“I’m fine,” Neve said quietly. “I’m fine.”
Raffe’s lips pressed together, unsure of how to follow the tangling thread of this conversation, but before he could try, Red turned her face from Eammon’s chest. “We took care of it,” she said decisively. “The Kings, the Shadowlands, the Wilderwood. All of it. It’s gone.” She looked behind them, at the forest—still standing but empty, drained of all the magic it had held. Her lip went between her teeth, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.
Behind her, Eammon’s eyes widened, his shoulders sagging slightly even as his arms stayed wrapped around Red. He looked down at his hand on her waist as if he’d never seen it before.
“Gone?” This from the pretty woman next to the red-haired man, her delicate brows drawn together in confusion. Fawn-colored eyes flicked from Red to the man beside her, to his arm, like she was looking for something. “Fife, what you took… you mean all of it…”
“All of it.” Neve’s voice still sounded quiet, whispery. All that screaming followed by death had left her throat raw. “We…” But there was no easy way to explain what they’d done, souls turned to apples and dashed on the ground, people become reliquaries. “We took care of it,” she said simply, echoing her sister.
The woman’s brow creased, lips pursing. “I still feel…” She trailed off, her fingers twitching at her side. Again, that spangling of the air, like currents of light ran just behind a veil.
The man at her side looked at her with his mouth pressed flat. Neve couldn’t tell whether he saw the light or not. “What do you feel, Lyra?”
But the woman—Lyra—just shook her head. Still, when her hand dropped, her brow remained furrowed.
Raffe stood up straight, regaining himself now that there was a problem to solve, something to concentrate on other than him and Neve and the unnavigable space between them. “So what does that mean for us? For… everything?”
Such a large thing, such a far-reaching question. Red glanced at Neve, inclined her head. You’re the oldest, the look seemed to say. You answer the questions.
Neve didn’t really know how to do that. But she took a deep breath and tried. “We don’t know,” she began. “But I think… I think magic is here again. In the world, like it was before.”
The atmosphere glinted, an agreement. Could everyone else sense it, too? Or just a few of them, like it had been so long ago?
There will always be people who can access more power, and they will always use it to evil ends.
She clenched her teeth. How much of that had been Arick, feeling phantoms of guilt from the life he’d lived, and how much of it had been the magic speaking through him? Neve wanted to believe they’d done the right thing. She wanted to believe that people could be good, that atoning was possible.
You are good.
Her eyes lifted. Solmir was still there, just a smudge against the snow. Ignored for now, the shock of everything else smoothing over his arrival. She didn’t know how long that would last, and once it wore off, it probably wouldn’t be safe for him to be here. He knew that—the brawl with Eammon made it clear.
And yet he stayed. Making sure she was all right.
You are good.
“It will be like it was before the Shadowlands were made,” Neve continued, keeping her eyes on Solmir. “Where it’s free. Where anyone who can sense it can learn to use it.”
Lyra nodded. Almost subconsciously, her fingers twitched by her side again.
The other woman with the long black hair stepped forward, her face set like she’d decided something. “I’m Okada Kayu.” Then she stuck out her hand, lips in a firm line, as if she expected to be rebuffed.
Okada. Neve remembered the surname. She took Kayu’s proffered hand, inclined her head in the way one royal did to another. “You’re next in line,” she said simply. Something was starting to fill in, the final blanks finding their answers.
Kayu nodded jerkily, then stopped, like the agreement had been premature. “Or, I would be. But I’m the Third Daughter of the Emperor, and an Order priestess—novice, I mean.” Her brows drew together. “Though I don’t think I’m that anymore, either. Since I helped kill the High Priestess.”
Neve’s eyes went wide. Kiri. Dead. Something both relieved and sorrowful plucked at her chest. “I see.”
More pieces falling into place. She almost had it, almost knew what this final act would be. The poem in Tiernan’s book she’d burned held the answer, if she could just remember it.