!”

“No, Quentin,” the ram said. “The hero pays the price.”

Eliot put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder.

“You know what they say,” Eliot said. “Once a king in Fillory, always—”

“Save it.” Quentin shook him off. “Save it. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

He sighed. “I guess I do.”

Eliot had himself back under control now. He held something out, small and pearly, pinched in his handkerchief.

“It’s a magic button. Ember brought it. It will take you to the Neitherlands. You can travel back to Earth from there, or wherever you want to go. It just won’t take you back here.”

“I can hook you up, Quentin!” Josh said, trying to sound cheerful. “Seriously, I practically own the Neitherlands now. You want Teletubbies? I’ll draw you a map!”

“Oh, forget it.” He still felt angry. “Come on. Let’s go back to our home fucking planet.”

It was all over. He always hated these parts, even when they were just stories, even when they weren’t about him. He would think about the future soon. It wouldn’t be that bad. He and Josh could live in Venice. And Poppy. It wouldn’t be bad at all. It was just that he felt like he’d just had a limb severed, and he was looking down at the stump waiting to start bleeding to death.

“We aren’t coming, Quentin,” Poppy said. She was standing by Eliot.

“We’re staying,” Josh said. Even in the cold and the darkness, Quentin could see him blushing furiously. “We’re not going back.”

“Oh, Quentin!” He’d never seen Poppy look so upset, not even when they were freezing to death. “We can’t go! Fillory needs us. With you and Julia gone there are two empty thrones. One king, one queen. We have to take them.”