Seven days since the battle. True to her word, Cassandra has evacuated the fort. She even managed to somehow slip past Matthew's spies. I don't know whether to be grateful, or break down crying.

"You're not upset?" Serra asked as she poured another kettle of water into the tub. "Grace did leave without saying good-bye."

Priscilla swirled the water about in the tub to mix it together, smiling up at Serra. "If there'd been more time, I'd have liked to see her off before the morphs vanished to gods-know-where. But the circumstances being what they were, I can understand the need for haste." She sniffed at the steam rising off the water. "Are you… sure this isn't too hot?"

"Huh? Of course I am." Serra dipped her finger in to check. "It's perfect."

"It's just… too much heat isn't good for the baby, and this seems a fair bit warmer than Anastasia usually prepares."

Serra lifted her nose. "Well, perhaps Anastasia doesn't know much about babies."

Priscilla looked at her levelly. "Anastasia was a midwife before Hector brought her on as my handmaiden."

"Well… perhaps…" Serra dipped her hand in the water again, and winced. "Perhaps this is too hot."

Priscilla smiled at her.

Serra poured in a couple buckets of cold water without comment. Priscilla was lowering herself into the bath when both women were startled by a knock at the chamber door. "Go on," Priscilla said, waving her away. "I'll be all right."

It took Serra a moment to realize that she was supposed to answer the knock. She strode out of the bath chamber, shutting the door behind her, and pulled open the front door. She was confronted by the broad frame of Raven, looking slightly less scowly than usual—at least, until he saw her. "What are you doing here?" he growled, looking around.

"There was an emergency in town, and Anastasia was called away," Serra said primly. "I volunteered to take care of your sister until she returns. It was a good opportunity to spend some time with my cousin."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "And to remind everyone of how generous you are?"

Serra could hear the sarcasm, but chose to rise above it. "Have you come to see her?"

"More or less. Where is she?"

"She's in the bath."

"Thanks." Raven stepped forward, all but pushing past her, and started toward the bath chamber.

"Raven!" Serra shouted, starting after him.

He stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

"She's in the bath."

"So?" He crossed his arms.

"She's naked."

"So?"

Serra could only stare at him for a moment.

"Oh." He glanced at the door. "Right. Guess I'll come back later." He turned back to Serra. "But I'm also here to see you."

That caught Serra off-guard. "I beg your pardon?"

"Come with me." He brushed past her once more, leaving through the still-open door. Serra hurried after him, more out of curiosity than any sense of obligation.

After a few twists and turns, she was beginning to get a sense of their destination. "Raven," she breathed—she was certainly not panting—"where are we going?"

He glanced at her, and his smile was somehow more intimidating than his scowl could ever be. "This time, I'm not the one who's been avoiding people."

She almost wanted to turn and leave right then and there, but propriety demanded she just glare at him instead. "I'll get you for this."

"I look forward to it." He stopped in front of a door and knocked.

After a moment, it swung open, and Lucius blinked at them. "Lord Raymond," he said, and then he peered at her. "Sister Serra? I haven't seen you since the battle last week."

"I meant to come by, but I was too busy." She knew as she said the words that she spoke too quickly, and cursed herself.

Raven hid his smirk by rubbing his face. "Uh, Lucius," he said. "I'm going to be leaving soon."

Lucius tilted his head. "I see. And…"

"You should stay," Raven went on. "You still haven't recovered from… well, everything."

Lucius's eyes went to Serra, and she fought back a blush. "I'd like that," the monk said. "But I can't allow you to be alone."

"He won't be alone."

The three turned to find Farina striding toward them, an irritatingly wide smile on her face. "What are you doing here?" Raven asked, not scowling quite as much as Serra would have expected.

"Looking for you," she said, stopping a few feet away. She turned to Lucius. "Raven's convinced me to take him on."

"That's not—"

"We're going to be partners," she interrupted. "Doing the same traveling mercenary thing we've been doing, just… together."

Serra looked from Raven to Farina and back again. She could see Lucius doing the same, and could feel him drawing the same conclusions she was. "Oh," he said softly, eyebrows raising just a hair. "I see."

"I'll be by to check on you when I can," Raven said. He hesitated, and added in a soft voice, "This isn't good-bye."

