Epilogue

Ten years later

On the outskirts of Breckstone, in a wood that had once been called ‘godforsaken’ by the Romas who wandered the land, there now sat a small cottage. No stranger passing by would call it extraordinary by any means. “That is rather quaint,” a passerby would say, to which a local might rejoin, “Ah, but do you know what lives there?”

The passerby would laugh in confusion, asking, “What lives there? Do not you mean who?”

At this point, the local man – or woman – would no longer be able to control their superiority of knowledge on the matter and would inform the stranger passing through the land that this very quaint cottage was in fact inhabited by the town’s wizard. This information would always be followed by a gasp and then a stuttering response of fear.

“A wizard? Surely you jest. Those creatures are dangerous but have long since left the mortal realm.”

Plied with some ale in the nearby tavern, the local person’s tongue would relax, their courage would rise, and they would tell the tale of the lord who had been wanted for murder, ran for years in the wild, only to return decades later too powerful to be punished for his crimes.

“You don’t say,” the baffled passerby would say.

With a knowing grin, the local would say in a very low voice, “Ah, but I do. He runs the village now, and no one questions him. He’s our representative to the magical world, and the magical world’s representative to us.”

Amazement and dismay would follow, for whoever heard of a magical being allowed to rule mortals? It was outlandish. Dangerous. A complete outrage. Torches must be lit, and pitchforks sharpened!

But the protests and fearmongering would fall upon deaf ears. For though the wizard was not loved, he was not hated. Though he was powerful, he had not harmed anyone…well, not anyone who hadn’t deserved it. He let the town folk be, for the most part, only intervening when trouble came their way.

Mighty useful. Mighty useful, indeed.

* * *

Aidan had finished with business for the week – watching over the town and keeping the peace when needed. His report to the Magical Council had been written up and, with a wave of his hand, sent to its recipients. There was no threat against magic-kind to be reported and hadn’t been for a couple of years now. And the town had been quiet. Well, as quiet as it ever was. The Joneses had formed a plot against the Smythes after a prized goose had gone missing. All that had been required of Aidan was to give the Joneses a stern warning and the Smythes a talk about better patching up of their pens to prevent foxes from intruding. They’d been the only souls he had needed to talk to this week – this month, actually.

No more work or talking for this day or the next. He went to the side table and poured himself a mug of small beer. Without his ability to Dismiss, Aidan could no longer purify the water he meant to drink with a mere thought, so alcohol it was. He still distrusted the stuff. Becoming a wizard hadn’t changed that. It certainly had changed everything else.

Memories of a different time rose up around Aidan like ghosts. Phantom pangs of old wounds also tormented him, as they did several times a day, making him wish that he cared more for drink than he did.

Every now and again, he would feel the tug between him and…the woman. It assured him that she was at least alive. Alive, but not with him. Without her, he knew he would never be complete, for she had the other half of his soul. “Not only my soul, but my heart.” Cursing, he threw his mug into the fireplace, which sprayed him with gray ash. “Bah!” He waved his hand, and the glass cleaned itself up and tossed itself into the rubbish bin.

It did not do to remember. Remembering always brought regret. Should he have gone after her, all those years ago? His soul-half writhed somewhere in the great distance, and he shook his head. No. Loving her meant letting her go…even if she was being stupid. Some days, he thought he could hear her voice, a gentle lilt carried to him on the wind, as if to preserve – or destroy – his sanity. The sound usually sated him, but not today. Today he thought he heard singing, and it was louder than the usual kind he endured.

“A gent had me soft heart in his pocket

Tiddily do tra la day

A gent had me poor heart in his pocket

O it bled, and he did not do nothin’

Woe, woe, tiddle do tra la day

O me heart, he reft it in three small parts

Tiddily do tra la lee

O me heart, left berefted and wasted

Bled dry as paper, no love left for me

Tiddily do tra la la lee.”

