Magic's Memories

Epilogue

The single grave held two bodies and was watched by three visitors.

It wasn't the most expensive location in the graveyard just outside of the capital, but it was a sweet, well-tended spot that got plenty of sun. Feyla had picked it herself. The Carrows had no other known relatives, so only Sedgewick and herself had come to place the small wooden box of dust and bones, found too close together to identify who was who. She had lowered it down carefully and brushed the first layer of dirt across its lid. Now, she stood at a respectful distance to allow their third companion, Lady Calinya, a different kind of closure.

Calinya stared at the grave containing the one who had loved her daughter and the one who had killed her. Sedgewick stood beside her and Feyla could just make out the words exchanged.

"They didn't intend to—"

"It doesn't matter," she answered flatly.

"No. But your daughter did not die hated." Sedgewick's voice drifted lower still, and Feyla couldn't make out the words. He slipped a faded handkerchief into Calinya's hands. The stone-faced woman grasped it like a lifeline. She ran her fingers lovingly down the embroidery before the stone cracked and sobs wracked over her. She pulled Sedgewick into a hug, wetting his shoulder with tears. He patted her back and tried not to look uncomfortable. When she pulled away, still crying, the hard lines on her face had softened. Like a wound had finally begun to heal.

Sedgewick left Lady Calinya with her thoughts. He rejoined Feyla away from the grave and they began a slow walk back to the city. A summer breeze played with the carefully styled waves Feyla had pressed her hair into. It was growing slowly, but she hoped to trim the ends more evenly soon.

"Thank you," Feyla said softly. She toyed with the sheer fabric of her shawl. It hung free from her bare shoulders and whipped with the wind against her skirt.

"I promised that woman that I would find justice for her family. Perhaps, in some way, I finally have."

Feyla nodded, staying silent.

"Sometimes it helps to watch the burial." Sedgewick tucked his hands behind his back, staring down at the soft grass.  "I would not hold it against you if you needed that with...the healer."

"No," Feyla spoke sharply. Daydrel's remains were on their way back to his parents, who would have to grieve both the loss of their son and the loss of who they thought he was. Her scowl softened under guilt. "Maybe I should feel worse than I do."

"I don't regret it. Not unless you will resent me for it."

She shook her head. Resent him? How could she resent him for reacting the way he did during the nightmare they had been in? "I'm more worried about you resenting me." Jaerick had undone the remains of the memory spell. The corner of her mouth twitched while recalling Mydel's joyful exclamation and Sandrina's silent relief. She had been relieved as well, but it had also meant facing that Sedgewick remembered how badly she had betrayed him.

"I don't." But the words sounded half-finished. "At least, not entirely..."

"We don't need to marry in the autumn. We can wait as long as you'd like until you're ready. I'll wait forever for you, Sedgewick. Until you trust me again."

He stopped on the path and knelt to pluck a small, pink wildflower. "Maybe we should wait."

Feyla released a light breath and nodded, not reluctantly but in acceptance. She couldn't expect things to go back to where they had been before she had deceived him.

"I just need time to..." Sedgewick's throat contracted, and his words abandoned him. He handed her the small, pink flower. "Besides, having glanced at the potential guest list you thought you had hidden, I don't think we could plan it in time for this autumn anyway."

Laugher, bittersweet, bubbled out of her throat. She brushed her fingers down the flower's petals. "You should have seen what it would have looked like if I was still an Everbloom. At least now we won't be inviting any stuffy guild leaders."

"Only idiotic nobles." Sedgewick smirked, but it lacked genuineness. "I understand better what I asked you to give up now."

He had stood beside her during Arilla's trial, seething in his seat as the woman tried her best to twist her daughter into the tale's villain. Arilla hadn't succeeded, and her only communication with Feyla since then had been to send all the necessary documents stating that she had disowned Feyla. A notice of the disownment had just finished circling among post boards and papers. Some of Feyla's acquaintances, uninterested or unfamiliar with the whole story, had already begun dropping looks of pity or scathing hints that she should be a good daughter and reconcile with her poor mother.

"I'll learn to live without it." She breathed in deeply, her lungs filling completely for the first time in years. Like a burden had been washed away.

Sedgewick's fingers brushed her own. He took the flower from her hand and tucked it into her short, choppy hair. "Still blooming. Although do you intend to keep...?"

"I'm growing it back out."

"Oh, thank the Creator."

They had left the graves behind and were now walking down a new path. Summer flowers, reinvigorated by the recent rain, bloomed all the brighter. Vines hanging from trees wove a canopy above them. The road dipped into a curve that hid them from the path behind and the road ahead. They reached for each other in tandem. Sedgewick's arms wrapped around her waist while she buried her face in his neck. Her palm rested against his beating heart where she could make out the impression of his mother's necklace underneath his shirt.

"It's still yours, you know. I'll never give it to another," he whispered into her hair.

"I believe you. But I'd rather wait." Finally lifting her head, she met his amber eyes. She took in the lines and angles of his face, the scarred curve of his lips, the light glinting off of his glasses, and her soul swelled with the force of a love no prior one could ever hope to match. When she kissed him, it was more than a burning. It was a homecoming. An opening of herself to a person she would never have to beg to be loved by.

She loved and was loved. A messy, imperfect love. But it was hers and she would keep it. Always.

The End

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Author's Note: In the words of Samwise Gamgee, "Well, I'm back." Back to that bittersweet feeling that comes with finishing a novel. It's been wild, emotional ride full of tears, growth, and love. Thank you to everyone who has supported me and Feyla's story. I don't know that I would be here without your support.

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear." 1 John 4:18a