One Year Later

Sunlight basked me in warmth, a welcome counterpart to the brisk morning breeze tugging my tunic. A symphony of birds chirped greetings, and small animals rustled the grass as they chased each other. However, Finny and I stood as motionless as the tombstone before us.

Here lies King Karoo, beloved leader of Najila.

The carving in the marbled stone eternalized two lies. Whatever charred remains survived the fire did not lie beneath this tombstone, and across most of Najila, he had never been beloved. My father had proven a mediocre king and a blundering parent.

When Epsa's tombstone joined Izra's, Legion members and inspired peasants packed the Rakim hero memorial center. At King Karoo's ceremony, a handful of traveling Foojans and a spattering of chiefs and representatives spotted the field. Now carefully-tended flowers blossomed in brilliant colors around the tombstones of Epsa and Izra not far from us, while only a platter of charred and misshapen cinnamon cake crisps decorated the grass in front of my father's tomb.

After minutes of silence, Finny began to fidget beside me.

"I don't think he is actually going to eat those crisps."

"No, I guess not."

"Maybe we should help."

"We probably should."

Finny and I crouched and grabbed a single crisp. I popped the entire crisp into my mouth, crunched down — and stopped. Beside me, Finny grimaced and pressed her palm over her mouth. Then she met my eye and dropped her hand to flash a bright stuffed-cheeked smile.

We resumed chewing for a few more seconds. Then in unison, we spat masticated mounds into our palms.

I swished saliva around my mouth in an effort to expel the salty bitterness. "Alright, next time we should follow the recipe more closely. Or enlist help from Aunt Mitzy."

Finny gargled spit and hawked it up into her hand. "Or we should stick to fighting."

I dropped down to discard the mutilated crisp and wiped my hand in the grass. "Everyone should know how to cook, Finny, though I admit you are alarmingly good at fighting. Despite your inept trainers."

Finny dumped the remains of her own crisp and wiped her hand on her trousers. "Inept? Na. I heard my two trainers held the middle of the colosseum and took out half the Rakim army last year."

I rolled my eyes. "It couldn't have been half."

"I bet it was more. I hope I get to save the nation like that someday."

"Finny, Queen Trebalda named you her heir so you can one day lead the nation, not save it. The sword is your last resort."

"Don't worry," said Finny. "I still prefer my fists."

A startled laugh spilled from me. When I managed to tamp it down, I shoved her shoulder. She staggered two steps to the side and threw a few haphazard fists my way before I managed to trap her hands in mine. Then her body stilled, and her gaze locked on the tombstone once more. 

I released one hand and held just the closer one. Her fingers felt warm, sticky, and rough.

Then Finny said, "Do you think Mother would be proud of me?"

Unwilling tears pricked my eyes as I squeezed her hand. "I know she would be, Finny. You may look more like Father, but you have Mother's strength."

"Well, I don't really want to be like either of them."

I furrowed my brow and studied Finny, but she remained dry-eyed and motionless. "You don't? Why not?"

She shrugged. "I'd rather be like you."

* * *

A few hours later, the Central Plaza bustled with festive activity. Merchants advertised their wares in booming exuberance, and children giggled and babbled. Liquid splashed, mugs chinked, and the spicy pungence of prak mingled with the sharp mintiness of slurg. Trogolese musicians plucked out tunes on twangy strings. Poverty still permeated the cracks of society, evidenced in dirty clothing and fetid body odor, but hope thrummed in the air.

Soon, the hum of activity faded to a hushed murmur as the crowd gathered around a stage for the Day of Blessings presentation. Niako started to sidle into the back of the crowd, but I snagged his hand and dragged him toward the front. As I released his hand, my fingers brushed the soft weave of fabric around his right wrist which matched the one on my own. A smile fought its way onto my lips. Six months had passed since the ceremony, and I still lit up inside at each reminder.

My husband.

Ruck lumbered up onto the stage without so much as a glance at the crowd, cleared his throat once, and began to read the sacred text depicting the Day of Blessings. As the Fallen Gods overtook the land, the four small orphan children who now lived with Ruck and Mitzy trooped up onto the stage. Mitzy slinked up behind them, hands twisted into claws, teeth bared, and something resembling a dead rat — upon closer inspection, actually a dead rat — draped over the top of her head.

The children cowered in terror. Or at least, that was the plan. In reality, one giggled hysterically, one contemplated the sky and picked her nose, and the other two alternated between cowering and glaring at their less dedicated peers.

When the Three-Legged Lion entered the story, Finny stomped up onto the stage, one arm tucked behind her back and the other flailing in vigorous jabs. She stalked back and forth before Mitzy, nostrils flaring. Mitzy threw her head back in raucous laughter.

Chuckles spattered the crowd, and Ruck's voice broke off as his face split into a grin. When he regained his composure, he read, "However, as the people witnessed the bravery of the Three-Legged Lion, every one of their excuses withered away, and they finally found the courage to rise up and conquer the Fallen Gods."

A moment passed in silent stillness.

Ruck cleared his throat and repeated, "To rise up and conquer the Fallen Gods..."

One child prodded another, and then all four charged toward Mitzy and leaped up onto her. The rat flipped off of Mitzy's head, and she clasped her scalp and screeched, "No, not my hair! My glorious hair!"

Mitzy toppled to the ground, and her arms punched straight the air before flopping down at her sides. Then her head lolled to face us, eyes closed and tongue hanging free.

The crowd erupted into roaring laughter and applause. Mitzy clambered to her feet again to join the orphans and Finny in a brief bow before they all cleared the stage. In their stead, a new figure strode up to greet the crowd, eliciting even louder applause.

