Page 220 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Flora nodded. “I won’t argue.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I regret that we cannot be friends. I regret that my actions had no bearing. I do not regret trying to save you.”
Minerva dropped her gaze, and eventually, Flora took it as her cue to leave.
“Do you regret it?” she asked from the doorway.
“Regret what?”
“Conceding to Venus. You must know this would never have happened if you’d been queen instead of her.”
Minerva shook her head. “I am trying to give up on wondering the ‘what ifs’,” she said, flexing her metal hand. “I suggest you do the same.”
Owen quit Avalinth two days later, Minerva’s officials having drawn up treaties ensuring that he would never again set foot in Faerie, nor order anyone to do so. Minerva was confident he would keep his word. His actions were motivated by fear and grief, and his lessons appeared to have been painful ones.
And he loved Caer. Anyone could see that. Minerva was inclined to think that anyone who loved that boy had good in them.
At the end of the week, he left too. “Don’t be a stranger,” she told him. “I will be chained to the city for some time, but I expect to see you back here before the year is out.”
“Of course,” he said. “Where else would I learn blacksmithing? Mortal and fae have nothing on dwarven-make.”
“Good lad,” she said, tugging him downwards to ruffle his hair. “I knew you were a dwarf at heart.”
Caer blushed at the compliment, and turned to look behind him. Aislinn and Beau were saying their goodbyes to the others.
“Why did you and the others try to push Ais and I together?” he asked.
“Aside from the begrudging-yet-obvious-chemistry the two of you share and how ludicrously fun it was to mess with you, we rather hoped it might motivate you to try and learn how to control your powers—if you could find someone worth risking it for.”
“That was the worst part, though,” he explained. “She was worth risking anythingbut that.”
Minerva patted his shoulder. “It worked out though.”
“That it did.” He paused again. “Min?”
“Yes, boy?”
“I never expected to have another mother again,” he said. “And I still don’t. But I’m glad I’ve got you.”
“Aye,” she said, “that’ll do it.” She pulled him down into her arms, and the two held fast there for some time. “I don’t profess to know the secrets of the stone and soul, but if your mother sees you now, I know she’d be as proud of you as I am.”
Asafinalpartinggift, Minerva gave the party a pair of wargis. Aislinn waxed lyrically about returning to Wales one day and bringing the mounts with them, riding about the countryside on a pair of giant dogs, her wing-like cape splaying out behind her.
“It’ll terrify all the mortals,” she announced.
“And yet you sound delighted about doing it,” Caer said.
The group headed back to Acanthia in fine spirits, though Caer and Aislinn took the ‘long route back’, riding on ahead of the others and then disappearing for a couple of days. They did not tell anyone what happened during their excursion, although Beau noted the absence of Caer’s death-beads and everyone noticed that Aislinn had given Caer the nickname of ‘Snow’. They did not share the reason, though frequently giggled whenever someone asked.
When the main party arrived back in Acanthia, they immediately summoned Albert Woodfern and explained the situation and reunited him with his son’s sleeping form. Cerridwen remained adamant in her promise to him, but asked to be given two weeks—two weeks with her own family, and the letter her husband had written to her before he died.
No one would ever read or hear its contents, but she asked to be buried with it in the vines beneath the castle.
Albert initially objected to Cerridwen’s plans, but he did not take much persuading. Even Juliana stopped trying to talk her into delaying it eventually, choosing instead to focus on those remaining days. They were filled with laughter and adventures and feast and celebrations. For two weeks, it felt like there was never a quiet moment, everyone constantly pulled from one revel to the next. Maytree was summoned out of retirement in the Summer Isles, and gave her old friend such a greeting that a bard composed a ballad on the spot.
“I’m sorry,” Aislinn told Caer at one point, “this isn’t quite the peace and quiet we probably deserve right now.”
