A/N: ... and the end. Thanks for reading, everyone! You've been so great and encouraging:)

mistywabbit -- Thanks so much :) That phone conversation between George and Alanna was fun to write, and so was Alanna lecturing Numair (I always think of them as having kind of an older sister/younger brother relationship). It took me ages to work out what to do with Ozorne ... more bad science I'm sure, but hey, whatever works ;)

Tawnykit -- Thanks :) I am still working on the maybe-sequel in my head. We'll see. Here it is, the wrap-up ...

Alanna22039 & kaypgirl -- Thanks:)

Daine's daughter -- Thank you :) Almost the end -- just the Epilogue to go, and here it is!

Dolphindreamer -- Wow, two reviews! Thank you:) I didn't really manage to work Baird in any further, unfortunately. Maybe in another story. I'm glad you liked the food poisoning; I stole it from TQ, but I had already stolen Zaimid from there, so I thought, hey, why not ;). The glacier threat took me ages to get right, but I really wanted to put it in there somewhere -- Numair's outrageous threats always make me laugh! Please note: the country in this fic is NOT Egypt (I never say what it is called, because I couldn't think of a good name. In my head I call it "Tasikhestan", but "-stan" is wrong for the region I want it to be in, so that doesn't work. Maybe I should call it "Qart'aq"?). I did think of Egypt at first, because Carthak is so clearly based on ancient Egypt, but Egypt is a democratic republic, so that just wouldn't work. And then it occurred to me that really, if I was going to make this country such an unholy mess, I'd better also make it fictional ;).

Silverlake -- Thank you! Look at me blushing:)

Disclaimer: Any character, situation, or line of dialogue you recognize is not mine but belongs to Tamora Pierce.


Epilogue

Daine opens her eyes on a darkened room, and for a moment she is terribly afraid. Then other things begin to register, making the fear fade into puzzlement. First she notices the smell: clinical and antiseptic, but overlaid with the mingled scents of roses and lilies, tulips and chrysanthemums and freesias, like a florist's refrigerator. Then the quality of the light, the stripes of moonlight lying across the wall like the shadows cast by venetian blinds. Wherever she is, then, it has windows. She is no longer underground.

There is a faint electronic hum; she tries to look around for its source, but finds her head is held in place by … something. Panic surges again, and she feels her heart hammering frantically against her ribs; trying to breathe slowly to calm herself, she becomes aware of an unpleasant choking sensation and of something cold and rigid filling her mouth and throat. From somewhere to her left she hears a shrill beeping. To the right, the sound of a chair overturning, followed by a muffled curse.

She tries to speak, and chokes again. Frantic, she squeezes her eyes shut against a rush of tears.

"Daine!" the voice is familiar, beloved. A large, warm hand clasps hers; another covers her forehead, smoothes her hair. "Sweetheart, it's all right. You're in hospital—you've got a breathing tube in, that's why you feel so strange." In the dim light, Numair's face, patterned with old bruises, swims into view; he sees the question in her eyes and answers it: "Your heart stopped. You—"

A nurse bustles in, followed by a handsome young doctor who smiles at her as if he knows her, though she is sure he doesn't. The nurse lifts Daine's other hand and presses cool fingers against the pulse point at her wrist. The frantic beeping stops.

They tell her to close her eyes and cough, and when she opens her eyes again the breathing tube is gone and she can breathe normally again, though her throat is raw and her mouth achingly dry. She inhales, which triggers a fit of coughing. When she tries (again) to speak, what comes out is a croak.

Numair cradles her head and holds a cup to her mouth; cool water laps at her parched lips, and she sips gratefully.

She squints at him, trying to work out why he looks so strange. Finally it hits her: "What happened to your hair?" she croaks.

He laughs and laughs, and, though she doesn't understand what he thinks is funny, she has never heard a more welcome sound.

"I'm not going to die, then?" she asks him.

"No, sweetheart," he replies. His voice is tender, his hands gentle as he strokes her hair, her cheek, her hand. "You're going to be fine."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Not asleep—unconscious. Four days." She frowns, sceptical. "Yes, really. And look, your favourite prince has sent you flowers." Indicating several extravagant bouquets tidily lined up on the windowsill, as far as possible from her bed. "And here are some from George and the children, and some from the Contés—"

"Kaddar sent me flowers? Shouldn't we be thanking him?"

"You didn't get to hear all of my confession, love. It turns out that Kaddar was in on my plan all along, and Ozorne was going to have him arrested and executed for treason. He owes his life to you—well, you and your four-legged friends."

She remembers Etan the lion, and has to hold down a sob. He squeezes her hand. "So do I, come to that. That's twice you've snatched me from the jaws of death, vetkin. We must do something about that. I shouldn't like it to become a regular feature of our relationship."