Lucius's smile was unusually broad. "Of course not, milord. Thank you for your consideration."

Raven hugged him, and then turned to Farina. "We've got work to do," he said over his shoulder. "See you around."

Farina waved as the two of them strode off together. Once they were almost to the corner, she hooked her arm around his. He didn't pull away.

"Wow," Serra murmured as she turned back to Lucius. "I did not see that coming."

She fell silent as soon as she saw him. His gaze was squarely on her—probably had been the entire time. She tried not to squirm, and cleared her throat. "Um," she began. "So, before, when… uh…"

"I missed you," he said softly.

Whatever barriers Serra had erected in her heart broke at those three words. She quickly turned from him, so he wouldn't see her lips trembling.

"I know I've no right to say that," he went on, sadness permeating his words. "I left so soon after being gone so long."

"It was a crisis." Serra whispered. She sniffed, wiped at the tears threatening her eyes, and turned back to him, chin held high. "But the crisis is over," she said, managing to keep her voice from shaking.

Lucius took a step to one side. "Would you like to come in?" he said. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Propriety demanded—

"I thought you'd never ask," she said briskly, sweeping past him.

Priscilla could enjoy her soak for a while longer.

Fifteen days. Snow's begun to fall in Lycia. I have returned to my work as a tactician. Our allies continue to go their separate ways, including some very dear friends.

Lyn fingered the hilt of her blade as Hector looked down at the rolled-up letter before him, the Caelin seal emblazoned proudly in the unbroken wax. Clearly, he didn't need to open it to know its contents. "And I can't convince you otherwise?" he said, looking up.

Lyn shook her head. "This has been in the works for months, Hector. You know that."

"I do," he sighed. "But all that time, I've been hoping you'd change your mind. When you leave, Caelin loses a great leader. Lycia loses a great ally." He rose, pushing his chair slowly back from the table. "And I lose a great friend."

"We all do," Eliwood agreed. He stood at Hector's side. It seemed only appropriate that the two be together for this, as they had been most of the time she'd known them.

Lyn smiled at the two of them. "I thank you for your kind words. But this life was never for me. I am pleased to have been of service to my grandfather in his final days, and to the people of Caelin after his passing." She lowered her gaze. "But it's time to move on."

"We'll miss you," Eliwood offered.

"And I'll miss you." She eyed Hector. "Despite myself."

He didn't bother hiding his amusement.

Lyn's smile sobered. "Have you made all the arrangements?"

"Kent will be made steward of Caelin territory," Hector replied. "He was reluctant to accept the offer. But I think he's grateful to be carrying on your work."

"And my grandfather's." Lyn glanced around. "I entrust the rule of Caelin to you, then."

Hector blinked, as though being struck by the finality of it all. "I wish I could refuse. But I couldn't keep you here any more than I could contain the wind." He put a fist to his chest. "We'll take care of Caelin."

"Good-bye, Lyn," Eliwood said softly. "Be safe."

"I will."

And then she was no longer Lady Lyndis of Caelin; she was once more Lyn of the Lorca, free to do as she pleased. And Lyn of the Lorca wanted nothing more than to round the table and embrace her two friends.

"Oh!" Eliwood exclaimed in surprise.

"She's got a tighter grip than I do," Hector choked.

Lyn gave them one final squeeze before letting go. All three had tears in their eyes. "Thank you for everything," she said. "I'll visit someday."

"You damn well better," Hector said, patting her on the shoulder. "Until then."

"Until then."

There were many more good-byes to be said. Her knights were all waiting for her outside; like Hector, they were probably hoping she'd change her mind at the last minute. But Sacae was calling her, and she could ignore it no longer. Kent would serve as steward, and Wil had promised to stay as well. She couldn't imagine Sain leaving Kent's side—though there'd been talk of him striking out on his own, which was bad news for the women of Elibe. Florina and Heath would probably return to Ilia, working together as wingborne mercenaries, playing with Fiora's girls, and hopefully starting a family of their own. Lyn resolved to visit them all when time allowed, however long that took.

