Manon rode with the wind, thankful for the small blessing. There were five of the rukhin flying behind her, though she could no longer see them when she turned back to look, the rest having gone back to report and rendezvous with Glennis as she made her way back from Rifthold…if everything went according to plan with her great-grandmother.

Chaol flew with one of the rukhin's, insisting he didn't want to slow Manon down. She'd only insisted halfheartedly to take him with her and was grateful for Chaol's refusal. Abraxos knew of her urgency and didn't stop to rest nor eat as they made a journey that should have taken days, at least three, into just under two days.

"Thank you." She'd whispered to her most loyal friend and companion as they landed on the battlement. He was exhausted, and she would make sure someone tended to him at once.

It was clear from the evidence left on the battlement, and the one she could see from the air as she'd neared with Abraxos, that the Witch castle had been under attack. There were dark markings along the stone which suggested explosions had taken place. Yielding's, Manon realized. The dark remains of the blast would be impossible to remove, no matter how hard a young witch, which was on her knees, brush in hand, scrubbed at the stain. She'd paused in her scrubbing to look up at Manon, eyes open wide.

"Make sure someone tends to Abraxos, immediately." Manon said softly, her exhaustion evident in her voice.

It was just before sunrise, and the sky was beginning to show signs of pink over the horizon. There was a clatter of feet and robes, of swords and helmets as witches and Adarlan guards alike neared from the arched gateway and onto the battlement. Petrah's icy blue eyes were opened wide as they found Manon's. There was a deep slash across her cheek that had yet to heal properly and would probably leave a permanent mark, but otherwise she looked unharmed.

"Your Majesty." She breathed as she neared, the look she held unreadable to Manon.

Manon felt her heart beat faster and faster within her chest as she came closer to Petrah.

"Where is he?" She asked. She didn't need to elaborate on whom she meant.

Someone else made their way from the back of the small group until she reached the front and came to stand next to Petrah.

Bronwen.

"Glennis?" Her cousin asked, alarm and concern in her eyes as she looked for evidence of anyone else whom might have come with Manon.

"I didn't see her in the skies on my way here. But she might still be on her way from Rifthold." Manon's voice was raspy as this had been the most she's spoken in nearly two days. There was a sort of panic in Bronwen's face that Manon could not recognize nor understand. Her eyes flickered to Petrah…what weren't they telling her?

Petrah visibly swallowed, her features grave.

"Where is he…" Manon's voice was deathly thin as she took a tentative step forward.

"This way." Petrah gestured inside the keep, and the witches and guards made a column at either side of the entrance to allow her through.

"He's in your rooms." Bronwen said as she fell into step behind Manon and Petrah, her voice just as grave as Petrah's features. There was a ringing in her ears now, and Manon felt as dread worked its way through her entire body, making her hands clammy and her throat dry.

"Does he breathe?" She finally found the courage to ask.

"Dorian breathes." Bronwen started…

"But he won't wake." Petrah finished.


Manon entered the room to find Ansel sleeping on a chair next to the bed, her head resting on the mattress. She awoke with the noise of them filing into the room, her groggy eyes widening as she took in Manon's appearance.

"You've seen better days." The human queen commented and offered a small smile in what Manon could interpret as a genuine relief of seeing her alive. Her eyes danced along Manon's now short hair, and she pressed her lips in what looked to be approval of her new haircut.

As Manon's eyes shifted from Ansel to the sleeping form under the sheets, everyone in the room did the same.

Dorian laid on the bed, his eyes closed, lips slightly parted. She could see his chest raising and falling with each breath.

"He's been like this since just before the Blood Moon." Ansel explained, coming to stand and offering her seat to Manon.

"Just before the eclipsed swallowed the moon and gave way to the Blood Moon, I heard whispers of my mother." Petrah revealed, coming to stand where Manon could see her from her peripheral view.

"The Blood Moon demands a sacrifice. A sacrifice freely given." Petrah recited the words.

"For someone you love." Manon finished for Petrah, somehow knowing this was the verse which followed. Perhaps she'd heard Cresseida's foretelling too as the words echoed in her mind. Had she gotten this all wrong? Did she fail in freeing Dorian because she didn't truly sacrifice everything for him?

"I failed." Manon whispered.

And then, to the surprise of those in the room…Petrah, Bronwen and Ansel, Manon dropped to her knees, her forehead coming to the floor in front of her as she keeled over with exhaustion, fear and heartache.

"I failed…" The words reverberating through her very being.

There were tears running down her cheeks; tears of anger and range, tears of heartbreak and sorrow. Her fists closed as she pounded on the stone floor.

Manon didn't give everything.

Why didn't she give everything?


Chaol arrived to find both guards and witches give him grave looks as he dismounted the large wyvern bull. The rukhin rider looked just as tired as he felt. They'd realized early on that they would never catch up to the High Queen of the Witches as they set out from the Yellowlegs lair to the Witch Kingdom. It was well past midday and he was tired and sore from riding through the night.

"Your Grace!" One of the guards stepped forward, having recognized him. Chaol nodded to the guard and took in the scene on the battlement.

"Report." He barked the words as more of the guards moved to him, the one in charge stepping forward. Islan, he recognized the guard, took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he faced Chaol.

