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Jesper followed Ohval and the Disciple into the inner chamber, waiting and looking around at her collection of artifacts while she settled her husband into bed, and for once feeling no inclination to steal any of them.

Turning, he looked down into the glass top of a coffin. An occupied coffin. "Is that … a person?"

"My first husband." She looked down at the remains dispassionately. "Terrible marriage. Adequate table." Bending down, she lifted a box onto the top of the coffin and opened it, revealing the blade in question. "You are a Durast," she said.

Startled, Jesper wasn't sure what to say. Or how she'd known. "I, uh …"

"You're a terrible Durast. You could have come at me in any number of ways. Buttons on your waistcoat, the metal in the boot of your shoe." She came around the coffin toward him, the sheathed blade in her hands. Lifting it and presenting it to him, she added, "You are too old to be a terrible Durast."

Hesitantly, Jesper reached for the blade, taking the scabbard in one hand and the grip in the other. He pulled it out, admiring the craftsmanship, the weight and heft of it. He wasn't a swordsman, but he appreciated fine work.

The events of the past few hours came together in his mind—his mother, returned to him; her pride in his skills; Ohval's mastery of so many possibilities of being a Durast that he had never even considered; this fine blade and the importance of being a good craftsman, using your skills to the best of your ability; Wylan and Kaz's recognition of his skills and their spoken and unspoken encouragement for him to hone them. "I have a lot of catching up to do," he said, sure of himself and who he was for the first time in a long time. "I can see that now."

He sheathed the blade, and Ohval turned away.

Before he left, though, Jesper wanted to say one more thing. "About the poison. I know you were trying to kill us, but, um …" Tears stung his eyes. "Thank you."

Ohval studied him for a moment. "Life doesn't often give second chances. And it would be a shame to waste the talent of any Durast. So do catch up."

Still fighting tears, Jesper nodded. He would. For … everyone he loved.

This time when Ohval turned from him, he left, hurrying outside with the blade. There was a lot he wanted to do differently with the life he was suddenly seeing with fresh new eyes, but the first thing was to make things right with Wylan, to tell him—to show him what he meant to him.

But Wylan wasn't outside with the others. Panic filled Jesper. Was he too late? Had he missed his chance? Handing the blade hastily to Inej as if it hadn't nearly cost them all their lives, Jesper hurried out the door without a second's hesitation.

Wylan was already halfway down the road.

"Wylan? Wylan! Wait a sec."

But Wylan didn't want to wait. He wanted to keep going, to keep walking, until he found himself—anywhere but here. Far from things he couldn't have and couldn't help but want. "Did you get it?" he asked Jesper as he caught up. At least hopefully all this had been for something.

"Oh, I did. Yeah, I got it. And I got it. You know, with, like, kruge's dropped finally and all that."

Wylan wondered if he was aware he wasn't making sense. Maybe that was a side effect of the poison. He'd taken some samples, maybe he'd have to experiment.

Jesper continued, "And one day, I'll tell you about everything, but right now—you were right. I need … I don't want to hide who I am anymore. For a million reasons." Wylan's lack of response was making him incredibly nervous, but he didn't intend to be someone who let what was important to him get lost, not anymore. "Including you."

The smile was uncontrollable. Wylan turned his face away to hide it. Whatever had happened to Jesper in that house, he sounded like—like the kind of man he had always been meant to be. And maybe that meant that everything between them wasn't over yet. "You know, I—I actually had a moment, too, in that garden. Yeah, I … I saw a Datura Meloxia. They are, like, extremely rare. And you know …" He cleared his throat. If he said this, he'd be unable to take it back. But he wanted, needed, to take the chance. "When I saw it, all I wanted in the world was just to tell you about it … and squeeze your hand."

Before he got the words out, Jesper's hand was in his, pulling him to a stop. "I want to stand with you in front of all the Daturma Ox things to come."

He looked so pleased with himself, Wylan couldn't help but try to correct him. "Actually, it's Daturma … uh, Datura …" It was utterly impossible to think with Jesper looking at him like that. And why was he still talking when they could be kissing? "Never mind." And then they were kissing, Jesper's gentle hand on the side of his face.

Gathering Wylan close, Jesper breathed a sigh of relief and contentment. Over Wylan's shoulder, he caught Tolya's eye and they exchanged a smile. Then he took Wylan's face in his hands and kissed him again, softly and sweetly, completely missing Kaz and Inej passing them, and not caring at all.

Resting his head against Jesper's shoulder, Wylan closed his eyes, hardly daring to believe he was back here, where he had most wanted to be.

"I'm sorry about … the other day. My saying stupid things," Jesper said softly. "I should warn you, I do that a fair amount."

Wylan smiled. "I'll try to keep that in mind. Just … you don't—don't need to fix me. I'm not—I'm not broken." He had never said that aloud to anyone before.

Jesper tilted his face up with his fingers. "I know you aren't. I … I think I might be, a little. I might ask for your help in fixing myself."

"Gladly given."

They kissed again, and might have stood there all day, exchanging promises and endearments and embraces and kisses, if Nina's voice hadn't carried across the space between them. "Are you two helping us save the world or what?"

"What!" Jesper called back, grinning, and she laughed while they hurried, hand-in-hand, to catch up with the others.