But it was not her knights she found just outside the door to Hector's audience chamber. To his credit, Guy was doing his best to look casual, like he'd just stopped there to rest for a while. He didn't even look at Lyn until she cleared her throat. "Oh, hey," he said, feigning a surprised smile. "How'd it go?"

"It went." She shifted her weight, eyeing him. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, really. I was thinking of heading to the barracks for some training."

"I meant, what are you still doing here? Rath and the others left days ago."

Guy blinked. "Right. Well, um." He coughed. "I kind of wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

Lyn nodded.

"You're heading back to Sacae, too, right?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"I'm the last of the Lorca. Who'd go with me?"

"What? Lots of people. Florina would. Kent probably would."

Lyn smiled. He was probably right. "True enough. But they have homes, lives, families. They don't belong on the plains."

"Maybe." He shifted. "But… I do."

Lyn tilted her head. "And?"

"And… maybe I could go with you?"

Lyn remained silent.

"I know you can take care of yourself," he said quickly. "You survived on your own, and you protected Mark when you found him. It's just… you shouldn't have to be alone, you know? If you don't want to." He watched her for a moment. "Of course, if you do want to, I'll shut up and—"

"Guy."

He perked up at once. "Yeah?"

Lyn finally let a smile cross her face. She'd been wondering if Guy would ever make the first move, or if she'd have to do it herself. Evidently, he'd finally worked up the courage to speak to her, and she couldn't be happier.

"I'll think about it," she said.

One month. I'm fast approaching the point where I'll have been away from Cassandra for longer than I was with her. The others are worried about me, I know. I can do little to alleviate their fears besides fulfilling my duties.

It still felt strange, having Jaffar of all people sitting next to him on the battlements as Matthew watched the rising sun. He rubbed his eyes. I'm tired. I shouldn't be tired already.

"We're leaving today," Jaffar murmured.

"You and near everyone else," Matthew replied. "I guess they're all finally satisfied the morphs aren't going to pop out of nowhere and attack us."

"You still harbor guilt."

Matthew glared at him. "Quite an eye you've got there. Be a shame if someone were to take it."

"Hmm." Jaffar crossed his arms. His eyes were still on the horizon.

Matthew followed his gaze, sighing. "Where will you go?"

"To find Nino. Legault's told me where Jan is. He might know something."

"Does Erk know about this?"

"Erk's the one who asked me to help him look."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Well. That'll be interesting."

Jaffar said nothing.

"What happens when you find her?"

"We make sure she's safe."

"And?"

"And then it's up to her."

Matthew nodded. Leila never had a choice. Neither did the morphs.

"Matthew."

The word sounded strange coming from him. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For asking me here." Jaffar adjusted his robes. "In the end, I don't think I helped much. But it meant a great deal to me."

Matthew frowned. "I'm not even sure what I wanted anymore. I tried to force a confrontation, and… well, I got one."

"When you've seen as much bloodshed as we have," Jaffar said, "it seems the be the first thing you think of, yet the last thing you want."

Matthew grimaced. "I hate how right you are."

Jaffar smirked.

"You know what Mark said?" Matthew sighed. "After I told him this was all my fault?"

"He said he forgave you."

"He said he forgave me."

"That sounds like Mark."

"I don't know if the morphs will forgive me," Matthew murmured.

"Do you want them to?"

Matthew stretched, leaning back on the battlements. "I don't know. I wouldn't, if I was any good at my job."

"Maybe it's time for a change of vocation."

"You really think I can just turn off that part of myself?"

"In time."

Matthew looked at Jaffar. The former assassin's eyes had gone distant. "Is it really that easy?" Matthew asked softly.

"No," Jaffar said. "It's hard. And it'll continue to be hard for a long time."

"And then?"

The sun cleared the horizon, and Jaffar turned from it at last. "And then you'll wake up one day, and realize that life has taken more of your attention than death."

Matthew tossed a pebble of the battlements. His ears focused hard, cutting out the sounds of the slowly-waking castle, until he heard it strike the ground below.

"That sounds nice," he murmured.

Jaffar's smile was disgustingly genuine. "It is."

Spring has come at last. With it, I've decided to leave Ostia and resume my travels. It's been months since I arrived here… since the garrison battle. Part of me hates to admit it, but it's time to move on.

"You're going to quit?" Mark said, aghast.

