Hadrian and Royce stepped out of the South Tower into a throng of deliriously happy people — each of whom had expected to be dead. Everyone had gathered at the water's edge to die together. Instead, they witnessed the fiery venting of twin towers that made tear-soaked cheeks glisten. By dawn, those who had fled on foot would likely see the venting from the highland plains and turn back. The Crown Jewel would also spot the spray and return by sunrise. But that first night was special. Everyone who stood on that boardwalk at moonrise had faced and accepted death together. The truth of their differences had been revealed by the darkness of that penultimate pause as absurd foolishness, and this clarity of understanding formed everlasting bonds. Dwarfs, elves, Calians, subjects and the nobility of the seven kingdoms of Avryn, and even Ba Ran Ghazel were forever welded together by the great forge of Drumindor into a family — not of shared blood but of collective spirit. The returning residents would celebrate the survival of the city, but those who hadn't left experienced a transformative rebirth. Their lives, hearts, and minds forever changed. And every member of that unlikely tribe had witnessed Royce and Hadrian exit Drumindor.

Hadrian spotted Gwen and Rehn waiting just outside the door to the South Tower, as if they knew in advance where he and Royce would be. This mystery was crushed by the reality that Gwen was there at all, and her presence was obliterated by seeing Rehn alive.

Joy, relief, exhaustion, bewilderment — it all blended together the way it sometimes did when Hadrian drank too much. He remembered hugging Rehn and squeezing too hard, making the young man yelp. He recalled asking questions and not hearing the answers. And he remembered the full moon shining on them as somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.

Then the crowd came in. They formed a circle and began expressing gratitude with words and handshakes, then with hugs, kisses, and tears. Sloan pulled Hadrian down and kissed him on the mouth. Mister Parrot, who was openly sobbing, took Hadrian's hand as if to shake it, but just held on and never said a word. Everyone felt a need to approach, to thank, to touch them as if to prove their saviors were real, or perhaps that they were only men.

Auberon came last. His face was slick.

This is what it looks like to get tears out of a rock.

"Thank you," the old dwarf said. "I spent over a hundred years trying to do what you managed in a single day."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

Auberon nodded. "I know. Strange how life works. You can spend your whole life pushing on a door only to realize it needs to be pulled." He smiled. "Did the two of you have a talk with Gravis?"

Hadrian shook his head. "We only spoke with him." He gestured at the skyward streams of lava that continued to spray but whose arcs were shortening. "He did that, not us. Him . . . and his wife."

Auberon looked curious.

"Just like in the mural, she was there helping him at the end. Apparently, she'd been waiting for Gravis to join her."

Auberon looked down at the tattoo on his arm. "Maybe everyone is."

Seven days later, Hadrian watched the arrival of Hanson and Son's stagecoach from a stool at the Drunken Sailor. He sat backward with his elbows on the bar. The coach came to a stop at the statue of Andvari Berling. The sun of another beautiful day made the coach's filigree shine. Customers dressed in wool and clutching cloaks and blankets stepped out, grinning at the warmth. They wandered toward the docks in awe, staring at the ocean as if they'd never seen water before. Hadrian continued to sip his coffee, a brew that was both richer and fruitier than anything he'd known in Avryn or Calis — it was also free.

Everything was, now.

Royce had destroyed the Falkirk diary, ruining his chance of ever obtaining a permanent key to the city, and yet having one was no longer necessary. No matter where they went or what they asked for, every merchant, craftsman, donkey-wagon driver, street vendor, and danthum owner refused payment, as those who had stayed didn't feel they could ask any more from them. At first, Hadrian thought it was nice, but soon he found it awkward, then finally unpleasant when he discovered the generosity wasn't always voluntary. Those who hadn't lived through the night of the full moon were made to understand that anyone failing to treat the city's saviors with the proper reverence and respect would become pariahs. Hadrian began leaving tips, only to have them promptly handed back. One fellow went to the effort of chasing him down to return four copper coins, accusing Hadrian of trying to ruin him.

