Mother of Souls: A novel of Alpennia

by Jones, Heather Rose

  “Then you aren’t going back to Rome?”

  Briefly, Serafina’s face looked bleak and worried. “I can’t. Paolo would never forgive me now. Not for leaving him. Not for finding my magic without him.” She shook her head, not in negation but like a bird settling its feathers. “I don’t belong there. I don’t know if I belong anywhere.” She’d said something like that before, but this time there was no bitterness. “Maybe that doesn’t matter. For now, I plan to stay.”

  Coda

  Late September, 1825

  High in the mountains to the east and south of Alpennia, a warm wind caressed the icy passes and kissed the snow-choked valleys. For three years winter had held dominion beyond its proper reach. Now silver threads tumbled down from the heights. The melt gathered in rivulets; rivulets turned to streams; streams fed rivers. The Esikon, the Tupe and the Innek fed the Rotein in turn. The tributaries of the great river swelled and grew as they flowed through Eskor and Chalanz and Rokefels. And in Rotenek, the water began to rise, climbing the steps at the Nikuleplaiz one by one.

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