Morganna looked delightful in her red velvet dress, white leggings, and shiny black shoes. A wreath made from violet everscent blossoms encircled the crown of her head. As Morganna and Shailiha approached, Tristan realized how much the child was starting to look like her grandmother. Walking up the dais steps, Shailiha and Morganna came to stand beside Tristan. The prince looked at the betrothal couple and smiled.
As Traax and Duvessa approached, one by one the Minion warriors lining the petal-strewn path clicked their heels. It was an impressive display, meant to honor the union that was about to take place. When Traax and Duvessa reached Tristan, they knelt before theirJin’Sai. Tristan again looked to the parchment that outlined the traditional Minion service.
“You may exchange tokens,” he said to them.
Shailiha placed the two pins into Morganna’s hand. They were the same two that Duvessa and Traax had exchanged earlier, when he had first asked that they be joined. Like the warriors who were about to be married, the pins had been through much, but they had survived.
“Come along now,” Shailiha whispered to Morganna.
As the princess ushered her daughter toward the happy couple, Morganna seemed a little afraid. She stared wide-eyed at Traax and Duvessa as she tentatively offered up the pins. The warriors gently took them from the little girl’s grasp.
Duvessa gave Morganna a wink. “Well done,” she whispered.
For the first time since entering the Great Hall, Morganna giggled. As Shailiha escorted her daughter back to their places, Duvessa and Traax looked up at theirJin’Sai.
Tristan looked into their eyes. “You may begin,” he said.
Traax snapped open his wings and gently surrounded Duvessa with them. They again exchanged betrothal pins like they had done the first time. No longer needing the parchment, Tristan rolled it up and handed it to Wigg.
“You are now mates for life,” Tristan said. “May the Afterlife watch over you, and grant you a happy and fruitful union.”
With that, all sense of decorum vanished. Everyone deluged the happy couple, and the sounds of laughter and applause filled the air. Bottles were uncorked, and glasses were filled and raised in what would soon become toast upon toast. Tristan joyfully embraced Traax and Duvessa.
As it happened, Rafe and Ox had been standing beside each other during the ceremony. It was rare to see emotion overtake a Minion warrior, but Rafe noticed that Ox’s eyes had become shiny. Realizing that this was too delicious an opportunity to pass up, Rafe reached into one pocket to produce a frantically patterned highlander handkerchief. He elbowed Ox in the ribs and handed it to him. As Ox scowled and took it, Rafe could hardly keep from laughing.
“What this be for?” Ox demanded.
“It’s meant to dry your eyes with, you dunce!” Rafe said. “It’s the least I could do in your time of need! But I thought big Minion warriors like you weren’t supposed to cry!”
As he growled some ancient Minion epithet and blinked maddeningly, Ox scowled again and shoved the ridiculous handkerchief back into Rafe’s hands.
Two weeks had passed since the taking of the Recluse. Three of the four Black Ships had been too badly damaged to sail. But given enough time and care, they would be repaired and brought home. TheEphyra was still seaworthy. She and Faegan’s portal had returned everyone to Eutracia except for several Minion phalanxes ordered to stay behind and complete the repairs to the Recluse and the fleet.
The fight for the castle had been successful, but costly. Luckily, every Conclave member had survived. Some had suffered wounds, none of which had been life-threatening. Many of Tristan’s warriors had died, and nearly half of Rafe’s horsemen. But even the highlanders agreed that the struggle had been worth it.
On Tristan’s return, the Clan Kilbourne elders had demanded three thousand uninhabited acres of prime timber and grazing land northwest of Hartwick Wood. Wigg and Faegan had cringed when they heard about it. But a deal was a deal, and Tristan had gladly agreed. The needed papers had been drawn up and signed by Tristan and the camp elders.
Spells of forgetfulness had been placed into the minds of the surviving Valrenkian adults, and Tristan had ordered that they be taken to the Tammerland debtors’ prison, to serve life sentences with Lothar and his guards. After much discussion, it was decided that the best place for the Valrenkian children was the Tammerland orphanage, where they could become wards of the state while they awaited adoption. Word had it that many had already found good homes.
The Conclave mystics were still at a loss to understand what had happened to Serena and Clarice. All they knew for certain was that the Vagaries queen and her infant daughter were dead. The Scroll of the Vagaries had been recovered and was now safely ensconced in the Redoubt. Despite a thorough search, no trace of the formula used to bring Clarice back to life had been found, but scores of priceless Vagaries texts and scrolls had been recovered.
Tristan looked around the room. He found the celebration bittersweet, as he knew everyone secretly did. Tonight he would leave by Minion litter for the azure pass. Once there, he would use the Forestallment granted him by the Envoys to take him back to Crysenium.
As requested by the Envoys, his blood signature lean had been painstakingly altered to the vertical by Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay. The process had been agonizing, but he seemed to suffer no ill aftereffects. He needed to go, for Crysenium was where his destiny lay. But the fact that he might never return still haunted him.
Wigg and Shailiha were especially depressed about his imminent departure. For that reason he had decided to take them as far as the pass. During his final Conclave meeting, he had made it abundantly clear that in his absence Shailiha would rule not just the Conclave, but the Minions and all of Eutracia, as well.
This celebration is as much a farewell for me as it is a wedding ceremony for Duvessa and Traax, he thought. After tonight, will I see this palace or any of these people ever again?
Just then Wigg walked up. After taking a sip of wine he looked Tristan in the eyes. The Paragon twinkled brightly as it lay against the wizard’s chest. Wigg’s expression was sad, searching.
“I know this is somewhat premature,” Wigg began. “But I just wanted to say that-”
Tristan quickly held up one hand. “I know,” he replied quietly as he looked into the old wizard’s aquamarine eyes. “I will never forget you, either.”
Wigg was about to speak again when a group of about forty men approached. They were of varying ages, and some had young girls and boys accompanying them. Each one reverently went to his knees and bowed his head before Tristan and Wigg. Tristan looked knowingly at the First Wizard, then back at them.
“Do not kneel before us,” Tristan said. “Please rise. All is forgiven.”
One of the men walked forward. He looked into Wigg’s eyes.
“On behalf of us all, we wish to thank you and theJin’Sai for saving us,” he said. “We owe you our lives, and the lives of our children.”
“No apology is needed, Nathan,” Wigg answered. “It is to the Vigors’ benefit that you and your fellow consuls have been returned to the fold.”
With tears in her eyes, Mallory approached. She curtsied toward Tristan and then toward Wigg.
“Thank you for bringing my father back to the Vigors,” she said. “I thought I had lost him forever.”
Things have come full circle, Tristan thought as he looked at the talented Fledgling. So much has changed, yet so much remains the same.
With the return of the Conclave to Tammerland, it was decided to try to bring the traitorous consuls back into the fold. Because the lean of their blood signatures had been so drastically altered, the Conclave mystics suspected that moving them rightward would be a long and painful process for the consuls to endure. They had been right.
It had taken two weeks of arduous work, but it had been worth it. Just as Adrian was the First Sister of the Acolyte order, the newly restored Consular order would now need a First Consul. Although he had yet to be told, the Conclave had unanimously voted to grant Nathan the post. Consuls in dark blue robes were finally prowling the Redoubt once more. But now they shared the underground labyrinth with the acolytes.
Feeling the need to be alone, Tristan excused himself. He walked across the floor, then went through one of the doors and onto the stone patio that surrounded the Great Hall. After a time he heard the sounds of boot heels. Without turning around, he knew that Tyranny was approaching.
