by J M Robison
He looks at me, gaze skidding side-to-side across my face. “I don’t see how I can.”
“Pray tell, why not?”
The muscles pulse along his tight jaw.
“I shall save ye the trouble. Will ye come with me back to England? I have enemies and need more friends. Be mindful, I can’t pay ye, but I can provide a room and food. And, if ye find ye don’t like it, I shall bring ye back to Rome any time ye wish.”
“I…” He pushes air past tight lips, eyes fixing on the arch. “I suppose I could visit. I’m not leaving anything behind here, anyway.”
I grin. Clenching his tunic sleeve, I pull him through the arch.
Epilogue
Zadicayn
I’m still buttoning up my tunic when I enter the dining room. Levi burbles against Brynn’s chest, her dress already smeared with marmalade. Eudora slowly disappears under the tablecloth so she can sneak out to play with Henry. Joseara’s forehead slumps into her palm. Morning sickness. Darik buzzes around her, doing his level best to find something she can tolerate eating.
I missed my castle after we first moved into our wooden village house, but the yearning for drafty corridors, oil lanterns, and smelly garderobe, evaporated against a carpeted hallway, gas lamps, and a flushable toilet I’m still convinced is magicked.
I kiss Brynn before I settle into my chair, eating the corned beef and milk brought by Lorcrante who I’ve hired as my cook. Age is finding her quickly, though she’s told me it’s time for her. In Fae time, she’s over two million years old.
“I’m going to the Fae Realm,” I tell Brynn. “I need to talk to Life about something.”
“About what?”
I glance over to Joseara sipping on ginger tea. “I’ll tell ye when I return.” I grab my coat and leave.
I still use the back gate into the mountain to reach my castle on the other side. The Pope stayed true to his word. Eight months, and I have yet to be molested by the village constables. The exact opposite; they never come by for anything. My house could be on fire, and they’d hop the train to Bristol.
The birds haven’t moved back into the castle. I miss this fortress in the same way I still miss the loud parties in the Grand Hall, smashing goblets full of mead I was too young to drink, of bards immortalizing the tales of brave knights fighting under the pinions of their fealty lord. I will miss it still until I die. But I rather like the toilet in the water closet.
I allowed word of my existence to spread slowly, underground sly-like, like the Illuminati. Those who supported my magic before I banished myself to my castle six years ago were the first to arrive and express their profound relief of my freedom. These always ended with a, “My joints are aching, and the cod oil isn’t working. Do you think you could…?” or, “I want my grandfather clock moved downstairs, but I don’t trust anyone to manage it without breaking it. I hear you can lift heavy objects effortlessly…”
And so I’ve made money. A lot of money. Because where something could be done with hands, even more can be done with magic.
The tone around Valemorren changed, too; everyone is partaking of this “sin” and everyone knowing it but not speaking of it. My name spread to Bristol. And in London. I’ve had enough offers for work I could have never slept in my own bed for weeks at a time. But I want my family more, so I limit my long-distance travels to once a month. Everyone else must come to me.
A pegasus in the Fae Realm flies me to the mountain where the portal inside will take me to that singular point in space and time the Life Fae reside, which no man, god, or otherwise, can access unless expressly invited.
I cross the glass bridge and enter the dark tunnel, lines on the stone floor lighting up in response to the presence of my amulet. The lines lead me to the dark pit in the floor, and though I’ve stepped onto it many times, I still can’t get over the drop in my stomach as my blind senses warn I shall fall into its depths and not recover.
I put my boot over the edge and step down. A disc of light spreads out from where my boot makes contact, supporting my weight. The disc lowers into the pit.
I pass through Fae Loops encircling the circumference of the pit, and that tell-tale pop in my ears I’m familiar in knowing means I’m being relocated over a distance in the untraceable flash of a moment.
My disc sinks me into a vast illusion of gold scenery, constant motion flowing around me as illusioned trees become oceans, skies become caves and each creature who inhabits these roves around as if mindless to it all.
“Zadicayn, yoou call oon us?” say the collective female voices of all the creatures in this singular space and time.
“I do. I ask a boon.”
“Yoou ask tooo much. First too grant magiic untoo yoour daughter, and theen yoou giive oof yoourseelf too anoother whiich turned heer into a Fae Sorceereess wiithoout oour coonseent.”
This is an old argument, one I had with them when I first returned from Rome. I think I’m the first to get a hand under the control the Fae maintain over their magic, though I did it unintentionally.
“It’s all for the good of the Human Realm.” I display my hands as if to show them the very thing through my earnest. “I’m placing safeguards so ye shan’t have to concern yeselves with my realm. I’ll do that for thee.”
“Wee must coonceern ourselves with you. It’s yoour daughteer whoo toore thee fabriics of thee Faee Reealm.”