Aidan shook his head and picked up a book from the shelf in the corner of the room. It was a thick tome, one he had visited on many occasions, on the subject of herbs and their uses for medicinal purposes. There was a chill in the air that early autumn evening, so he started to light a fire the old-fashioned way. Reading by magical green light, he had found, was not nearly as comforting as by a natural one. Not that he needed the warmth or the light, what with his abilities and imperviousness to cold. Rather, it was an old creature habit, one he could not quite rid himself of.

Having set the book on the armchair where he meant to read next to the fireplace, he picked up the flint and struck it with a knife until the sparks caught his tinder ablaze. As quickly as he could without suffocating the small flame, he added more tinder and kindling and moved it into a standing teepee he had already made.

“Hello, hello, whence came you

And henceforth do you go

I am my sweetheart’s lover

And he bid me say hello.”

Aidan swore as the voice – a young girl’s – continued to plague him. “Go away,” he told what he had thought at first to be his imagining, but now realized was an actual child outside his window. The momentarily neglected fire sputtered to its death in the grate, so Aidan relented and lit it the magical way.

All was peaceful for a few beatings of his heart, so he thought it safe to sit in his seat and meditate over the flora of the middling lands. He conjured another cup of beer – this time in a metal stein – and, taking a sip, sat in his chair and propped up his feet.

“Your fire’s green,” said the young girl from the other side of the wall.

Aidan looked sharply at the window opposite him. For mortal eyes, it would have been impossible to properly see the child standing in the shade of the house and brush, but Aidan could make out every detail. She had unruly black hair framing a pale, heart-shaped face, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks. At once Aidan sensed her magic.

“I said your fire’s green,” she repeated, backing away and leaving a smudge where her face had been pressed. The girl gave him a knowing look and then disappeared.

Aidan set his mug down on the side table next to his seat, closed his book, and got to his feet. If this were some sort of trap, he was really not in the mood for it. Who would set a trap for you, Ingledark? It was true that he had no friends, unless you counted Tris, but did he still have any enemies? Not in these parts. At least, no enemies in these parts that are of the magical variety. Warily he waited to see if the child would test his wards.

The doorknob rattled, and the lock he had set popped out of place, something Aidan had not been expecting. No one should have been able to do that. He tensed and reached for the dagger he always kept strapped at his side. The door swung open, and there stood the girl, her clothes dirty and patched, her brown eyes strangely intelligent as they bored into his.

“Oh, you’re a wizard,” said the child after a moment.

Aidan removed his hand from his dagger, sensing that there was no malice in this strange intruder. She was curious, and a bit lost, and that was all he could read on her at the moment. “May I help you with something?” he asked, perhaps a bit more brusquely than he had meant to, but he was unused to speaking to children and had no idea how to gauge his tone.

Without an invitation, the girl set foot over the threshold before he could warn her, but the ward did not harm her. “I thought most every wizard’s magic was a red or blue or yellow.”

“Someone is missing you,” Aidan said, more to himself than to her. He went to the door to inspect his ward and was much surprised to find it still in place. By all magical law he knew, the child should not have been able to pass through it.

She laughed. “Mum lets me run wild. But I always come back.” She had picked up his book of herbs and began pawing through it. “You do have a lot of books here. Might’n I borrow a few?”

Aidan raised an eyebrow. “You’re not from around these parts.”

“Mum says it’s rude to read people without their permission,” said the child without looking up from the words.

“And does your mother also warn you that it’s dangerous entering a stranger’s house?”

That made the girl laugh, and she looked up at him, her eyes dancing. “You ain’t dangerous, not to me. How else could I walk through your wards?”

Aidan blinked. “So, you did feel them?”

“Yes, of course. I’m Samantha,” she said, holding out one long-fingered hand. When Aidan hesitated, she laughed again. “I’m not gonna hurt you either. Your magic likes me, and I reckon mine likes yours too.”

