Page 401 of Elemental Becoming

“This is where I live now,” he says quietly. “And I’ll fight with everything I have to protect it. To protect us.”

His gaze never leaves mine.

“I’m yours, and you are mine.”

I lean into his touch and into the weight and wonder of it all. I think about not only what we are, but who we’ve become.

We are the Spiritborn and the Warlord, bound by dragons, bound by magics, and bound by choice.

And gods help anyone who tries to take that from us.

EPILOGUE

Abronze-framed mirror shines against the obsidian wall.

In its dark surface, a woman stares back. She is clearly not a naive youth. Life experience has gently touched her face, leaving behind the quiet marks of wisdom and endurance.

And yet, she appears ageless.

The centuries that have passed do not seem to have touched this woman. She does not wither, fade, or decay. Time lives in the cold certainty of her gaze and in the patience that has become as much a part of her as bone and blood.

She is beautiful in the way a knife is beautiful: elegant, precise, and dangerous.

Her skin is pale as fresh snow, untouched by sun or warmth. Her silver eyes reflect the dim light like polished steel. White hair cascades down her back in silken waves, stark against the darkness surrounding her.

The realm once called her magnificent. Now they call her monster.

Neither judgment matters much to her.

She lifts a hand and traces the bronze frame. The glass ripples beneath her fingertips.

Once, the sight filled her with wonder. Now it is merely another tool.

She stands in a room of polished obsidian. The dark stone gleams beneath the firelight, immaculate and untouched. There is not a smudge on the walls or a speck of dust to be found.

The chamber is small. A hearth burns quietly along one wall, and beside it sits a table and a velvet-cushioned lounge chair the same deep crimson as her nails. Red is the only color in the room. Even the rug beneath her feet is charcoal gray.

She taps her fingers against the mirror’s frame. Her nails taper to sharp points, more talon than ornament.

Impatience radiates from her. It fills the chamber like a storm gathering on the horizon.

Beyond the door, she hears the skittering footsteps of her servants. Those petulant fools do not know how good they have it. They do not understand what she has given them or what it cost her to build this place.

When the world cast them aside, she gave them refuge. When history sought to erase them, she preserved what remained.

The thought draws a faint tightening at the corner of her mouth.

Everything they have exists because of her. Every stone, every hall, every life sheltered within these walls is the result of sacrifices they will never fully understand.

She created a home for them. An entire realm.

One thatshecommands.

The glass finally begins to still. Once solid, a man’s face appears. His eyes immediately cast downward when they fall upon this ageless woman.

“Good day, Shadeheart. I came as soon as I received your bidding.”

His voice is deferential, full of the kind of sickly sweetness that makes the woman want to reach through the mirror and wrap her fingers around his throat.