"The Witch castle was attacked. The witches, the Yellowlegs, they began to Yield but His Majesty used his magic to control the blasts. But before the moon was completely eclipsed, he fell into a deep slumber. He hasn't woken since. The witches and queen Ansel have been tending to him, but he's been refusing any liquids, my lord. Her Majesty arrived at dawn and is now with him." Islan finished his report and stepped back.

"Casualties?" Chaol asked and dreaded the answer.

"Eight, my lord. Six witches and two Adarlan guards. The witches were in the thick of it, lady Petrah almost suffered a death blow herself, but lady Bronwen was able to get to her in time."

Chaol nodded sharply, somewhat surprised how Islan reported of the witch's losses as though they were their own. "I will personally see to the families of those lost."

The guard saluted Chaol but a shout interrupted any further questions.

"Wyverns are coming!" A guard signaled over the wall of the castle.

"It's probably the squadron who left for Rifthold." Islan voiced his own suspicions.

"Take me to the queen." Chaol wanted to see Dorian.

Chaol had never been overly fond of Manon, and had thought Dorian had lost his senses as he'd pursued the queen of witches beyond the aftermath of the war. But by now, Chaol had understood that their bond went beyond Erawan's and Meave's shadow, and the Thirteen's sacrifice had cleaved something in Manon that only Dorian seemed to heal. He'd seen it when neither thought anyone was looking, as they shared longing looks and hidden smiles.

Chaol had seen as his brother fell deeper in love with the witch in the last two years…and after seeing Manon conquer their enemies to save Dorian, he finally understood that Manon had fallen much the same.

He just hoped she hadn't been too late.


Manon had ordered everyone out of the room and now sat on the chair Ansel had been using to guard over the sleeping king. She'd at least washed the grim and blood from her exhausted body and changed into a simple beige dress, the sleeves long and flowy as the Crochans preferred them. She'd caught a glance in the mirror and knew the shorter hair would need some getting used to, but she didn't immediately hate how it looked on her, despite the jagged and uneven angles. It was a battle wound, one worth having if only the sleeping king before her would wake.

In the time she'd been staring at him, he hasn't even stirred once.

Slowly, and with her eyes never leaving Dorian's face, she stood up and crawled on the bed until she laid next to him. Closing her eyes, she drank in the smell of him…of fresh fallen snow somehow intertwined with the sea breeze. Tentatively, she ran her index finger over his chapped lips—dry as they'd been unable to help him drink water while he slumbered so deeply. No matter how strong he was or how magical, he wouldn't last much longer without nourishment, she knew.

Manon replaced her index finger with her lips, kissing the slumbering king.

"Come back to me." She demanded of him yet her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Dorian didn't stir nor rouse. His chest raising and falling as it had since she'd walked in.

"I beg you, Dorian…" She plead now while her hand caressed his stubby cheek and she briefly wonder how he'd look with a full beard. Manon laid her head down next to him and wrapped her arms around his chest protectively.

Hopefully, if the goddess willed it, they would either both wake together…

….or never wake up at all.


Elena was on her knees, forehead pressed against the frigit ground as a heart wrenching sob escaped from her very soul.

They stood just feet away from the dark void that had once been Morath. There was nothing left as the entire mountain side had been cleaved, only leaving endless rubble down the base of the mountain and no sign of Erawan's keep. Creatures created by the monster she'd been forced to call father for so long… as well as those possessed with rings or collars, had collapsed.

Terrin sat on his knees, his hand on Elena's back. She knew he meant the gesture as reassurance, to let her know he was there. That he wasn't leaving her. After some time, when her sobs died down to hiccups, Elena was able to sit back on her heels, her now sapphire eyes once again seeking out the void that was left in the wake of Morath's destruction.

"She lied to me. She promised we'd all leave together…" Elena managed to say, her words sounding hollow to her.

"She did what any mother would do. She saved you. They both did. You parents saved us both." Terrin insisted, his hand never leaving her back.

Her parents. They were both dead, now.

"My mother always told me I was born with my father's eyes, not hers. That when I finally saw him, I would be able to remember what my eyes truly looked like." Elena turned her sapphire eyes away from Morath until she found Terrin's face. He moved his hand to her cheek, caressing her skin softly, his own eyes lined with the silver of his unfallen tears.

"Did you see how much they loved each other?" Fresh tears ran down her cheeks as Terrin nodded.

There was a sudden breeze then, caressing her face and blowing her dark tresses over he shoulders. It smelled of the sea and freshly fallen snow with a tang of iron and earth mixed together. Elena breathed in deeply, her eyes closing…and she could see them, her parents. They lay together in bed, her mother's arm wrapped around her father's chest, both in a deep sleep.

When Elena opened her eyes, she smiled and her tears were now of joy.

Her parents were together again…and this time, for all eternity.


There was a bright, blinding light which was then followed by nothing.

It wasn't a blind nothing but more of a vacuum nothing. It felt hollow around him, as though he was floating, and he couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't move, either, try as he might.

"Come back to me." He heard a familiar voice say.

He willed himself to open his eyes, to move his arms and legs, but he felt nothing beyond the void around him.

"I beg you, Dorian…" The familiar voice reminded him of his name.

He was Dorian Havilliard, king of Adarlan. And the familiar voice belonged to Manon Blackbeak-Crochan, High Queen of the Witch Kingdom. The woman he loved.

"WAKE UP!" Someone yelled from beyond the void…or was it his own voice shouting within his head.

"Open your eyes, Dorian." A calmer voice said….

…And Dorian opened his eyes.


Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be the last.