EPILOGUE

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I wish I could say my story was one of grandeur. I didn’t change the world, but I can say I helped it. For over fifty years, I have run this tavern now, the focal point of our expansive network throughout Rosada. We are the haven for storytellers across the region, as the Order’s reign has grown stronger and continues to mark those who disobey with a sign of vagrancy.

Together, Jaida and I formed our network. Elodie served with legal advice, finally putting her law degree to use. Even Marietta left work in the government to help with our finances. Ryon, to be honest, was the face of our business. He entertained guests, finding new people to fill our tavern from top to bottom. Even once his eyesight began to fail, he remained the face, always forcing a smile, even on the days when his nightmares screamed the loudest. In the end, we were self-sustaining, and while Guards had their suspicions, we always stopped their raids.

Ryon and I married a year after the attack. We never had kids. Our tavern was our child. Besides, once Elodie and Marietta moved back in with us and had three children, our lives were plenty busy. All three of her children have since taken up reigns in the tavern now that I am in my twilight years. 

Nowadays, in my old age, descending the stairs every night is far too cumbersome. Instead, I sit in my chair in the parlor, collecting fees, tapping codes on the wood, and keeping an eye out for shadows on the horizon. Some nights, I sit at the top of the stairs to listen to stories and watch the array of magic brought to us. I’ve heard countless stories coupled with magic: from a young woman putting on a fire show to a young man using illusions to tell his wonderful tales. Where else could you witness such spectacles without fear?

My tavern is a home for many. It is my home. It was where I got married, where I watched Elodie’s children grow up, and where I intend to spend the rest of my days.

I hope someday people can tell their stories without fear, just as I’ve told mine to you now. While my tongue has healed, I have found it easier to say this in written word or to communicate with tap-code. I’ve never been a great performer. Besides, no matter whether we tell or write our stories, they bring us together.

They’re what keep us alive.

Even though Marietta, Elodie, Jaida, and Ryon have all passed, leaving me alone, their stories stay in this house. I see them in shadows, and I listen to them in the tales downstairs. Elodie’s children talk about them to their children, and like ghosts, they never truly go away.

I may never live to see the day when storytelling is no longer outlawed. But I’ve done my job to keep these stories alive, so one day you may tell your story.

And if you don’t know where to come, know that I have a home for you. No matter your story, no matter your background, come on by to my little tavern where ears are plenty, drinks are bountiful, and you can always speak easy.