Magnus smiled sheepishly. “The walls are already going up. If you look out there, to the left, you can see them.”
“So this has already been settled on?” she asked, pretending to sound indignant.
“While certainly no one,” Nimbus replied deftly, “least of all those present here—would ever ask any more of you two, and while you have earned a long and well-deserved rest, I was confident you would not abandon your empress, or the empire you fought so hard to establish.”
“Where’s the guildhall to be?” Hadrian asked.
Magnus pointed. “Across the square from the Cenzarium, of course. Just like in the old city.”
“At least we will be close neighbors,” Hadrian said.
“We can have lunches together.” Arista grinned at him.
“And in between them will be a fountain and statue of Alric, Wyatt, and Elden,” Modina explained.
“Well?” Hadrian asked her.
Arista narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “You’re replacing yourself with us, aren’t you?” she asked Nimbus.
“Yes, you are to be the seeds of a new grand council.”
“At least you’re honest. All right,” she said, and then glared at Magnus. “But I will be the one to decorate the interior of the Cenzarium. I’ve seen dwarven tastes and it isn’t conducive to the Art.”
Magnus scoffed and grumbled something under his breath.
The door to the palace opened and Royce stepped out. “Hadrian, do you know where—” Royce stopped the instant he saw Nimbus, a look of shock on his face.
“Royce?” Hadrian asked.
Royce said nothing but continued to stare at the wigged chancellor.
“Oh, that’s right,” Modina said. “You’ve never met Nimbus, have you?”
“Yes—yes, I have,” Royce said. He stepped forward, approaching the chancellor. “I thought you were dead.”
“No,” Nimbus replied. “I’m still alive, my dear friend.”
Everyone looked at them, confused.
“But how?”
“Does it matter?”
“I came back,” Royce told him. “I tried to free you. I tried to save you, but Ambrose told me…”
“I know, but I wasn’t the one who needed to be freed, and I wasn’t the one you needed to save.”
The morning arrived bright and clear. Golden sunlight slanted across Amberton Lee, casting shadows marking the growing city that spread out like a newly planted field of hope. In the valley, a low mist, like a white cloud, shrouded the twisting Bernum River and the air was still and quiet even on the hilltop.
Modina was already up. She wrapped a cape over her shoulders and headed out to the porch. She found Royce sitting there, his feet dangling from the side, watching the girls as they raced down the dewy hillside, chasing after Mr. Rings.
“You realize you’re taking one of my favorite girls from me,” she said.
He nodded. “I made Lord Wymarlin of the Eilywin tribe steward and gave him orders to set Erivan on a peaceful footing. I’ve left them alone too long and need to check on his progress.” Royce looked out at the girls. “Besides, I don’t want her growing up only knowing half the story. I need to learn it too. I have to cross the Nidwalden where no man has ever set foot, see Estramnadon and the First Tree. Three thousand years seems impossibly long now, but one day… It will be better if both sides became friendlier neighbors, I think. They aren’t ready to embrace men, and men aren’t prepared to welcome them yet, but in time… maybe.
“I’ve asked a number of those with mixed blood to pack their belongings and meet me at Avempartha. There aren’t many of us left now—a shame, as they could make perfect ambassadors—a foot in each world, as it were. They can be bridges for the future. We’ll start there, and then I’ll send them back here. Perhaps one day we’ll see an actual bridge across the Nidwalden with carts going both ways.” He pointed at the two girls. “That is the start of it, the heir of one throne and the heir of the other chasing an overgrown rodent together.”
Hadrian and Arista came out to the porch. They took up seats beside Royce and nodded good-morning greetings.
“Just make sure you take good care of her,” Modina said.
“Believe me—no harm will come to that little girl so long as I live.”
Hadrian laughed suddenly and Modina and Arista turned to him.
“What?” Arista asked.
“Sorry, but I just got a vision in my mind of Mercedes’s poor would-be suitors. Can you imagine the courage of the lad capable of asking him for her hand?”
They all laughed except Royce, whose face darkened as he muttered, “Suitors? I never really thought—”
Hadrian slapped Royce on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you with your gear.”
Royce finished loading the last saddlebag onto a packhorse the grooms had brought out. He once again checked the cinches of the pony Mercedes would ride. He was not about to trust the security of her saddle to anyone.
Myron was there, petting the horses’ noses and saying a blessing over them. When he caught Royce watching, he smiled and said one over the new king as well. “Goodbye, Royce. I’m so pleased to have met you. Do you remember what we talked about at the Winds Abbey the last time we were there?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Royce’s mouth. “Everyone deserves a little happiness.”
“Yes, never forget that. Oh, and if you find any books across the Nidwalden, bring them the next time you visit. I’d love to learn more about the elves.”
“So this is goodbye,” Hadrian said as he and Arista came down the palace steps hand in hand.
“You’ll finally be rid of me,” Royce told him.
“You’ll be visiting again soon, won’t you?” Arista asked.
He nodded and smiled. “I doubt they have Montemorcey on the other side of the river. I only have room to bring a few bottles.”
“Then I will be sure to always have it on hand,” Arista told him. In her hands, she held out the Horn of Gylindora. “It’s supposed to go with the ruler of the elves.”
“Thanks.”
“No escort for the king?” Hadrian asked, looking around.
“They are meeting us at the crossroads at the bottom of the hill beyond the forest. I didn’t want them staring at me while we said goodbye.”
He took Arista’s hand and placed Hadrian’s on top of it. “I am officially turning him over to you. He’s your problem now. You’ll have to watch out for him and that won’t be easy. He’s naive, gullible, immature, horribly unsophisticated, ignorant about anything worth knowing, and idealistic to a fault.” He paused to make a show of thinking harder. “He’s also indecisive, pathetically honest, a horrible liar, and too virtuous for words. He gets up twice each night to relieve himself, wads his clothes rather than folds them, chews with his mouth open, and talks with his mouth full. He has a nasty habit of cracking his knuckles every morning at breakfast, and, of course, he snores. To remedy that, just put a rock under his blanket.”