Tower of Dove

Epilogue: The Cottage and the Meadow

Tower of Dove Epilogue: The Cottage and the Meadow

Lilyana walks down a forest path in late summer. A few leaves litter the floor and sunshine streaks through the canopy in rays of golden light. She thinks it’s beautiful.

It’s been fifteen years since the war ended, fifteen years since she married Hiero and moved away. Fifteen years since her little sister was killed. She shakes her head at herself and shifts the wicker basket holding food to her right arm. She’d spent the past five days visiting Miette and her husband in the Quail. She’d stopped by to visit Calanthe and Faye as well—who had become the Quail’s Premier when Amethyst stepped down—but she’s glad to be going home.

The path takes her from the forest to a little meadow. It’s an enchanted place, far enough away from her hometown so that she isn’t suffocated by memories, but close enough so that she won’t forget them. It smells of fresh grass, pine, and flowers. Sometimes, on days when she and Hiero don’t have to run their shop in town, they spend the day throwing pinecones at squirrels. Sometimes they just get together with Simeon and Rhea. They live close by with their newborn, although Lilyana won’t actually hold the baby. She makes Hiero do that.

She crosses the green meadow to a little cottage placed at the end of the clearing, bordering the forest. It’s small, with only three bedrooms and a kitchen, but it’s home, and she loves it. The sun shines down on her as she approaches the wooden door; she’s glad she wore a dress today, or she’d probably have died from heat exhaustion by now. She wipes her blonde curls away from her face and shifts the basket so that she can search for her key in her dress pocket, but the door swings open before she finds it and a little boy with a head full of curly black hair tackles her so roughly that she stumbles.

“Kissa,” she says, trying not to laugh. “You have to give me a bit of warning if you’re going to do that. Maybe shout out ‘midget alert!’ or something so I can brace myself and not trip and break my neck.” She ushers Kissa inside their cottage, closes the door, and crosses to the kitchen where she sets the basket of food down on the counter. Kissa follows behind her like a shadow, looking at her worriedly with his bright green eyes.

“Dad said you weren’t coming back,” he says, sounding on the verge of tears. “He said that you went to meet a sorceress who was going to chop you up and cook you into stew because you’re so tasty.”

Lilyana takes a deep breath and ruffles her son’s head. “Daddy is an immature, idiotic boy-man, Kissa,” she tells him. “He likes to play games.” She flicks him lightly on the forehead, but Kissa only giggles. Lilyana kisses his forehead to make up for it anyway; the child’s only seven, after all.

“You know what I hear, Posy? I hear the elf girl—she’s home. Go hide, Posy, quick! Before she sees you!”

Lilyana turns and sees Hiero standing in the hallway, facing her and Kissa and holding five-year-old Posy’s hand. He’s smirking at her, but she only glares back at him. “Don’t tell our children lies,” she spits, grabbing a roll from the basket and chucking it at him.

“Hey, careful! You’ll hit your daughter!” Hiero laughs as he picks Posy up—who’s big blue eyes are very bewildered—and holds her in front of him.

“I’ll only hit her if you use her as a shield, you imbecile!” She throws another roll, careful not to hit Posy.

“Daddy, let me down,” Posy says. “I want to hug Mama.”

Hiero rolls his eyes and does as his daughter says. Posy runs over and Lilyana picks her up, hugging her. She wipes Posy’s straight blonde hair out of her light blue eyes, internally swearing her idiotic husband for not remembering to put her daughter’s headband on. “You look so lovely in pink, Posy,” she tells her.

“Daddy made me wear this dress,” Posy says, “because you like it.”

Lilyana smiles. “I do like it.”

Posy glances past her mother, a look of playfulness on her face. “Let’s play tag,” she says, struggling in Lilyana’s arms. “Kissa,” she whines, “come play.”

Kissa, who had been throwing more rolls at Hiero, stops and says, “Okay.” Lilyana sets Posy down and the two children hurry out the front door to play in the meadow.

Lilyana stands in the doorway and smiles as they chase each other around, laughing and yelling at each other, the two sweetest children she’s known. She feels Hiero’s arms wrap around her waist from behind, and when she looks over her shoulder at him, he kisses her gently.

“I love you,” he says once he pulls away.

Lilyana smiles and turns back to watch their children. “I know.”

She watches them closely like this every day, hoping that they’ll be safe. They play at night, among the fireflies and the stars. They make crowns from flowers and sometimes they fight with each other, but usually they’re nothing but loving. Posy dances in the moonlight often, her blonde hair swirling around her small body, her blue eyes luminous in the dim light. But Kissa’ the one who inherited her voice—who inherited her father’s voice. He sings as sweet as a summer breeze for his sister, he sings so that she can dance to it

They don’t yet know for who they were named. They have a vague understanding, but Lilyana and Hiero are waiting for the right time to tell them about what happened all those years ago. Those children haven’t yet been touched by grief or sorrow, and Lilyana hopes, most likely in vain, that they never will. The one thing that’s comforted her the most after all these years was the realization of their roles in the end of the war. Whereas hers and Hiero’s misguided love had started the strange cycle, Posy’s and Kissa’s had ended it. And peace had fallen among all the villages because of it.

“Let’s take them to the tower,” Lilyana says suddenly. She feels Hiero’s grip on her waist tighten as he hugs her closer.

“You think it’s time for them to meet our siblings?” he asks. “Do you think they’ll understand?”

Lilyana pauses as she watches her children play. Posy, as fresh as the first spring rain, and Kissa, as sincere as he was from the day he was born. Their laughter has become her music; their voices have filled her life with joy. They haven’t replaced her pain, they haven’t taken it away. They’ve only given her more room to love.

“Yes,” she tells Hiero. “They will.”