Holding the last cup of coffee he wasn't allowed to pay for, which was served by a man who couldn't afford not to charge, Hadrian was thrilled to see the stagecoach. The golden sunshine of paradise had grown too bright to endure. The time had come to return to the comforting indifference of the cold gray world that waited beyond the horizon. He hoped that after a few years, new people would come to Tur Del Fur and the old ones would forget what Riyria had done because Hadrian would like to come back — but only if he could pay for his own drinks.

By midday, Shelby and Heath had unloaded the last of the luggage, and the four travelers — a young couple and an older one, whom Hadrian imagined might be the wealthy parents of newlyweds — had hired a donkey wagon and were off climbing Berling's Way. Shelby folded back all four doors and went right to cleaning the interior of the coach, and Heath put feed bags on Jack and Rabbit.

"Good day, sir!" Shelby called out, finally spotting Hadrian.

"Hello, Mister Hanson. Heath." Hadrian waved, then drank the last of his coffee and dropped a stack of coppers on the bar before walking across to the coachmen.

"Ready to go home?" Shelby asked.

Hadrian nodded. "Got room?"

"There are five of you, correct?"

"Nope. Just three: Gwen, Royce, and myself."

"What happened to the other two fellas?" Heath asked.

"They went back on the Ellis Far nearly a week ago," Hadrian replied.

Shelby's eyes showed a troubled squint.

"Had nothing to do with the Flying Lady. They were just in a hurry to leave."

Shelby nodded. "We heard there had been some trouble down here." Shelby looked about at the boardwalk, which was littered with homemade noisemakers, random bits of clothing — including a pair of shoes that hung from a pole — and discarded mugs of metal and wood. Hadrian suspected the cups were less abandoned and more lost. All rules, formalities, customs, conventions, and even quite a few laws had been ignored as the city celebrated its continued existence. The party that began just after the venting of Drumindor had continued unabated ever since, but the passion, and mortal endurance, was finally fading, and the celebration had dwindled to briefer periods of ebbs and flows. "Doesn't look so much like trouble as it does a celebration."

"Narrowly averted trouble," Hadrian explained. "So, do you have room to take us back?"

"We do indeed."

"It will take us a few minutes to get our luggage down," Hadrian said. "Is that all right?"

"We are at your service."

"You're certain you won't come back with us?" Hadrian asked Rehn as they stood beneath the lemon tree in the Turquoise Turtle's courtyard.

"The church is still a threat," the young man said. He looked like his old self again, his wound hidden by new clothes. "And according to Professor Arcadius, growing stronger every day. It isn't safe. But if you need me, I —"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"No." Hadrian held up a hand. "Stay and be safe. It's enough to know you're . . . that you're alive and doing well."

"That remains to be seen," Auberon said, as he appeared, wearing his straw hat with the blue feather and holding pruning shears. "I have my doubts that an ex-Avryn noble can learn to do real work."

"I will have your head spinning with my energy and dedication!" Rehn declared.

"We'll see." Auberon gave Hadrian a wink. "If you impress me, then when I take my long-delayed trip to see my family again, you will be responsible for all my holdings. They will be yours to care for."

"How many places do you own?" Hadrian asked.

"Including the slip my Lorelei docks in?" He closed one eye as he calculated. "Thirty-five."

"You own thirty-five rolkins?"

"Only twenty-eight are rolkins. The rest are shops I rent out, and I'm half-owner in a danthum."

"You must be rich," Rehn said, astounded.

Auberon shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. But it is a fair amount of work." He eyed Rehn. "So, you'd better get well fast. I've a lot to teach you in a short time, and I don't want everything I've built falling apart once I'm gone. You do what I say, work hard, and stay out of mischief, and one day the name of Rehn Purim will be known far and wide as a successful landowner and Tur Del Fur businessman."

Apprehension revealed itself on Rehn's face, and he began to shake his head. "I don't think that is such a good idea."

"You don't want to be successful?"

"I don't think it is healthy for Rehn Purim to be known far and wide — especially if I am seeking to stay out of mischief. I have enemies."