"Retire," Matthew corrected. "I'm going to retire." He pulled a book off the vendor's display, flipping through it. "Hmm. 'Epic of the End.' If it's the end, why is this one volume fifteen?"

"Never heard that one before," the bookseller growled.

"Don't change the subject," Mark said, pushing the book away. "You're in charge of Ostia's entire network—"

Matthew dropped the book back in its place. "And as of next week, Gorlois will be in charge of it instead."

Mark paused. "Who?"

"Exactly."

Mark grimaced. "You love your job. You love Ostia."

"I'm tired of my job," Matthew sighed, making a show of perusing the texts. "I'm tired of… well not of Ostia, I suppose. I'm just tired."

Mark studied him. "What's really going on, Matthew?"

Matthew picked up another book. "I wrote to everyone who aided us five years ago. So much had changed for all of them. But I'm still in the same place, doing the same thing." He shook his head. "I thought it was what I wanted to do. Then Luther happened, and the battle, and now…"

"Your writing everyone prevented a lot of deaths," Mark pointed out.

"It caused many, too." Matthew showed him the cover. "This one says 'The Ocean of Stars.' Any interest?"

"Stop trying to distract me." Mark eyed the book. "But yes, I'm interested in that one."

Matthew smiled, and set the book before the vendor. "About damn time you made a choice," she grumbled, taking Matthew's gold.

"Always a pleasure." Matthew handed the book to Mark, and the two walked off. Once they were well clear of the surly bookseller, Matthew glanced at his companion. "So, you going to try to talk me out of it?"

Mark looked down. "I feel like I ought to. But honestly, Matthew, if retiring makes you happy, I can't conscience advising you against it."

"Well." Matthew inclined his head. "Thanks for that. Besides, with you leaving, it's going to get downright boring around here."

Mark glanced over the book. The Ocean of Stars. Sounded intriguing. "What will you do?" he asked.

"That, I'm not sure of," Matthew sighed. He nodded to a group of young women, whose giggles trailed after them. "Can't say I'm suited for farm work. Maybe it's time I became an honest thief."

"As opposed to a dishonest thief?"

"As opposed to a spy posing as a thief." He stretched toward the afternoon sun. "Perhaps I should leave Ostia, at least for a time. I feel like a change of scenery."

"You could always come with me," Mark said, chuckling. "I never know when I'll need a bodyguard."

Matthew must have noticed how forced the chuckle was, because he reached out and laid a hand on Mark's shoulder. "This is the spot, isn't it?" he said softly.

Mark looked up to find the horseshoe shape of the Ostian market spread before them. The bookseller behind them was one of a sea of vendors that set up here in the hopes of hawking their wares, while people came from across the marchy to stock up on supplies.

"Yeah," he said softly. "This is the spot."

A lifetime ago, and a few feet away, Cassandra had knocked him over while pursuing a cutpurse. It was that chance meeting that had led to his becoming her captive, her advisor, her friend, and—

He shook himself. "I guess a part of me is still waiting."

Matthew rubbed his face. "Wherever they went, they'd need to hunker down for the winter."

If they survived the winter.

"Now that spring's come," Matthew went on, "and people aren't tracking them—"

"People like you?"

"—Cassandra might decide to reach out to you."

Mark glanced at him. "I thought you'd be telling me I need to forget her and move on."

"Well, it turns out I'm not always a horrible friend."

Mark smiled. He opened his mouth to speak when Matthew held up a hand. The spy—former spy—looked around, grimacing. "Though it seems I'm a pretty poor bodyguard."

Mark snapped to attention, looking around. "What do you mean?"

"Just that, once again, I've managed to distract myself while we've gotten ourselves surrounded."

"I'd say 'flanked' is more the proper term," came a soft, low, and familiar voice from their right.

Mark hardly dared to turn his head—yet he couldn't resist. A cloaked figure stood a few feet away, the crowd moving around him as though by instinct. He lifted his head, and Mark could see golden eyes peering at him from under the hood. Blood-red lips turned up into a smile. "This is a message from Lady Cassandra."

"Denning!" Mark launched himself at the morph; Denning's hood fell back as they collided. The archer quickly returned the embrace, laughing. "Where the hell have you been?" Mark asked.