With some effort, Daine focuses her eyes to glare at her husband. "I'm so glad to see you've kept your sense of humour," she says tartly. "Just imagine how worried I'd be if you hadn't."


"There's something else I need to tell you," he begins, hesitantly.

"Mm?"

"About Ozorne."

She sits up a little straighter, frowns. "Don't tell me he's walked free somehow."

About to shake his head, he thinks better of it and says, "No." He thinks a little more about how to say what he has to say, finally deciding just to say it: "He's dead. He ... blew himself up, after they put him in the cells. They, em, they only found bits ..."

She puts a hand to her mouth.

"Sweetheart? Are you all right?" he asks anxiously.

She nods. "He's dead," she says, in a curiously emotionless tone.

Forgetting again, he nods in return, then winces.

"Good."


"So you've got your work cut out for you, then," Daine remarks. She is toying absently with the wedding ring Kaddar has just returned to her, deciding not to ask where or how he found it.

Kaddar nods ruefully. "And the senior ministers and advisors are insisting on a formal coronation ceremony before we can really begin."

"And when does this great event take place?"

"Early next month. I … I wish you could be there."

"I don't," Numair mutters, from her other side. Daine gives him a quelling look.

"I meant what I said earlier, Daine," Kaddar goes on. "I owe my life to you, and I am anxious to repay the debt. If there is anything—anything at all—"

"What's going to happen to the animals from the Royal Zoo?" she asks. "And the birds from the aviary?"

He looks surprised. "I had not thought," he admits. "I would welcome your advice."

"I don't want them to stay there," Daine says. "They aren't happy, and they deserve better, especially after everything they did for me—for all of us. I'd like someone to get in touch with some people I know at other zoos—proper zoos, begging your majesty's pardon—and see what arrangements they can make. And Ajia, the lioness, and the hyenas and the rhino—they were all captured in the wild, poached really. They should go back."

"Of course, if you wish it," Kaddar replies, not asking where she acquired this last bit of information.

"And …" she hesitates, glancing at Numair, then at Alanna and Lindhall, who have come out into the hospital's courtyard to join them in the sun.

"What is it?"

"Miss Kingsford. Varice," she begins. "What's going to happen to her?"

"She will stand trial, I suppose," Kaddar says thoughtfully. "With others who spied for my uncle. Now that he is dead, people will be looking for someone else to punish. And if we do not take care, there are those who would turn him into a martyr. Everything he did, everything he was, must come out." A pause. "Why do you ask?"

"She … she helped me, or she tried. It wasn't her fault she was no good at it." Daine sounds a little defensive. "It was her I told to let the animals out, and someone did let them out, though I doubt she did it herself. She didn't know what Ozorne was planning."

Numair is staring open-mouthed; this is the first he has heard of any of this, and it is a difficult idea to comprehend.

"I suppose … I s'ppose I was hoping you could grant her clemency, or whatever the proper thing is," Daine concludes, pink-faced.

"I will make sure that that part of her story is heard," Kaddar assures her. "That is as much as I can do, but perhaps it will be enough." He looks at Daine, a smile tugging at his lips. "So much for others, and nothing for yourself?" he asks gently.

"Oh, I don't need anything," she replies cheerfully. "I'm alive, and so's 'Mair, and we're all gonig home. I've got all I need. Were you going to offer me money, or a medal, or something?"

Kaddar nods, a bit abashed. "Well, spend it on something more sensible," she admonishes him. "Famine relief. Sustainable agriculture. What about your idea for drought-resistant crop plants?"

He brightens, pleased that she remembers this. "I knew that you would give me good advice."


The cavernous military plane is a noisy and inelegant conveyance, but it is taking them home, for which relief they give thanks. Alanna (who is used to this sort of flight) dozes in her fold-out seat; Numair, his arm around Daine, looks over her curly head at the odd miscellany of the cabin, imagining the night sky outside.

She stirs against him, and he looks down at her; she blinks, sleepy, and he feels in memory those long, long lashes brushing his cheek.

"It's good to be going home," she murmurs. "I was a bit worried we wouldn't be."

He chuckles at her understatement, and she sits up a little and raises her head to look at him. The ugly bruises on her face are fading, but she still looks exhausted and abused, and no doubt he looks the same.

He kisses her gently, his free hand cradling her cheek.

They are neither of them given to flowery declarations, nor will they ever be; but the shock of nearly losing her has shaken something loose in him.

"Oh, my vetkin," he sighs, blissfully, gazing down at her with dreamy eyes. "Have you always been so beautiful?"

Daine's answering snort of laughter ruins the effect but reminds him forcefully why she and no other is the companion of his heart. "Have you always been so silly?" she demands. "Honestly, Numair."