The old dwarf nodded and smiled. "You're not alone. That's how I ended up here. You might be surprised to learn Auberon isn't my real name. When I came here, I left the old one up north along with everything it stood for. I planned to make a new life — one that included living — and that required a new name. Perhaps you might consider doing the same." He clapped the young man lightly on the shoulder. "Just make sure it's a good name — something memorable, easy to say, and one you can be proud of."

Rehn looked up at Hadrian, and that long-lost smile of Pickles returned.

Royce was late getting back. He hadn't expected the meeting to take so long. And while he wasn't concerned about the stagecoach leaving without him, he didn't like making Gwen worry. He still couldn't believe she had stayed behind. She said it was her idea, but Royce couldn't help believing Arcadius was the real culprit.

The way Royce envisioned it, Arcadius was following the tried-and-true Rule of  Three when he faked Rehn's death for the second time. Arcadius bet that no one, especially not Hadrian, would believe the boy had died. So to ensure his deception, he had had the dwarven doctor administer a drug that simulated death before letting Hadrian see the body.

Gwen likely believed that the end justified the means, so she was willing to participate in the ruse, but only for so long. She wasn't about to let the professor get away with it. She likely surmised that Hadrian would need proof, and a living, breathing Rehn would be the only evidence he would accept; as such, she stayed behind with Rehn.

None of this was at all astounding. That Arcadius had lied and manipulated the entire party for his own mysterious motives could have been anticipated and expected. If Royce hadn't been so masterfully distracted, he would have realized the doddering professor was up to something; the full extent of exactly what that was remained a mystery. One thing was not in question; the old man's desire to read Falkirk's diary was a driving force, and Royce enjoyed the knowledge that he had deprived the professor of that pleasure.

The truly crazy thing was that Gwen had stayed. She knew both the risks and the odds. And while it was one thing to say you believed in someone, it was a whole different world to push in all the chips and roll the dice. Gwen had a ticket to safety, but she had trusted Royce and bet her life on him, and, miraculously, he had somehow managed to reward that faith.

No, he didn't want Gwen to worry. Not anymore. She deserved better.

By the time Royce returned, the last of the luggage had been hoisted up and secured to the top of the coach. Auberon, Sloan, and Rehn were there to see them off.

"Well?" Sloan asked.

"They accept — or rather, Cornelius does, and the others agreed with him."

"Only took nearly losing the bleeding city ta open their eyes."

"As of now, all dwarfs are granted full citizenship. A dwarven council will be created, and its president will join the Triumvirate in running not just this city, but all of Delgos. Also, after seeing the error of removing Gravis from his position, the administration of Drumindor will be awarded to the dwarven council, who will choose Lord Byron's successor. The Trio will go over all this with you tomorrow in a meeting where you can work out the details. Then next week, I think, they plan to hold a parade to celebrate the rebirth of  Tur Del Fur. The procession will march down Berling's Way to the statue here. Supposedly Cornelius DeLur will walk out and give a speech declaring all this."

"Supposedly?" Auberon asked.

Royce smiled. "Does anyone here think the man can actually walk?"

"So, it's really gonna happen?" Sloan asked.

Royce nodded. "DeLur isn't a fool. He realizes now that he needs you to keep his city working. This event gives him the perfect opportunity to make a change without conflict or embarrassment."

Auberon looked at Sloan. "You did it, lass. You made them see us for who we really are."

"We did it," she replied. Then she narrowed her eyes sternly. "And don't be thinking yer done."

"I am done. I finally helped make things better, and maybe this seed will bear fruit that can grow and spread."

"Sure, sure, but I'll need yer help. I can't be relying on the likes of Baric and Trig ta set up this council. And who are we gonna pick ta run Drumindor?"

Auberon stared at her. "You're just trying to keep me alive."

"I'm trying ta make the world a better place fer all Dromeians."

"You had to put it that way, didn't you? Go right for the soft meat. Hit me when I'm all exposed and vulnerable."

"Winning the peace isn't the hard part," she told him. "Keeping it is."