Still wary, Aidan nonetheless extended his hand and cold flesh met cold flesh as they shook. “Aidan,” he said in way of greeting. “Your mother….” He gestured around vaguely.

“Oh, she’ll find me. She always does. Like calls to like and all that.”

Aidan nodded. “Right.” How does one entertain a child? He shook his head in wonder as she took his seat and made herself at home. “Tell me, Samantha.”

“You can just call me Sam. Everyone else does.”

“Sam,” Aidan said, nearly choking on the name, “where do you come from?”

But the girl seemed unwilling to answer and perfectly content to read from his book of herbs. So Aidan went to his kitchen, such as it was, and brought Samantha a steaming mug of tea and some biscuits that a grateful neighbor had brought him the day previous, and conjured another chair opposite her. He would wait until sunrise the next morning, and if the mother of this rather strange child hadn’t arrived, he would set out looking for her.

“Here,” he said, offering her the mug of tea and the biscuits.

Samantha eyed them curiously but made no move to take them.

“They’re not poisoned, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She laughed, a spritely sound that raised the hairs on Aidan’s arms. “Oh, I didn’t think they would be. But, well, do men cook and bake and that sort of thing?”

“This one does,” Aidan said, and she took the mug and plate from him. “Only, the biscuits are a gift from a neighbor this time.”

“Hmm,” said Samantha, levitating her mug in the air before her and shoving two biscuits into her mouth at the same time. “These are a little bland.”

Aidan bit down on a smile that was trying to take over his face. “I’ll be sure to tell the neighbor that. Then perhaps she will stop pestering me.” He took the seat opposite and watched the fire.

For a moment they sat in silence, and Aidan thought it would be thus for the remainder of the evening until the mother arrived or the child fell asleep, but the girl set down the book with a startling thump and proclaimed herself to be bored. She took a large gulp of tea, and must have scalded her throat, because she let out a loud cough and swore a surprisingly colorful rainbow of profanities for someone so young, and turned pink. “Sorry. I’m not supposed to know those words.”

Now Aidan did smile, and managed a weak laugh. It had been years since he remembered last having anything amusing to laugh about, a thought that rendered him quiet and pensive. “I won’t tell your mother when she fetches you, if you won’t.”

Samantha grinned and this time blew on her tea before taking a more measured sip. “So, you live here all alone?”

Aidan tried not to bristle. “It is as you say.”

“Must be lonely.” Again she blew on her tea, took a sip, and then made the mug fly itself across the room, where it rested on a window ledge. “Mind if I save that for later?”

“Not at all.”

“Not at all lonely or you mind not at all that I save it?” Her keen eyes bored into his and she shook her head. “Sorry. Mum always said it was wrong to read people. You’re just really loud, ’tis all.”

Aidan shook his head. He did not know what to make of this curious child…did not know what to do with her, was more like it. Where could her parents be? Whatever she said, the mother must be worried sick. He knew he would be, had he been missing a daughter. Pain swelled up inside of him, and he knew at once the girl had read it.

Thankfully, Samantha said nothing about his obvious pain, only giving him a confused look and hopping to her feet and going to the fireplace. “Green is so gloomy. I much prefer yellow.” With a wave of her hand, the flames turned from jade to yellow, casting the room in a much more cheerful glow. “There. That’s better. Ooh!” She went to his bookcase and pulled out a small tome with a bright orange cover. “I’ve been wanting to learn more about hexes. Could you teach me, you think?”

Aidan shook his head. “There are precious few who can cast a good hex, and it is getting rather late.”

“I bet you can cast a powerful hex,” she said after a moment of studying him. “You can teach me some other time. Or maybe tomorrow, if Mum says it’s all right.” Samantha gave him what she obviously thought to be a winning smile and set the book back among its fellows. “How old are you anyway?”

What a strange question to ask. “Forty-three, I suppose.”

The girl shook her head. “You do not look it.”

Aidan chuckled. “I suppose I am to thank you for that?”

