Luminous

Book Two: Epilogue

(A/N: This is the actual epilogue to Book Two! The earlier epilogue was just to keep you guys sated for the long wait, and is now retitled into a bonus chapter. Stay tuned for Book Three!)

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Meya awoke to the cool dawn wind battering the sheer summer canopy so hard that it prodded her arm for help, but that wasn't what woke her. Lukewarm spiders with ten long, fat legs clung to the skin of her stomach, which shouldn't have been naked. They weren't what woke her, either. Something was tapping against the wall of her belly from inside, like a chick pecking for the best spot to break its egg.

"Don't move," whispered the owner of the spiders, which of course weren't spiders but the clammy hands of her husband-to-be. Meya's eyes snapped open when she realized what it was—who it was that had woken her. Her mouth fell open, then a gasp burst through her when a second chick joined in, a timid one, like a moth scratching and fluttering against her belly. She took Coris's hand and led it to the source. His burning teardrop fell onto her skin.

"They're here, our wee fireflies." He lowered his lips to her middle, blowing lukewarm tickles onto her navel. "Greetings, fetuses. You have flawless timing and good fortune, an un-Hadrian-like and un-Greeneye-like quality, respectively."

"They know grandpa's leaving." Meya smiled as she smoothed her hand along her bump, following their journey. Coris chuckled.

"Now he won't."

They shared a giggle, but succumbed to silence as the babies stilled. Coris's hand trembled in hers, so she affirmed her grip, but her hands were shivering just as hard. The sun wasn't softened by their plight. Its ray pierced the gloom like a gleaming blade. Sighing, Coris pushed himself up and planted his lips on her forehead.

"You're feeling well?" he murmured as he parted. Meya nodded. Morning sickness hadn't come calling for weeks now.

"Yea."

"Let's get ready, then." The bed rose as Coris left it. "Latakia awaits."

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The late morning sun blazed upon the hexagon amphitheater of powder blue marble. Workers rushed to their winches and churned out the awning, as tens of thousands of spectators swallowed the stands like the coming of high tide. All eyes were fixed on the arena, although it sat empty but for a golden speaking trumpet on a stand.

Then, horns blared, and from the shadow of the grandest arch entered two dozen men coated in silvery scales. Leading them were a warrior and his queen, both crowned with gold and robed in deep purple, a noble father and his two sons cloaked in blood red, the elder pushing his brother in his wheeled chair, and a young woman in a trailing dress of emerald.

The crowd roared in welcome but fell silent when their king halted before the trumpet. Alden threw out his arms. The wind ruffling his golden-brown hair carried his voice to the theater's furthest reaches.

"People of Latakia, we gather here today, yet again, to bid good luck to a fellowship of our bravest, our strongest, as they depart on this expedition we pray will be the last to find our lost sons and bring them home."

The crowd's joy swallowed his last words. Alden raised his bare hands high, and they again calmed. The king fell solemn.

"However, today, we also bear witness to the birth of an alliance, the likes of which has never been attempted throughout the history of the three lands—Baron Hadrian, the dragons of Nostra, the Order of the Blood Druids. Human, dragon, and those in between."

Alden spread his arms wide, drawing every eye to the entourage behind him, then flourished his hand at the thin, dark-haired young man in red, who bowed to the king's decree.

"In Kellis's absence, the seat of Hadrian will be filled by his heir, Lord Corien. Once our miners are safely home bound, the alliance's next quest will be to restore Everglen to abundance, with innovation gained from the long-lost Axel, now reclaimed thanks to the bravery of young Zieren Hadrian. So dragons may roam the skies once more, and all the lands be released from the terror of Nostra."

The audience clapped and cheered. The monarch indulged them briefly, then raised his hands for silence.

"As we await good news, journey beckons to us also. Before we see war-weary dragons passing safely through our land, we must open our once blind eyes, extend our once closed hands to dragons who already walk among us. Laws must be revised, lies must be corrected, injustices must be addressed, knowledge must be spread. It will not be easy to welcome these changes. It will demand sacrifice, patience, and goodwill, but above all, we must never lose sight of our goal and our optimism for the future. And how better to retain hope than to learn from the most hopeful."

The coliseum fell to a hush so complete but for the dying echoes of Alden's speech. The king made no indication, yet every soul in the stadium knew where to look. Meya trembled and burned in the smothering heat. She hung her head, and Coris grasped her sweating hand tight as Alden began anew.

"Seventeen years ago, in a small village in Crosset, a peasant girl was born with glowing green eyes, the first and only in generations. For her breath, she stole our beloved Song of May Day, and from that day she suffered for the ridicule, the fear, the bitterness, the distrust of her people."

"She weathered torture, starvation, humiliation, loneliness and peril, but when a foolish and cruel young nobleman ventured deep into the woods, hoping to slay her and end the Famine, she braved pitchforks and crossbows to save him from his kidnappers. She guided him home, asking nothing but deliverance for the very people who banished her."

"When a band of dragons threatened the life of her lady and her fellow Crossetians, she concocted a scheme that not only spared their lives, but made allies of the dragons themselves. The Tunnels of Jaise, the Light of Lashtiri—her deeds are renowned, but the Court of Aynor on that day will never forget how she knelt and held her inferno, took a hailstorm of arrows in silence, in the hopes of winning mercy for her kind. Through all five hundred and seventy-three of them, her hope never wavered, and she rose from a mountain of arrows to find she has won far more than mercy. She has won the heart of Latakia."

Dark patches like ink blossomed on the gray sand at her feet, from tears falling thick from her numb, unblinking eyes. For though Alden spoke the words, she heard the voice of the man she loved, saw him bent over parchment in lamplight amid mounds of crumpled linen paper, penning finishing touches to her tale. The same tale he transformed to song for bards to sing as they roamed, to fable for mothers to pacify their sleepless tykes, to play that graced this theater, day and night for the past week. So she glared with red-rimmed eyes at the mastermind by her side, and he had only the audacity to smile, as the crowd refused to be restrained longer.

"For this, I appoint Meya Hild of Crosset to Dragon Ambassador," roared Alden against the deafening din, "so that under her we may unite, after her we may walk, and with her we may hope!"

The audience, if even possible, swelled louder. They took to their feet, clapping, waving, jumping, craning their necks as two dozen dragons and Greeneyes assumed their glorious forms and took to the sky, Baron Hadrian in Gillian's enormous claws. A hundred white birds, the lasts of the Everglen homing pigeons, soared after, strapped with packets of seeds.

Through the haze of dust and feathers, Meya peered at the royal box, now filled with the familiar faces of friend and family. Mum helped Dad to his feet. He didn't clap, but his cheeks gleamed with tears, and his smile was louder than fifty thousand voices chanting her name as one.

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