She had stiffened in his arms, and now he felt her shudder. “How can you say that when I’m abandoning them to my sister’s rule?”
“You aren’t abandoning them.”
She was the least selfish person he knew. He had learned, from the Oracle himself, about what she had done to save the Jaheem. And it rang true, with every wild, insane, gut-wrenching action she had taken on this journey.
Everything she did, every risk she took, was for her people.
“If I don’t speak for them,” she said, “who will?”
“They can speak for themselves.”
“Then of what use am—”
“Hope,” he cut her off. “As long as you’re alive, they’ll have hope. Aurelia, you aren’t the voice of Tyralt. You’re its heart.”
Something reverberated through her frame.
“And mine too,” he added. “I am going with you.” He had already made that commitment. Had known what he was choosing on that dark night in the stables when he had found her asleep on Horizon’s back. And had known when this moment came—or something far worse—he would be with her.
His hand touched her cheek. The sacrifice he could not make—the one thing he could not live without—was her. “I love you, Aurelia.”
The thought flowed through her blood, her brain, her body. It wasn’t something she could deny. Or relinquish. Or put off until a later time when she was somehow better equipped to sort out her contradictory life. He loved her. Not some mental fiction, some facade she performed, or even some childhood fantasy.
The past six months had blown through all those ill-fitting versions of her in a hail of blood, flames, and tears. She returned to the unanswered question: Had the expedition held worth?
Yes. It had taught her how much she did not know. About the Valshone and the role they played in Tyralt’s defense. About the outlaws of the Asyan who had built a community after being proscribed as useless. About the travelers to the north who risked everything to begin new lives, the frontiersmen who had the grit to survive that dream, and the tribes who maintained their beliefs despite a barrage of indignations.
She could not regret knowing her kingdom.
You’re its heart.
Was that what her sister really feared?
Aurelia had lost Tyralt, and everything and everyone.
Except the young man before her.
The expedition had taught her about him as well—the companion who somehow knew her kingdom better than she did. Who knew her. Whose arms around her were gentle and strong all at once. And who was waiting, patiently, with those deep blue eyes, for a response after spilling his heart into her hands.
She leaned forward, closing the final space between them, and cradled his head in those hands, then found his lips with her own and spilled back all of her messy, contradictory, passionate heart.
Epilogue
AURELIA SCRAMBLED UP THE LADDER FROM THE hold and the secret compartment that, according to the captain, had provided sanctuary to hundreds of refugees. She had promised to stay out of sight as long as the ship’s deck remained within view of the dock. But the heaving scrape of the anchor against the wooden exterior, the shouts of the sailors, and the sudden jerk that had nearly knocked her from her feet had all indicated that the vessel had pulled away. And the more gentle rocking motion suggested the ship had settled in for its journey.
She could not wait a moment longer. Her hand reached for the upper hatch and thrust up the square panel. Salt air assailed her nostrils, and bright sunlight invaded her eyes. She stumbled the final steps to the deck, then propped herself against the rigging.
Slowly the ocean revealed itself. A magnificent stretch of turquoise waters, pulsing and glimmering under a beckoning sun. Who knew what lay before her, across its vibrant waves? As a child, she had dreamed about distant shores beyond the ocean.
But that was not what she had climbed to see. Regaining her footing, she hurried to the ship’s side. There!
She gripped the smooth surface of the railing and hung on, savoring every last detail of the view. The melded buildings of the red-stone city rose in unison like a mythical castle upon the sand. On their right stretched the everlasting beach of crimson, and above towered the glossy cliffs of the Quartian. She could understand now why people chose to defy them. There was something in the challenge, something that could not be taken away once achieved.
She would look toward other challenges soon.
But now was the time to secure forever in her heart and mind this final vision of the Tyralian Shore. A sorrow, unlike any she had ever known, lodged in her throat, and she could not swallow or wash away the grief. Because she could not afford to cry and lose her last chance to witness this incredible view. It was more than a place. It was a set of dreams and hopes and a future that had defined her for as long as she could remember. How could she watch it drift from her life? But she must—she must because it was happening and there was nothing she could do but bear witness to the moment.
Despite herself, the emotion broke free from her throat and began to seep through the corners of her eyes.
Then a strong warm arm encircled her stomach, and she sank back against Robert’s chest. His chin rested on her head. When had he grown so tall? She supposed she should have noticed, as she should have heard him come up behind her. But neither lapse mattered. She could feel him. The warm, companionable comfort that came from sharing her deepest sorrow. They didn’t speak. Did not need to. All they needed was to be there for one another. As together they watched their home drift away into oblivion.
Anne Osterlund, Exile
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