Auberon sighed, then he nodded. "Sloan, my sweet Bel"— he put his arm around her — "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

The two waved their farewells and headed up Berling's Way toward what Royce assumed would be a celebration at Scram Scallie.

"Is that what Cornelius wanted? Is it why you were called to a meeting?" Hadrian asked.

"No," Royce replied. "He heard we were leaving and wanted to offer me a job."

Gwen, who had fashioned an overstuffed snack bag from a discarded patch of Auberon's fishing net, set it on the seat inside the coach. "Doing what?" she asked.

Royce hesitated, then said, "What I used to do."

"Oh?" Gwen smiled, then her eyes widened. "Oh!"

Royce nodded. "Says he'll set me up here. Give me a small palace on the First Tier and a staff of servants to manage it. He also offered a generous salary. I was promised the life of a noble, a member of the landed gentry, a vassal to his lordship. I'd have prestige, power, fine clothes, and my own carriage."

Both Gwen and Hadrian stared at him. They looked worried. The helpful family that had taken in the wounded wolf saw it looking out the open door, listening to the howls of its peers calling from the dark woods.

"What did you say?" Gwen asked, her voice weak.

"Told him I already have a job: watching out for the two of you. Turns out that's a full-time occupation. Also, that sunshine and ocean waves don't agree with me. I like my cloak and my independence. From now on, if I kill someone it's because I want them dead."

"Oh-kay." Hadrian looked at Gwen and nodded approvingly. "I suppose we can chalk that up as a win, right?"

Gwen smiled at Royce.

"We're all set to go," Shelby announced. "Hop in, folks."

"You're riding on top again, right, Hadrian?" Royce asked.

"What?" He looked baffled. "There's only three of us. Coach seats four."

"But you're riding on top because of how nice a day it is. You want to take advantage of the sunshine and blue skies before we hit the cold, cloudy weather of home. Isn't that right?"

Hadrian glanced at Gwen, who said nothing. She merely grinned and rocked forward and back from her heels to her toes like an excited child.

Hadrian sighed. "Fine. But I'm coming in at the first sign of snow. And save some of those snacks for me, and not just the ground peas. There's some good stuff in there."

Royce opened the coach door for Gwen as Hadrian climbed up behind the driver's seat.

"Nice to have you aboard again, sir." Heath extended an arm and helped pull Hadrian up.

As he did, Hadrian noticed a ring on Heath's hand. "That wasn't there before."

Heath grinned. "I finally found a girl with most of her fingers."

"It's only been a month!"

Heath shrugged. "When you know, you know."

"She's a wonderful young lady," Shelby declared. "An absolute princess."

"Meaning she's got four limbs, two eyes, and most of her fingers, right?" Hadrian asked.

"Meaning she said yes," Shelby corrected.

"She's much more than all that," Heath said. "Her name is Winifred Plinth — but don't ever call her that. She goes by Winnie. Her father is a dairy farmer along our route. We stop there frequently for milk, cheese, and to water the horses. She thinks my life riding up and down the road is exotic and exciting. To her, I'm a worldly adventurer, a hero."

"Well, congratulations. She sounds wonderful."

"How about you, Hadrian?" Shelby asked as he released the brake. "Any rings in your future?"

Hadrian frowned. "For a while, I thought there might be, but I was wrong."

"Didn't have all her fingers?" Heath asked with a smile.

Hadrian thought about it and shook his head. "No. She just wasn't the one."

"No one is perfect, son," Shelby said as he turned the coach around. "Don't be so picky, and don't wait too long. Time is a funny thing. One minute it seems you have forever, then the next you think it's too late. But it's never too late, Hadrian, remember that. The world could be coming to an end, and it still wouldn't be too late."

"Oh, it's too late, I'm afraid." Hadrian laughed. "The world as we knew it already ended — Royce Melborn finally kissed Gwen DeLancy. I'm surprised there is still a sun in the sky."

"I heard that," Royce said.

"I know."

Shelby drove the team up Berling's Way toward the highland, to the north, toward that thin gray line on the horizon where color faded to a dull gray and men faced the consequences of bad decisions. Riyria was going home.

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