“Moreover”—I glance at Quin—“I will not forsake my family. Citizens of the Empire.” I rake the crowd with my gaze. “I will not marry. I will bear no children. For if I am Empress, then the Empire is my husband and my wife. My mother and my father. My brother and my sister. And I name Zacharias Marcus Livius Aquillus Farrar my sole heir.” I draw my knife and cut my hand, letting the blood soak the ground. “This I swear, by blood and by bone.”

There is a dead silence, and I look to Quin, waiting for him to give the order to have me removed. Instead, he offers a surmising glance before putting his fist to his heart.

“Empress!” he bellows, and the army joins almost immediately, for they, above all others, understand that fighting and dying together creates bonds where there were none. The Paters and Maters follow.

Behind me, Laia calls out. “Empress!” Then Afya. Musa. The Tribespeople. The Scholars.

Only Mamie is silent.

I glance at her, at Zacharias in her arms. By naming him my heir, I may be damning him to a life he will not want. He might hate me for it.

“He will not be safe in Antium,” I muse aloud as the chant continues. “Not for long years, while I work to stabilize the Empire. His mother did not want him there anyway, amid the plotting and scheming.”

“I have raised small boys before, Helene Aquilla.” Mamie cuddles Zacharias close. “They haven’t turned out half-bad. And if he is meant to rule the Empire, he should know its people. All of its people. The Martials, Tribes, and Scholars.” She gives Laia a significant look, and at the question in my eyes, the Scholar speaks.

“Mamie is to train me as a Kehanni.” Laia cannot hide her joy at the prospect. “Tribe Saif has agreed.”

“Who better to watch over him than the woman who brought him into the world?” I say. “And the Kehanni who raised one of the best men I know. But won’t it be a burden?”

Mamie meets my eyes with an arched brow, and I see the first tender shoots of forgiveness there.

“No, Empress,” she says. “For he is family. As are you. As is Laia. And while family can cause pain and make mistakes, it is never a burden. Never.”

The chant dissolves into a roar. Within it, I hear my father’s voice and my mother’s. I hear Hannah’s and Livia’s and Harper’s.

Loyal, they whisper, to the end.

Part VI

The Tale

LXX: Elias

The first few days after the battle are difficult, and my heart cracks more than once. First when I come upon Avitas Harper’s ghost, tethered to the Waiting Place not because of his turmoil, but because of my own sadness at his loss.

“I hear our father’s voice,” he says quietly as we pass through a carpet of pink Tala blooms on our way to the river. Avitas is the consummate soldier, at peace with the fact that he died in battle, defending the woman he loved. “He awaits me. For years, I have longed to see him. Let me go, brother.”

We had too little time together. Part of me wants to refuse to pass him, to make him stay. But whereas in life Avitas was guarded, he now has a sense of quietude about him. It would be wrong to keep him here.

At the river he pauses and tilts his head, a gesture I recognize with a pang, because I do it too. “Tell Helene I got my wish, please. Tell her she must live.”

He fades into the river, and only hours later, I find Darin of Serra drifting near the promontory where he died. Seeing his spectral form drives home the finality of his passing, and I find I cannot bring myself to speak.

“Elias.” He turns to me and offers a wry smile. “I’m aware that I’m dead. You don’t have to give me the speech. All I want to know is if Laia is all right.”

“She’s alive,” I tell him. “And she defeated the Nightbringer.”

Most spirits who come to the Waiting Place are angry. Confused. Not Darin. His blue eyes shine with pride, and he walks willingly with me to the shores of the Dusk. We stare out at its glittering waters.

“You’ll go to her?” he asks.

At my nod, he tilts his head. “I’m happy,” he says. “If anyone can love her enough for everyone she’s lost, it’s you. I wish you joy, Elias.”

Then he too steps into the river. After, I sit by its banks for a long time, mourning all that the war stole away.

The weeks pass, and as I train Mirra, as I soothe the spirits’ pain, I try to put my own to rest as well. To find peace with the ghosts until I am free of them.

Spring oozes into summer, and the Waiting Place bursts with verdure. Beneath the drenching sunshine, the River Dusk carves its lazy path south, and the sweet scent of night jasmine perfumes every glen and clearing.

One day, when the breezes off the river are still cool and the stars are just giving way to a purple-bellied dawn, my grandmother, Karinna Veturia, finds me.

“I am ready, little one,” she says. “To pass to the other side.”

She is not alone.

“Hello, Keris.” I kneel down and speak to the child beside Karinna. Mirra, trailing them, waits patiently for me.

When we discovered Keris Veturia’s ghost among the thousands that Mauth had saved from oblivion, it was Mirra who offered to pass her on. Mirra who listened to my mother as she raged at her own death. Mirra who bore witness as Keris’s spirit wailed, forced to feel every bit of excruciating torment she’d unleashed upon the world. And Mirra who ultimately eased away a lifetime of violence and suffering over the course of months, so Keris could return to her last peaceful moment, and remain there.

The Lioness is better for it. The weight she carried in her soul has lightened, and there is a distance to her now, a tranquility in her mien that has slowly replaced the vitriol.

Together with Talis, we walk Keris and Karinna down to the river, stopping to let the young ghost crouch in the woods and watch a spider build a web.

When we finally reach the Dusk, its banks are lush with greenery, and its waters run crystalline. Young Keris peers at it suspiciously, holding tighter to her mother. Then she glances back at Mirra.

“Are you coming?” she asks.

Mirra drops to her knees. “No, Keris,” she rasps. “I have work yet to do.”

“Do not fear, lovey.” Karinna has a joyful glow to her now, for that which she waited for has finally come to pass. “I am here.”

My grandmother looks back at me, and for the first time, I see her smile. “Until we meet again, little one,” she whispers.

Then they step into the river, holding tightly to one another, and disappear. For a moment, the three of us listen to the water whisper in silent reverence. A step sounds behind us.