Epilogue

 

“Do you want to drive?” Archer called to me from the bedroom of our Galway cottage. I was staring at the painting of us above the mantel, lost in thought, and I jumped when he came up behind me to kiss my neck.

“I still can’t believe your mother bought this before you were born,” I said as I spun around to wrap my arms around his neck.

“I can’t believe you painted it,” he said admiringly.

“I sketched it. Artemisia finished it.”

“Which means we have several hundred thousand pounds-worth of art hanging on our wall.” Archer kissed me on the nose. “And if I haven’t said it enough lately, thank you for speaking to my father.”

We had gone to the Arman’s townhouse, which Archer had sold to Mrs. Arman’s great-grandmother, and told Camille what Lord Devereux had said to me about leaving something for Archer in the house. He thought he knew where to look for it, and she was very happy to let him search.

Camille had mellowed since the Council had become more open and inclusive, and it had been enjoyable to sit in the kitchen with her while Archer went on his treasure hunt. The painting and a letter had been in the first place he looked – a false back in a built-in cabinet – and we’d waited until we came to Galway to unwrap them both.

The painting had made me cry. It was more beautiful than I could imagine, and it was exactly how I felt every day that I got to wake up next to my husband and see the world by his side. The letter had made Archer cry, because it was from his father, who told him how proud he’d been of his younger son, and how he hoped Archer would make a good life for himself with someone who showed him the love his father had never been able to.

“You drive,” I said, in answer to his earlier question. “I want to sight-see.”

“Can I come?” A voice I knew came from the open door, and I laughed to see Doran leaning against the frame. Archer shook his hand warmly and I hugged him.

“It’s good to see you, Doran.”

He smirked. “You’ve never said that before.”

“Not out loud,” I retorted.

He stepped into the cottage and his eyes went straight to the painting. “A perfect spot for it.”

“Did you know that Archer’s mother bought it?” I asked.

He scoffed. “Who do you think sold it to her? She’d Seen you together though, before Archer was born, so it was an easy sell.”

My eyes shot to Archer, and he looked startled and then happy as he gazed up at the painting of us touching each other’s faces. He took a breath and tore his eyes back to Doran. “Can we get you something? Are you hungry?”

He smiled graciously. “No, thank you. I’d love to see your studio though,” he said to me.

“How’d you know I had one?”

He shot me a look loaded with “duh,” and I laughed and led him to my favorite room in the house. It had been a solarium that Archer insulated and turned into my art studio. It had spectacular views of the Aran Islands.

Doran admired my work, sent Artemisia’s greetings, and then turned to business. “My parents have finally become friends, thanks to you.”

“All of them?” I asked.

He winced. “Maybe not Goran so much – there was no room left for love between himself and my mother when he joined Duncan’s civil war – but Aeron and Jera have made their peace with each other. Aeron is seriously considering a visit to St. Brigid’s by the way.”

“Give us a warning and we’ll be there,” said Archer from the doorway.

“Good. I think you’ll like my father. Underneath the stern, forbidding exterior beats the heart of a kind man who raised a baby by himself to have a part of my mother to love.”

“It’s a little twisted, Doran, you have to admit.”

He scoffed. “It’s beyond twisted. The House of Borgia has nothing on my family. But he was a good father, despite his motive for raising me.”

Doran studied a painting I’d begun of the Immortals in their Council room. There were six thrones, and six people sketched into their places. Doran was seated between his two fathers, and his expression of peace had been the easiest to draw. I watched him carefully as he studied it, but he said nothing, only stroked the edge of the canvas and then turned to me.

“I came to give you this …” He pulled something from his pocket and held it out. The ruby ring glinted in his hand. “… and to ask if you would become the Mixed-Blood Head.”

I hesitated, a little afraid to touch the ring, and yet it called to me.

“The Families have moved away from Heads. We call them Representatives now, because we realized we don’t need leaders so much as listeners,” I said. It had been Millicent who suggested the shift in responsibility, and I was so proud that everyone had embraced the new roles.

My gaze went back to Doran’s eyes. “What do you expect from your Representative?”

“The ring’s official name is the Ring of Dreams, and its power, as you experienced that day outside St. Brigid’s, is the power to inspire. It is meant to stand for what I represent – hopes and dreams of harmony. It is the mixed-bloods who can build the bridges between Families until we are no longer islands alone, but great, interconnected landmasses where all can thrive. This ring requires a principled wearer though, as you learned, and I trust that you are that person, Saira.”

I glanced at Archer and found his eyes shining with pride as he nodded. I did pick up the ring then, and it felt warm and wonderful in my hand. “I am honored to be your Representative. Thank you.”

Doran kissed me happily on both cheeks. “I leave you to the rest of your day then. I understand there’s a spectacular monastery just up the road, on the grounds of Kylemore Castle. You might find it interesting.”

He shook Archer’s hand on his way out, and I scoffed. “I guess we’re going to Kylemore Monastery then.”

We took the new Aston Martin up the coast. It was after dinner when we arrived, and it was still winter so no one else was about. We let ourselves inside and stepped into a gloriously decorated main hall.

“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered reverently. A fire was crackling in the hearth, and stone carvings on the walls were cast in lovely light. I moved closer to examine one that caught my eye when I heard the priest come in behind us. “Ah, visitors,” he said graciously in a deep voice.

“I hope you don’t mind—” I didn’t finish my apology as I turned, because my words had stopped working and a huge grin lit my face. “Bas!”

He and Archer were already embracing like long-lost friends, and we settled ourselves by the fire to catch up on each other’s news. During the course of the conversation, Archer convinced Bas to join us at the next Council meeting and to perhaps consider becoming Death’s Representative. Bas was intrigued at the idea of meeting the Immortal, and we made plans to get together again later that week. It was nearly midnight when we finally left.

As we drove home along the rugged Galway coast, I looked over at Archer’s profile and experienced the most profound déjà vu I’d ever felt.

“We’ve done this before,” I said, as I watched his face in the light of the Aston Martin’s dashboard.

Archer took my hand in his and kissed it. “Never like this.”

“It was all worth it, even the awful parts.” I stroked his cheek gently. I never got tired of touching Archer – it reminded me that he was real, and we belonged to each other. He smiled, and light glinted on his teeth. “You know I used to call you Wolf,” I smirked.

The smile got bigger. “Now what do you call me?”

There weren’t words big enough to describe how deeply I felt, or how profoundly I’d changed from knowing him, so I used the smallest ones I knew that said everything.

“I call you my love.”

 

THE END