“You look much younger and yet much older, so no thanks are in order.” She picked at a spot on her blouse and looked around the room. “Where should I stay?”

That took Aidan aback. “Well, I suppose you could sleep on the floor. I have a feather bed around here somewhere.” He turned and left the room, but he could sense that she was following him. It had been odd, losing his extra sense, the Pull that would inform him when someone was near. The only thing that alerted him to another’s presence now was if they were magical, and as he was not around magical folk very often these days, it was oddly comforting to seemingly have the ability back.

“I can’t sleep on the floor forever, you know. And since there doesn’t seem to be many rooms here, you’ll have to magic on another.” She flicked her wrist and lit a candelabra in the corner of the room before he could get to it.

“You expect to be here long?” he asked, trying to keep the amusement and annoyance out of his voice. Young people presumed an awful lot. While he would not turn her out in the cold, he knew her parents must be nearby. And, if they were magical beings, they shouldn’t have too much trouble locating their daughter. “Your mother should be here soon to collect you.”

Samantha’s brow puckered and she worried her lower lip. “You don’t want me to stay?”

Now Aidan realized he was misunderstanding what was going on, that there was another hand at work here. He began to curse, but remembered himself to be in company and quickly hid his words in a cough. “Tris sent you, didn’t he?”

“Who’s Tris?”

“An old friend. He’s been told to keep a lookout for magical folk and to direct them my way. Are you homeless?”

The girl’s frown deepened. “I-I don’t think so.”

Aidan shook his head. No doubt the mother was a fabrication. Tris always knew Aidan had a soft spot for orphans and the homeless. Add the magical aspect on top of that, and Aidan was likely to find himself running an orphanage before long. Yes, this was no doubt Tristram’s doing.

“I’ll see about finding you a place to stay. But for tonight, you may sleep here. Is that all right?”

Samantha pulled a face but said nothing about her thoughts on the matter. “Couldn’t you just conjure another bed?”

He did not want to regale the strange child with just how tired he was and how much energy that would take him. Instead he said, “If you need to stay more nights than one, I will make certain you have a bed. Satisfied?”

With a shrug, the girl ventured past him into the room, which was little more than a mostly empty storage closet. “Where have you got your portraits?” She began rummaging through a crate in the corner of the room, and came across a tiny box that Aidan knew to contain his mother’s wedding ring. “Ooh this is lovely. Might I have it?” Before Aidan could answer that, no, she might not have it, Samantha closed the box and declared, “You have no portraits. Do not you draw?”

“I do not draw,” he said. “It’s getting later. Perhaps you’ll want to calm down and—”

“When’s supper?” she asked.

Bewildered, Aidan opened and closed his mouth a few times when, to his alarm – and relief – the front door creaked open noisily. Who else might have got past my wards? “Stay here,” he said firmly to the girl, who started to tramp after him.

“But—”

“Do as I say, please.” And with that said, Aidan plucked the dagger from his side and darted back into the main room.

The woman was standing by the fire, hood up and her back to the room. She was smaller than Aidan, though her presence seemed to fill the place.

Aidan froze, his soul-halves writhing. For a long while he could not speak, could not think. She did not turn, and neither did she speak, though he knew she was aware of his presence. At last he managed, “Am I dreaming?”

The very air crackled with the power coming off her, but it felt…controlled, like a well-trained steed. Perhaps not entirely safe, but not entirely feral either.

He could stand it no more, but covered the space between them in several large steps and spun her around to face him. Forever he stood there, staring at Slaíne, whose face had haunted his dreams all these years. Like Aidan, she hadn’t aged a day, though her eyes seemed older than before, somehow. Just when he thought he couldn’t endure another moment of this strange apparition, a small cry startled him out of his reverie.

“Mum!” said the girl, who had all but been forgotten. “I’m e’er so sorry for leaving you. But I found— Oh. Sorry.”