Queen Trebalda stood proud, shoulders squared and chin high. Only a few of us knew her well enough to read the exhaustion in the lines of her forehead and slight scrunch of her eyes. As her personal advisors, Niako and I knew the last year had been far from easy.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and then locked on me and Niako, and she tilted her head to beckon us. Niako and I waded through the crowd and climbed onto the stage to stand at Trebalda's side, and she greeted us with a fleeting smile before turning her gaze back to the crowd.

"Today, we celebrate not only the Day of Blessings, but also six months since the day our messengers and spies brought triumphant news. Najila is finally free from slavery."

More applause and cheers rippled across the crowd, and Trebalda inclined her head in acknowledgement until the applause passed.

"However, our struggles have not ended. Though we have distributed all of the palace gold among the freed slaves, they face a difficult path to recovery and reintegration. Whatsmore, I am aware that many in this very crowd still work excessive hours to provide for your families. These are concerns our Royal Council is still attempting to address."

A murmur of general approval spattered the crowd, but one sharp voice cut through the rest. "And what of the vigilantes? Are we in danger, Your Majesty?"

Her chin remained high, but her shoulders sagged an inch. The vigilantes remained her weak spot — the moral dilemma that weighted her more than any other.

"I will not sidestep the truth. Groups of former slaves have been killing former masters in increasing numbers. While their anger is justified, their methods are reprehensible. I have been developing a plan to address these transgressions with Alaski, a member of my Royal Council who was once a slave herself."

"And what of the Claimed?" another voice inquired. "Our brave heroes who obliterated our Fallen God — where are they now?"

Trebalda hesitated, eyes flicking to me and Niako. Niako and I had led the charge in rehabilitating the Claimed, but the struggle remained rough and unabating. I recalled Ruck's grim assessment of Anopa's state after his recent return from Trog: Some weeks, they think she is back to her previous self. Other weeks, she paints herself black and refuses to leave her closet.

I thought also of the ups and downs I had observed firsthand through the man at my side. Horrors still percolated in his mind, hidden from the public but not from me. He awoke some nights drenched in sweat and trembling, and I could only hold him close until his heartbeat slowed to match my own.

When I side-glanced Niako, he met my eye with an almost imperceptible nod before turning to face our people.

"They are recovering," he told the crowd. "Slowly."

* * *

The sun hung low on the horizon, but light still peeked through the gap between the bluffs, scattering bright splotches over the smooth surface of the lagoon. Soft sand sifted between my bare toes, and the briny breeze played in my hair. However, my present concern overshadowed the pleasure. Niako stood stiff at my side in swim trunks and his loose white tunic, calculating gaze fixed on the water.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Makash has been dead for a year. I won't let him control me anymore." 

Niako pulled the tunic up over his head, tossed it into the sand, and shuffled forward a couple steps. At the edge of the lagoon, he tested the water with one toe. Then he set his foot back down in the sand.

I saw his bare chest every night, yet watching the dying sunlight play on his flawless skin heated my core. With effort, I pulled my gaze to his face and studied his impassive features. "Cold?"

"No."

"Do you want me to hold your hand?"

Five seconds passed as I braced myself for his scathing rejection.

Then Niako said, "Yes."

Unsuccessfully masking a grin, I slipped my hand into his. He extended his leg to dip his toe in the water again, and this time, his foot planted down. For a moment, we both watched water lap his ankle. Then he stepped forward again.

Not taking my eyes away from his face, I slid my feet into the water to follow. Midcalf, he stopped. His fingers twitched in mine, and his free arm hugged his own waist.

I cleared my throat. "This is far enough, don't you think?"

"Not yet," he said. 

Niako waded into the water until it grazed his hips. Then he let his arm slide down from his waist and flicked the lagoon's smooth surface, spraying droplets in an assertion of willful defiance. Is that it, ocean? That's all you got?

A smile stretched my lips. "You are very brave, Niako."

He huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Toom... we are standing in waist-deep water where children play."

I squeezed his hand. "I think you are the bravest man I know."

Before he could deliver another deprecating rebuttal, I trapped his mouth with my own.

His startled gasp puffed against my lips. I started to draw back, but he snaked a hand behind my back and closed the space between us. His sun-warmed chest pressed flush against my own, and his wet finger trailed up my back to my neck, raising goosebumps along the way. Then his soft lips teased mine, coaxing and nibbling until flames scorched my core and devoured all logical thought.

"Goddess," I found myself mumbling against his lips, "How are you so perfect?"

He pulled back, head dipping to watch the fading ripples in the water around us. "Toom... I'm still the man who Claimed you."

"Without you, I would have died."

"Without you, I never would have lived."

I laid two fingers on his jaw and turned his chin up to press another soft kiss to his lips.

As the sunlight waned, a fuzzy orange, pink, and yellow dappled the sky beyond the bluffs. I allowed myself to bask in the beauty for a moment before my gaze returned to the even more breathtaking vision before me. Eyes dark and hooded, pecs flexed, and goosebumps rising on smooth skin.

"You know," I said, "I think I started falling for you the day I pushed you into this lagoon and you told Ruck you fell."

My own declaration caught me by surprise. When his eyes flickered in amusement, and a smirk quirked his lips, a flush rose to my cheeks, and I averted my gaze. Still, I did not regret the statement. I had told the truth.

He deserved nothing less.

"Ah," he said, "But do you know why I told Ruck that?"

"Why?"

"Because I started falling for you when you asked the Claimed on the palace steps why he was naked."

When I found his face again and saw his smile, my heart squeezed almost painfully. That dimple on his left cheek still caught me by surprise every time. His dark eyes held a vulnerability only I was allowed to see. And the setting sun lit up the ends of his curls in a halo of gold.

No, not gold.

Copper.