Page 29 of A Match Made in Slumber

He blinked and shook his head—not in negation, but as if attempting to clear the cobwebs. A slow breath expanded his chest and he looked down at his own hands. “Affirmative,” he gritted, his grip tightening around me until the air left my lungs. “Damn dizzy, but still here and in one piece.”

“Fuck, Elian,” Fern let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve done it. Goddess, it can’t ever be said you don’t know how to put on a show. Phew. You had me worried for a moment there, brother.”

I scanned Kill’em’s face and body multiple times, kneading his arm in a tactile confirmation of his permanence. I shuddered as the crushing weight of relief hit me, my legs trembling so much that Kill’em took his turn to bear most of my weight.

“Let’s just sit here for a moment and wait for the eclipse to complete,” I managed to say. I wanted the ultimate test—to see the Great Fetter with my own eyes and ensure that when it swallowed the moon entirely, my enchantment would hold.

We all sat on the grass, the blades cool and pleasant against our robes. I turned to watch the night sky, tracking the moon's fragile sliver. Over the course of some minutes, that last pale glint dissolved, eaten away by the creeping shadow. Only then did the expanse of the firmament transform into a dense, inky black. The stark moonless sky seemed to have swallowed the stars.

Yet, even at the dead peak of the eclipse, Kill’em remained steady and firm by my side, radiating warmth. Accepted by the ambient magic of Everend. Safe. Mine.

I stayed there for a time, the quiet chatter of our friends washing over me like a gentle tide. I held Kill’em, and he held me.

Apart from the befuddlement and exhaustion left behind by the last twelve days’ emotional whirlwind, a profound wave of tremendous gratitude rushed to the fore. I thanked the universe for my craft—which somehow guided me through the dark—and for the friends who stood by me. Most of all, awe washed over me for the unexpected love entering my life. This devotion had already taken deep, stubborn root in my soul. I knew that nothing in this world, or any other, could ever rip it out.

Epilogue

Timeline: Three months after The Great Midsummer Market

Elian

The post-season lull always arrived in Everend like a slow, deep breath after a frantic sprint. With the Great Midsummer Market packed away into ledgers and storage crates, the bustling heart of the town settled into a comfortable, local rhythm. The sprawling seas of visitors had vanished, replaced by the quiet hum of the monthly regional market—an affair attended mostly by townspeople, lingering merchants and the occasional wandering caravan.

For me, it meant a welcome shift in pace. The manic energy of the high season gave way to the steady work of custom alchemical orders for selected customers and new matchstick designs, all managed from the comfort of my cottage workshop. That allowed me to be creative and kept me busy, without frenzy.

Which was fortunate, because my husband’s latest grand venture had co-opted my newfound leisure time entirely.

“Higher with that lantern, Morrigen. No, to the left. Your other left.” Fern waved his hand to the side a few times in a counterproductive demonstration since Morrigen couldn’t see him. “Goddess, you might be a theoretical genius, but your spatial awareness is—”

“Leave him be, Fern. You know he’s not comfortable with heights. It’s already impressive he climbed that ladder at all,” Verity said, with fondness in his voice.

I leaned against one of the wooden practice racks, watching the joyful transformation of the old warehouse near Tower Hall. The following day Kill’em’s fencing school would officially open its doors.

Three months after getting married, the change Kill’em’s arrival had made to my life still seemed mind-boggling to me. I’d never imagined I could have been this happy. While this bordered on a miracle, I was equally stunned by how well he’d adjusted to life here and how smooth and organic the transition had turned out to be.

On the final day of the market, Kill’em had been roped into an impromptu fencing tournament, where in mere minutes he’d dismantled a few high-level royal guards and aristocrats—all deemed Everend’s most excellent fencers. That outcome had the swooning nobility in hysterics, all of them throwing their festive favours and flowers at him; and in the case of one marquess, who’d taken it a step further, a pair of lacy knickers. Ever since, prospective students had besieged our cottage, requesting lessons from Chief Reñyés. Among them counted local highborns, offspring of wealthy merchants and travelling armed escorts seeking to keep their skills sharp between caravan contracts.

With Cholerius securing the municipal permits and helping to obtain premises, Kill’em had become a respectable owner of the town's first fencing academy. It came as a surprise, but the two of them got on well.

Across the room, Kill’em stood speaking with Verity, his posture relaxed yet primed with the fluid poise of a martial practitioner. The old blade master still lingered in the marrow of his bones. I sometimes caught him in the act of reaching for the sabre that no longer sat at his hip. His long fingers would curl inward in a phantom habit he couldn't quite shake—a brief, instinctive grasp guided by muscle memory. Every time this had happened, he sported a fleeting look of puzzlement at finding nothing but air where his weapon used to be, but he didn’t seem heartbroken about it. Not that he needed a weapon to cause an immense amount of structural damage in a fight–he could do that with his bare hands alone.

As though sensing my eyes on him, Kill’em turned his head in my direction. His frosty blue gaze locked onto mine, melting instantly into something scorching and private. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips, sending a sudden, familiar coil of heat straight to my abdomen.

Smiling back, I walked over to him and slipped my hand into his. His calloused fingers wrapped around mine, squeezing with that grounding, familiar pressure I sought.

“The wooden dummies are oiled and arranged into a pristine row, Chief Reñyés,” I murmured, tilting my head up to glance at him. “The practice swords are sorted by size and weight. I even applied an anti-slip enchantment to the floor in the training hall. I believe we are officially ready for tomorrow. You can rest easy and focus on the festivities.”

“Thank you,” he rumbled, his voice low against my ear, his hand wandering towards the danger zone of my backside. “Though I must say I find myself entirely unfocused by having my handsome assistant in such close proximity.”

“Hush. Stop it,” I took a peep towards my friends, heat rising up my neck. “Look here, I’ve brought you something.” I reached into my satchel and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in velvet. “A good luck token for tomorrow. Something to wear on your belt.”

Kill’em let his hands slide from me with obvious reluctance, took the parcel and unfolded the cloth with care. Inside lay a heavy ornament, styled after the martial traditions. Thick, luxurious tassels of indigo silk bound a trio of exquisitely carved jade charms, commissioned from the finest craftsman I could find in the artisan district.

He lifted it by the cord, examining the intricate carvings. “An anchor. A kite. And a pumpkin.” A genuine laugh huffed from his chest. Even though that sound happened with increased frequency of late, I still considered hearing it a treat.

“The pumpkin is a matter of legal record, thanks to Cholerius’s Spousal Audit.” I grimaced, remembering the mortifying experience. “The kite is obviously—

“You. Always flying high, drifting away and scattering in the wind.”