Chapter 83

We gathered Elise’s notes from our room and made our way to the royal library.

It was impressive - unquestionably so. Not as vast as Master Edevane’s tower library or the Grand Archive in Northgate, but formidable in its own right. If I had to guess, there were close to forty thousand volumes.

Honey-colored wood shelves climbed the circular walls from floor to ceiling. Three long rows of freestanding shelves cut through the center of the room. In the semicircles to either side stood ornate desks and reading tables, carved bookstands, smaller cases displaying rarer works.

Above us, the tray ceiling was divided into nine painted panels - each depicting a different battle in painstaking detail. There were no windows; we had to be near the heart of the palace. Instead, magical lamps cast a soft, steady golden light over everything.

I inhaled slowly.

Old parchment. Leather bindings. Polished wood. It smelled like wealth and old knowledge preserved in ink.

“Will this suffice?” the queen asked.

“It’s impressive,” I said honestly. “Let me see.”

I closed my eyes and shifted inward - into the strange landscape of Faith that had become as real to me as sight. Elise’s silver and gold aura shined brighter than the brightest star, washing out whatever Faith lay around her.

“Elise?” I asked quietly. “Would you step to my demesne for a moment? Your Faith is very bright.”

She looked around the room with visible longing before nodding. A heartbeat later, she was gone.

“I meant to ask,” the archmagus said, folding his hands behind his back. “How is she able to apport in such a fashion?”

“My Faith,” I answered. “I infuse my companions with it - unconsciously. The longer we’re together, the stronger the resonance becomes. We recently discovered they can use it in small ways. One of those is entering my demesne without assistance.”

“And you cannot replicate the process deliberately?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been a god for three months. I’ve only understood what that means for about one of them. Yveth has been helping, but…” I huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s been chaos. I’m mostly improvising.”

He nodded in understanding.

I returned to my Faith-scape.

The library glowed. Brighter than crossroads. Brighter than minor decision points. Dimmer than Elise. Dimmer than Edavane’s tower - but still present - faint, but stable. Something I might be able to find again if I searched hard enough.

“I think this will work,” I said at last. “Just to be safe, I’ll leave Adhaneth here as an anchor. That way I can guarantee your return.”

The archmagus blinked.

“Did you just- What did you say?” the archmagus asked.

“I’ll leave Adhaneth here,” I said, gesturing with the leather-wrapped length of wood capped in silver.

“Why,” he asked slowly, “did you give that name to your staff?”

“I didn’t give it,” I replied. “That’s her name.”

“Her… name?” His brow furrowed. He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Are you suggesting that object is the rib of Miralis?”

I laughed. “No. That’s a story Miralis made up. But this is the weapon in question.”

Best not to mention she was actually the ancient mother of Myrddin or doomed lover of Arthyr. Best to let them think she was a simple staff.

“The stories likely describe her as a greatsword,” I added.

Adhaneth shifted in my hands - wood stretching, leather unraveling, metal lengthening into the unmistakable shape of a massive blade.

The archmagus made a strangled sound.

“Unfortunately,” I said lightly, “I’m terrible with swords.”

The blade flowed smoothly back into the familiar staff form.

“Shall we?” I asked, as the old wizard continued sputtering.

* * *

I reached out and took the queen’s hand in one of mine and the archmagus’s sleeve in the other.

“Ready?” I asked.

Before either could answer, I stepped.

The world folded.

Light streaked sideways, sound collapsed inward, and in the span of a blink, stone and wood gave way to something altogether different.

We stood in my demesne.

The queen drew in a sharp breath.

The archmagus did not breathe at all.

They turned slowly, taking it in.

Night had fallen here. The light was dim, but clear - no visible source, just a gentle glow that defined edges and shapes without casting harsh shadows.

Behind us lay the former goblin village, quiet and still, ringed by fields heavy with grain nearly ready for harvest. The wind stirred them in soft waves.

Ahead rose the castle.

Its walls curved in sweeping arcs instead of straight lines, as if grown rather than built. Stained glass windows shimmered from within. Silver-peaked towers rose with impossible grace, tapering into the sky like the spires of a dream.

The horizon shifted in slow, deliberate motion - mountains dissolving into marshlands, then into plains, then into dense forests. Seasons rolled across them like the turning of pages. Snow melted into spring bloom. Summer bloomed into autumn. A terrestrial kaleidoscope.

Multicolored moths drifted through the air - white, green, blue - leaving faint trails of luminescence. Overhead, clouds shaped like chairs, cups, and candle sticks drifted lazily across the sky.