"Oh, calm down," growled another voice from behind. "It hasn't been that long."

Mark's breath caught as he turned. "Gavin?"

"You aren't going to tackle-hug me, too, are you?" Gavin asked as he lowered his own hood.

"You're alive," Mark whispered, stepping forward and seizing Gavin's hands in his own. "I thought…"

Gavin's face softened as he looked down at their hands. "Peleus decided killing me was a waste of resources. I was in the garrison, stealing supplies, when Grace used the freedom staff. I must have been just at the edge of its range—but it worked on me just as it did everyone else."

Mark let go of Gavin's hands, only to wrap his arms around the morph himself. "Thank the gods."

"All right," Gavin grumbled, pushing him away. "Enough of that."

"Are you going to kidnap him again?" Matthew asked, glancing between the two morphs—Denning on the right, Gavin on the left. "I'm still technically his bodyguard, so if you're going to try to kidnap him again, I should at least try to stop you."

"We're not here to kidnap you," Denning said, looking over at Mark. "We're here to invite you."

"To where?" Mark asked, heart brimming with hope.

Denning and Gavin exchanged a smile. "To our Arcadia."

I'm home.

"Well," Matthew muttered. "That is something."

Standing between him and Denning, Mark had to agree. The new morph community was nestled in the Etrurian mountains; two peaks rose around it, but they'd already spent half the day climbing a well-concealed path just to get here. A lake filled the space between the two, and the morphs had set up on its shores. The surrounding forest provided wood for fire and construction, and game animals roamed the area; and the lake provided fresh water, fertile soil, and some fish. The secluded area was away from common flight paths for wyverns and pegasi, and was high enough up that nobody was likely to stumble across it. Anyone who did would have to deal with the natural fortifications of the mountain valley. They'd occupied the fort out of convenience, but this place was truly perfect for them.

The only thing it was missing was dwellings, and the morphs were already hard at work at that. Cabins and cottages were going up all over the place, along with a large covered area for communal meals or gatherings and workshops for making goods. They were building individual houses, rather than cramming into existing rooms as they had in the fort, which meant there were a lot more houses to build; but couples and close friends shared dwellings, making the process faster. Durran was supervising the construction, his towering figure and booming voice directing the others in their work even as he dragged around whole trees to be cut up for lumber.

Matthew turned to the lake. "If I were the sentimental type, I might say this is a lovely spot."

Mark grinned at his friend. "I still can't believe you're here."

"I still can't believe that Gavin asked me to come." He looked over at Denning.

The morph gave an enigmatic smile. "We were asked to bring you, if possible."

"Yeah, but by whom? And why?"

Denning responded by plucking at his bowstring.

Matthew shrugged. "Well, I did say I could use a change of scenery." He looked Denning over. "How did you manage the winter?"

"We split up," Denning responded.

Mark snapped his head around. "What?"

"I know how you feel," Denning said with a laugh. "I couldn't believe it either when Cassandra suggested it. But it made sense. A few of us pretending to be siblings in a village here, a couple helping out on a farm there… we all found people to take us in. Lived alongside them for months." He scratched his chin. "But when the spring came, we longed to be together. And Cassandra found us, every one. Just as before."

Mark could only shake his head.

Matthew glanced over his shoulder. "Hate to interrupt, but I think I see the welcoming committee."

Mark turned, and his smile returned. Gavin was returning arm-in-arm with Ellain, Grace at their side. Luther trailed the three of them. Grace was visibly further along and moving slower, but showed no signs of pain or even discomfort. Ellain had put on one of her best dresses—though Mark wasn't sure she had any dresses that weren't "one of her best." Once she got close enough, he was delighted to see that she wore a wedding band that matched perfectly the one Gavin had under his gloves, which Mark had been dying to ask about for days.

Ellain slipped her arm from Gavin's and went straight for Mark, seizing him in an embrace. He managed not to blush as her chest pressed against his. "I was beginning to wonder if the boys would ever find you," she said as she released him.

"How are you?" he asked, looking from her to Gavin.

"We're all right," Grace said, her smile taking on a sad tinge. "We lost many friends. But we've had time to mourn and time to start rebuilding."