The look Slaíne had given the child could have curdled milk. “Give us a minute, will ya, Sam?”

Samantha looked from her mother to Aidan, her expression confused. She retreated to the kitchen, where Aidan could hear her rummaging through his cupboard. “So.”

Aidan shook his head and turned his back for a moment, trying to recover his composure. “You’re not a bit of my imagining?”

“I can pinch ya, if’n ya need it.”

He laughed once, a strangled sound.

Slaíne let out a deep sigh. “Look, Aidan, I’ll understand if’n ya nay want to see me. I just— I needed to make certain you was all right. I know I waited long enough.”

“Why?”

“I told you why then, Aidan. I was more dangerous and out of control before I received the proper amount of training. We woulda ended up destroying each other.”

But Aidan shook his head. “That is not what I meant. Why are you apologizing?” No longer trying to hide his emotions, Aidan turned once more, and as their eyes met, her soul-half within his breast ceased to writhe and was still, calm.

She frowned and cocked her head to the side. “But you’re furious with me. Don’t say ya ain’t, ’cause I can feel your anger.”

Aidan nodded. “Of course I’m furious. You left me.” He grabbed her and pulled her into his chest, hugging her as tightly as he could. “Promise me you won’t ever do that again.”

Slaíne rested her head against his heart and breathed in deeply. Her arms wrapped around him as well, and she squeezed. “I promise.”

He pulled back so he could look at her again, both of them jumping when something shattered in the kitchen. “Is she ours?” he asked, amazement and sorrow washing over him.

“She’s ours.”

Aidan led her to the chair by the fire, keeping himself between the door and her, as though that could keep her from running away again.

I promised I’d stay an’ I meant it, she whispered into his mind. Aloud she said, “We’re not goin’ anywhere, Aidan.” I love you. Again she squeezed him.

“You must be exhausted,” he said, kissing her brow, her cheek, and lastly her lips. They tasted of salt and tears, of hope and renewal and maybe a second chance. He surprised himself by pulling away first to sob once.

“I know,” she said, touching his face, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. Again they flew at each other, desperate for contact.

Where were you? he asked, licking the line of her lips.

She opened her mouth to him, twining her fingers in his hair. Overseas while I was taught to control my magic. The nymphs took care of Sam when I could not.

Aidan nipped her neck and then soothed the spot with his tongue. You trusted my child with nymphs?

Slaíne laughed and then cried in happy surprise as Aidan swept her off her feet and into his arms. “Our child, Aidan. An’ she were perfectly safe. Safer than she would have been with either of us.”

Aidan conceded the point with a grunt. His temper alone had been out of control for the first seven years of his new life, and his magic was still a bit unpredictable. As the wizard Hex had once said, time would mellow his rage. Until then, perhaps he was not as safe for his daughter as he ought to be.

Slaíne, of course, could hear all his thoughts, and buried her face in his neck. “Let’s nay worry ’bout that. She’s stronger than you can imagine.”

“Are you talking about me while I’m not there?” Samantha asked, peeking into the room. Her face was covered in biscuit crumbs, and a spoon had become tangled in her unruly hair.

Startled and unsure of how to behave with his wife around his new-found daughter, Aidan began to set Slaíne down, until she growled at him. “Sorry,” Aidan said, straightening up with her once again, and the room filled with their laughter.

“Mum, don’t growl at Papa. That’s not how you should behave.”

Slaíne didn’t take her eyes off Aidan as she asked, “Let me ask your father. How should I behave?”

He would have known without the green light reflecting off Slaíne’s face that his eyes were glowing. Magic pulsed in the air, and crackled all around them.

“Is it going to rain?” the child asked and ran to the window. “Odd. I don’t think it’s going to. But it feels like it.”

“What do you think, Mrs. Ingledark? Is it going to rain?”

She grinned, her own eyes taking on a blue glow. “Buckets, husband. Absolutely buckets of it.”