“What do you think?” I asked, unable to keep the smirk from my face.

“It’s… wonderful,” the queen breathed.

The archmagus finally inhaled. “You cultivate crops here?”

“When the first dragon struck Reedwatch, the goblins lost nearly everything,” I said. “We planted these so they’d have something come spring. This winter’s been lean. Hunting’s done most of the heavy lifting.”

He nodded, thoughtful.

“Shall we?” I gestured toward the castle.

They agreed, and we began down the cobblestone road. This time, there was no shortcut. No stepping from place to place. We walked.

As we approached, the gilded gates parted of their own accord. The bailey stretched wide before us - polished stone and landscaped gardens. The great doors opened silently as we drew near.

Inside, the entry hall soared upward in gothic splendor. Twin staircases curved gracefully toward a balcony above. Doorways branched off into the deeper recesses of the castle. Along the walls hung copies of my favorite works of art - recreations from a world without magic, now glowing softly under candlelight.

Behind us, a massive stained-glass window gleamed as though moonlight poured through it, even though no moon hung overhead.

Candles flickered gently throughout the chamber, warming the space.

“We’ve got everything here,” I said. “Kitchen, dining hall, baths, bedrooms, common rooms, library.” I smiled faintly. “Let’s check the library. I’d bet money Elise is there.”

We passed through the door to the right.

The library opened before us - high shelves, rolling ladders, long tables strewn with books.

Elise stood near the center table, guiding volumes back to their proper places. She lifted each one and released it, letting them float through the air in quiet arcs toward their shelves.

“Most of these came from Master Edavane’s collection,” I said softly. “A few from my world too.”

I crossed the room and rested my hand gently against the small of her back.

“Doing okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

Then she turned to face the queen and archmagus, posture straight, hands folded.

“Elise keeps everything in order,” I said. “They’re her books, after all.”

I looked at her. “Would you like to join us for the rest of the tour?”

“I’ll stay,” she replied softly. Then, to the queen and archmagus, “Thank you for your hospitality. And for everything else. It has been a pleasure to meet you.”

“It has been my pleasure as well, Apprentice Rosecroft,” the queen said warmly. “I hope we meet again.”

“It is rare to encounter such scholarship,” the archmagus added with a short bow. “You have my admiration.”

Elise flushed faintly but inclined her head.

“Come on,” I said to the others. “Let me show you the rest.”

We left her among her floating books and stepped back into the halls of my shifting castle.

* * *

I returned the queen and the archmagus to the palace, retrieved Adhaneth from the royal library, and stepped home.

It was probably eight. Maybe nine at night.

The house was quiet in that soft, sacred way it only gets when children are being put to bed.

I found Mirri and Serah moving between rooms, tucking the kids in. Blankets were adjusted. Foreheads were kissed. Warnings about sneaking snacks were issued and ignored. I joined in - giving hugs where hugs were wanted, shoulder squeezes where that was cooler, and fist bumps for the ones who preferred dignity over affection.

Mirri looked tired - but happy. The kind that comes from a full day doing what you love. Serah looked composed, content, regal even in simple domesticity.

She kissed me lightly, then excused herself, leaving Mirri and me alone on the balcony that connected the bedrooms.

“Hey,” I said quietly. “Are we okay?”

Mirri looked up at me, brow furrowed. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Things have been… tense,” I admitted. “I know I do a lot of stupid stuff.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

She smiled softly.

“We’re good,” she said. “I’m just… happy. Really happy.” Her voice softened further. “I have everything I ever wanted. And I don’t wanna lose it.”

She leaned against the railing.

“I know you’re tryin’ to do right. And I’m proud of you. Of everything you’ve built. But I worry.” She glanced toward the closed bedroom doors. “About you. About the kids. About Serah. About Ashie. We’ve got a good thing goin’. I don’t wanna lose it.”

I stepped forward and scooped her up into a bridal carry.

She let out a surprised huff of laughter.

“You know I love you, right?” I asked.

“I’ve heard rumors,” she replied, slipping her arms around my neck.

I carried her down the stairs into the common room.

Serah sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, delicate needlework in her hands. The firelight caught in her crimson hair. Ashlara sat cross-legged on the floor near the hearth, mending a tear in a pair of leather pants with quiet focus.

“So,” Mirri asked, still in my arms, “you ready for the big day tomorrow?”

I laughed.

“If you’d asked the version of me from three months ago?” I said. “The freshly unemployed project manager going through a divorce and hating his life? He would’ve said absolutely not.”

I looked around the room.

“But this me?” I smiled. “This me looks forward to every single day. Every year I get with my family.”