Ellain patted Mark's cheek. "Everyone's going to be happy you're back. It may not have been intentional, but you're one of us now."

Luther stepped forward, clearing their throat. They smiled—the first time Mark had ever seen it. "Welcome back," they said, before turning to Matthew. The smile faded. "Are you Matthew?"

Matthew nodded slowly, his eyes roving over the morph.

"My name's Luther," they said, putting a hand to their chest. "I asked Gavin and Denning to bring you."

Eyebrows raised all around. "Oh?" was all Matthew could manage.

"I understand your men found me and left me near the fort."

Matthew came as close as he ever did to going stiff.

Luther's smile returned, warmer than before. "Thank you," they said softly. "Without you, I'd never have found my place."

Matthew's jaw actually dropped. "But," he said, "it's because of me that you—"

"You give yourself too much credit," Gavin said, giving Matthew a nudge. "Peleus would have found a way sooner or later."

"You gave Luther a home, dear," Ellain added, patting Matthew on the cheek. "We're all grateful for that."

Luther cleared their throat again, and Mark saw a hint of a blush at their cheeks. "Perhaps," they said, glancing at Ellain, "while you're here, I could… make you dinner?"

It was Mark's turn to gape.

"Sure," Matthew answered at last. Mark had to admire his acting skills; anyone else would have been fidgeting uncontrollably. "That could be nice."

They started toward the dwellings, Ellain taking Mark's arm. Gavin walked ahead, though he kept glancing back at them, and getting as close as he ever did to smiling. "How's he been?" Mark whispered to Ellain. "Since you… well…"

"Since we died for each other?" she asked.

Mark grimaced.

Ellain paused before going on. "I… made myself a promise, years ago. And I worried that would make it impossible for me to make Gavin happy. But when I finally told him, he told me—well. I suppose it's not my place to share." She smiled wistfully and touched her ring. "Suffice it to say, we're together. Not in the most conventional way, perhaps. But we're together."

"Conventional or not, I'm happy for you both."

Ellain gave him a brilliant smile. "Not as happy as I am."

When they reached the line of houses, everyone paused in their work to call out to Mark. They didn't exactly all rush over to greet him, but those who were able to set down their tools did shake his hand or at least wave as they passed. Each greeting filled Mark's heart further. They really consider me one of them. It's like they always assumed I'd be back—all the while I was wondering if I'd ever hear from them again.

One figure approached—a figure whose hair was not black, but grey, and whose eyes were not gold, but—

"Renault?" Mark gasped.

The bishop smiled at him. "Nice to see you again, too."

"What are you doing here?" Matthew asked. He sounded as shocked as Mark felt.

"Helping." Renault lifted the hammer he'd been holding.

"That's not what I—"

"Cassandra has decided that this place will be home to those with nowhere else to go." Renault lowered the hammer. "And I, at least, may be able to find the peace here I've been searching for all this time."

Ellain smirked at Mark. "You didn't think 'morphs and humans living in peace' meant only one human, did you?"

"Two humans," Gavin corrected, motioning at Matthew.

Matthew crossed his arms. "I haven't agreed to stay yet."

"You've agreed to stay for dinner," Luther pointed out.

And then Mark saw Cassandra, and the rest of the world seemed to fade.

She'd been directing some workers hoeing a field when she spotted him, and she immediately started toward him, her work abandoned. Mark's heart went from thumping to racing to pounding in the space of a few breaths. Her smile grew brighter the closer she got to him, lighting up the whole valley; until at last, she was standing mere inches away.

"Welcome back," she whispered.

"I missed you," he replied.

She seized him and kissed him, and his world became her. They'd been apart nearly half a year, yet at the moment their lips met, every ounce of their separation crumbled as they held each other close.

They parted, and Mark became aware of the stares they were drawing from everyone around them. Cassandra didn't seem to mind. "Come with me," she whispered into his ear.

Before he could respond, she'd turned, keeping a firm grip on his wrist, and began tugging him toward one of the smaller completed dwellings. Her home, he realized.

Cassandra paused, and turned to the others, her expression going stony. "If anyone knocks on my door for any reason," she said slowly, "I will personally throw them down the mountain. Understood?"

Nobody dared do anything but nod.