and laughed. 'Ah, Nicholas,' she shouted, and threw herself against him, her arms locked around his back.
He kissed her once, twice, unable to stop until Taranis cleared his mighty throat in what sounded like a muted roar. Nicholas released her, stepped back, and raised his head to the heavens. He spoke in a voice that shook the very rocks of the fortress. 'Sarimund! She saved the boy who is your son. I paid my debt. Epona is dead. You heard Taranis, now Egan will rule over the Pale as it was meant to happen.
'All will be different now, all will proceed now in the Pale on a very fine path indeed.'
He nodded, as if hearing a reply. He looked back at his wife and smiled at her. 'Do you hear the rumbling? It is time for us to leave. The boy is now a man. It is time for the change to come.' He gave her a crooked grin. 'As much as I would like to, I cannot meet him. What would happen were the two of us to come face-to-face? I do not know and I don't want to know.'
Nicholas lifted her onto Taranis's back. The dragon lifted into the sky above Blood Rock and hovered. He sang to them.
A new season for the Pale, A new life force to leaven the plains, A calm darkness to bless the nights. And wisdom to light the spirit.
As they rose higher, they watched as the fortress began to tumble in on itself. Black rocks began to crash down the side of Mount Olyvan, the sound like mad thunder, deafening them. The turrets tumbled, the arches split asunder, the air was thick with rubble and dirt.
They watched until Blood Rock was no more, until the top of Mount Olyvan stood quite bare. Slowly, they saw Mount Olyvan begin to green, wildflowers spring up, bushes with incredible color begin to cover the mountain. There were yellow Sillow trees spouting from the very rock itself, glowing bright.
'Ah, the new kingdom,' Taranis sang, 'and a new leader for our land.' And they watched a white fortress build itself, the stones fitting themselves together, rising into the air to great heights, brilliant white turrets springing upward, gleaming beneath a new sun that glistened over all the land.
Banners flew from the ramparts. They were white with three pale yellow moons covering them. They fluttered in a soft wind.
The air smelled different. It smelled whole.
They saw Belenus and Sarimund walk out of the vast white palace, onto the ramparts. They were speaking to each other. Another man appeared, a beautiful man, a young man, and he stood there, until Sarimund held out his arms to him. Prince Egan walked quickly to him and they embraced. Sarimund raised his head to look up at them. He smiled.
Rosalind heard him say clearly in her mind, 'I thank you for saving my son, Isabella. Egan rules now. He is good. If ever you need me, you have but to call. My lord, your debt is paid. All thank you. Captain Jared Vail thanks you. Go home, Isabella, go home.'
Taranis hallowed once more and raised himself straight up. 'Hold tightly,' he sang to them, and flew straight up directly toward a sun the color of a ripe lemon. They looked down to see the land below become smaller and smaller, then disappear. The air was warm, like swirling silk sliding off their flesh.
All was brilliant and calm, the air so clear they could see through the gems that studded Taranis's back.
Rosalind heard singing-soft, compelling, a woman's voice, and it sounded familiar. It was her mother's voice. She saw a man's face, her father, and he was nodding at her, smiling, his arms open.
She felt Nicholas's arms tighten around her waist, felt his warm breath on her neck. She leaned back against his chest She felt calm, at peace.
Was that Taranis singing to them?
Then neither Nicholas nor Rosalind knew anything more
Epilogue
San Savaro, Italy
They heard cheering.
Their carriage rolled over the cobblestone streets into the sun-baked capital city of San Savaro. Crowds lined the streets, yelling and clapping, waving at them. Behind the crowds were shops and cafes, small parks, horses tethered to posts, carriages next to drays. And flowers everywhere, trellised, in huge pots, in small window boxes, growing out of every spot of green. The colors and the scents were overwhelming.
'What is this?' Nicholas said, staring at all the people obviously welcoming them. 'Surely they must believe we are someone else.'
They'd left England a month after they'd awakened in their bed at Wyverly Chase to find Richard pacing the drawing room, his mother on his heels, yelling she wished to leave this house because that wretched ghost ignored her- her! -wouldn't even sing insults to her, wouldn't even tilt his chair to acknowledge her presence, and she was tired of her cursed stepson and that hussy of a wife of his lording it over them.
'But he is the earl,' Richard said, 'it is his right to lord it over us. He is Lord Mountjoy. The hussy is his wife. Accept it, Mother.'
Rosalind had said from the doorway, 'Madam, I imagine that our ghost has finally continued upon his chartered course. You see, there is no longer a reason for him to remain. Richard, everything will be all right now. All of us will be all right now. You may believe that.'
Richard Vail stared at her, then smiled, actually smiled at her, then he smiled at his half brother, a smile so much like Nicholas's that it nearly made her weep, and he said, 'Good. That's good.'
A sea change? she wondered. She heard Lancelot's sneering voice from the corridor. Perhaps it would be too much to expect a sea change in Lancelot.
'I cannot get over this,' Nicholas said now, staring at the crowds of people. 'They must believe we are visiting dignitaries.'
'Or perhaps they are expecting the Pope,' Rosalind said, and grinned at him. She hadn't told Nicholas she'd seen her father in the Pale, that her father had turned to look at her, and she'd known he'd seen her and known she was alive, and coming to him.
She looked up at the brilliant sun overhead and thought of the bright yellow sun in the Pale, and how Taranis had flown toward it, and then-simply nothing. How had they returned to Wyverly Chase to wake up in their own bed, still wearing their cloaks, still holding hands?
But they had. They'd also had some bumps and bruises and sore muscles. Rosalind's chest was a bit tender to the touch. Where Epona's knife had plunged into her.
The crowds thinned as their carriage, pulled by Grace and Leopold, nearly prancing what with all the attention they were getting, rolled out of the center of San Savaro. The cobblestone road widened and began to wind upward toward a crest upon which stood an immense yellow brick palazzo, the yellow as pale as a watery sun. As they drew closer, they saw that the entire length of the palazzo was showcased by a long row of magnificent Doric columns, surrounded by fountains spraying water high into the air from the mouths of nymphs and grinning satyrs. Ancient statuary stood in groups or alone on the grounds, and more huge pots of tumbling flowers than Nicholas had seen since they'd left their own gardens at Wyverly Chase dotted the green scythed lawn. It was elegant and graceful. Nicholas said, 'Do you remember?'
'Yes. It doesn't seem quite so big now, if you know what I mean.'
'No, not big at all,' he said, and kissed her ear.
Their carriage pulled up with a flourish, executed with great panache by their driver, Lee Po, who could do anything, he'd assured Rosalind. He allowed both Grace and Leopold to stamp their feet and snort.
To Nicholas's astonishment, standing at the top of the endlessly wide two dozen marble steps stood a line of people- two men, a woman, and three boys, young, all of them, Nicholas suspected, dressed in their finest. They were all waving madly.
He recognized Rosalind's mother immediately, and knew this was what Rosalind would look like in her older years. A beautiful woman, rounded and soft, with glowing skin, and that glorious red hair glistening beneath the hot Italian sun. She was wearing a green gown of the same style and color Rosalind had worn the previous day. She was holding a babe in her arms.
There was Rosalind's older brother, Raffaello, a tall, handsome young man who looked very familiar to