This is another old argument. The Fae refuse to accept the fact that they are the ones who allowed my daughter to make the spell that tore the realm’s fabric. I let old arguments dry up in my chest. “Ye art the mothers to thousands of worlds.” They insist on believing I gave Joseara my magic just to slight them, so I’ll use that to my advantage. “My world does not need to cry to thee for succor. I know its needs, and I am capable of fathering them until ye have time to care for it yeselves. Knowing the burden of my world on thee, I infused a trusted human with my magic, a mother to nurture for this world in thy place. Ye have seen for yeselves she has never caused harm with it. She’s the reason I am alive–yet again–because of the magic I gave her.”
I pause, giving the Fae time to further berate me, but they don’t, so I continue. “Joseara is with child. I ask that ye give my world more mothers, and grant Joseara’s child with Fae Magic, to continue that magic line until the end of days.”
The voices murmur as if speaking amongst themselves. I expect them to deliberate forever, but the individual voices shush and respond. “Wee shall doo thiis last thiing foor yoou.”
* * *
Aklen Whaerin was released from London’s dungeon four months ago, though still under the careful watch of the village constables. I had constructed my new home near his, back porches directly across and in full view of each other.
As often as I can, I stand on my back porch, waiting for the man to step out every morning with cigar in one hand, short glass of English alcohol in the other, and to frown so deeply at me I can see it across the field separating us, while I smile back at him.
And wave. But he never waves back.
As a welcome home gift when he returned from the dungeon in London, I gave him a Fae-made replica of the key he had used to keep me imprisoned for so long. I further personalized it by including his name on the Fae Wood.
He never sent me a “thank you” card.
He’s very rude.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Publishers and authors are always happy to exchange their book for an honest review. If you have obtained a copy of this book without purchase or from the publisher or author, please consider leaving a review on at your favorite ebook retailer, as reviews help authors market their work more effectively. Thank you.
ABOUT J.M. ROBISON
J.M. Robison is a fantasy historian who chronicles the events which force heroes to reveal their mistakes, lead rebellions to dethrone tyranny, and unearth ancient secrets to free the oppressed. She's quested over lands with the U.S. Army and now works for the king under the honorable titl
e of Deputy Sheriff. She makes her own shampoo, lotions, laundry soap, face wash, and toothpaste. Someday she'll pack the wagon and roam the mountains in search of dragons.
Find J.M. online:
Website - https://www.jmrobison.com
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/RobisonAuthor
Twitter - https://twitter.com/JMRobison
Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/JMRobison
Pinterest - https://www.pinterest.ie/JMRobisonAuthor
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Robison_JM
BOOKS BY J.M. ROBISON
THE LAST WIZARD SERIES
THE FOES BETWEEN US, #1
Released: May 2018
ISBN: 9781370375653
England 1842—Brynn suspects her best friend, Reuben, had been murdered. Cryptic clues he left for Brynn help her find Zadicayn, an imprisoned man claiming to be a Medieval wizard. After freeing him, Reuben's murderers now focus on Brynn. Her life grows harder when Zadicayn enlists her help to find his magical amulet, stolen by Reuben's murderers. Will Zadicayn's magic be enough to protect her?
BETWEEN MAGIC AND MAYHEM, #2
Released: November 2018
ISBN: 9780463830857
Freed from his three-century-long incarceration, Zadicayn wants to merge back into society, but the Church and the three families want him locked back up. Jaicom Whaerin—whose ancestors originally incarcerated the wizard—is trying to keep Zadicayn safe, while also keeping himself safe. When the three families and the church both get hold of the wizard, will everything Jaicom has done be in vain?
OTHER BOOKS BY J.M. ROBISON
THE WAR QUEEN
Released: October 2016
ISBN: 9781370236688
Altarn is the first woman to hold the position of State Head in Blindvar. When Lord Kaelin, State Head of Ruidenthall, propositions her to merger with their states, Altarn believes it’s his subtle way of taking her kingdom for his own, making himself king. On the cusp of war, she rides in disguise to her last ally, Luthsinia, to ask for help.
During her journey, Altarn is ambushed but rescued by a man called Torren who offers her protection. Quickly they realize they share a mutual attraction. Upon their arrival to Luthsinia, Altarn receives news that an army has invaded Blindvar in her absence and blames Kaelin. Except it’s not Kaelin’s army, because she discovers Kaelin is in Luthsinia for the purpose of spying on her to take her land. And Torren is not who she thought he was.
Taking advantage of the unraveling situation, Kaelin kidnaps Altarn so he can take her land without her in the way and brings her to Ruidenthall. There’s a war ship on the horizon, led by a fallen angel craving mortal worship. Kaelin realizes he needs Altarn’s help to fight this army if he’s to save his kingdom. She’s forced to agree, but how will she react when he’s wounded in battle? If she lets him die, can she fight the enemy on her own? Or if she saves his life, will he still try claiming her kingdom, or try claiming her heart?
