Chapter 86

At some point Elise slipped away and joined Grams and Mirri in the kitchen. I’d never seen her voluntarily enter that room. The fact that she had - unprompted - meant something was happening in there. I was curious, sure, but I wasn’t about to ruin whatever surprise they were cooking up.

There was still time before dinner, so I gathered the kids.

“I want to try something,” I told them. “I’ve seen it done. Never done it myself. Which means there’s a strong chance we set something on fire.”

That earned the appropriate level of excitement.

I stepped into my demesne and came back with armfuls of tissue paper, thin wooden strips, glue, paint, and little candles. We moved inside the keep as the evening air turned cold, spreading everything across the tables.

They painted in their own styles - no two alike.

Tib’s paper filled with little boats bobbing on choppy waves. Lilae painted flowers in bold, cheerful bursts of color. Elarion’s wolves hunted across the paper, lean and fierce. Brinja crafted intricate knotwork trees, their branches looping into impossible patterns. Torvek’s was all hard lines and geometric precision. Mak covered hers in hearts and butterflies without an ounce of irony. And Issa… Issa painted all of us, hands linked, smiling. It was detailed enough to steal my breath.

I even dragged the adults into it too, convincing Grams, Mirri, and Elise to take a break from the kitchen while dinner simmered. There was grumbling. There was also laughter.

While they did that, I worked the sticks into square frames.

When the paint dried enough, I helped them glue the paper to the wooden scaffolding, shaping them into hollow lantern-boxes about two feet wide. By the time we were done, fourteen delicate paper lanterns sat on the tables.

I was vibrating with excitement.

But before we could go any further, it was dinner time.

The kitchen trio had outdone themselves. Smoked meats glistened beside savory stuffing. Roasted vegetables steamed. Soup perfumed the air. Grams produced a bottle of sweet, fruity wine from town that paired perfectly with everything.

We joked. We teased. We reached across the table to steal bites from each other’s plates. We laughed so hard at one point that Tib nearly fell out of his chair.

More than at any other point in my life, I felt it settle into my bones - I belonged.

These were my people. This was my family.

When the last crumbs were gone, Mirri hopped to her feet.

“Stay right there,” she said, pointing at me. “We’re done with dinner - but not done. You do so much for us, we wanted to do something for you. So we made presents!”

She clapped and bounced on her toes in excitement.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, grinning helplessly. “You’re all gift enough.”

“Don’t get sappy yet,” she shot back. “Tib, do you want to go first?”

The little goblin boy slid out of his chair, left the room, and returned with a tightly rolled piece of leather. He handed it to me, trying very hard to look calm.

Inside was a stitched tool wrap - a sharpening stone, a needle, a tiny folding knife, and twine.

“You fix everything,” he said. “Maybe this will help.”

I scooped him into a hug. “Tib, thank you. This is perfect. With these tools, I can fix anything. I’m going to carry this with me everywhere.” I set him down and ruffled his hair. “Thank you.”

“Lilae?” Mirri asked.

Lilae hopped up and dashed out of the room, returning with my cloak, all rolled up.

I unfolded it and found a colorful patchwork lining sewn inside, dotted with dozens of little hidden pockets.

“Serah and Vaer helped,” she said quickly.

I lifted her into my lap. “Maybe they did. But I can see your stitches. I can see the care. Lilae, thank you. This is incredible.” I lowered my voice. “And I know the love inside it is all yours.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged me like she was trying to fuse our ribs together. She slid from my lap and scurried over to Mirri.

Mak got up unprompted, left, and returned with something hidden in her fist. She thrust it out to me, grinning. She dropped a beaded bracelet into my palm.

“It will help you in battle,” she declared. “This bead means strength. This one bravery. This one is family.”

I swallowed. “Mak… thank you. It’s beautiful. Will you help me put it on?”

She tied it carefully around my wrist, beaming.

“Thank you,” I said again, meeting her eyes. “I’ll wear it proudly.”

Elarion brought me an arrow—red-fletched with careful precision, the head crude but painstakingly sharpened.

“I know you fight with a staff,” he said. “But if you need to strike from far away…”

I took it carefully. “Elarion, thank you. I hope I never need it. But if I do, I’ll remember who made it and I know it will fly true.”

He nodded, pleased.

Brinja left and returned with something hidden behind her back. She presented a leather-bound journal.

Inside the cover she had written - For when you forget how much you are loved.

My vision blurred and I roughly wiped my eyes.

The first pages were charcoal drawings - the keep, me fighting a dragon, all of us together.

I pulled her into a hug and pressed my face into her braids, trying to keep my voice steady. “Brinja… thank you. I will treasure this.”

She hugged me back fiercely.

Issa approached quietly and placed a folded scrap of cloth in my hands. Inside lay one of her scales—blue and iridescent, polished smooth. On the back she’d scratched a single word - Grow.

“When a naga gifts a scale,” she said softly, “it is trust.”

I hugged her gently. “Thank you. It’s an honor. I will keep this always.”

She inclined her head, pleased.

Torvek stomped out and returned with a carved wooden totem. He shoved it into my hands and retreated before I could react.

At the base was a dragon. Above that, a goblin. Then an orc with an axe. At the top, a human with a staff.

I looked at him seriously. “Thank you. Tarn-korr.”

He swallowed and refused to meet my gaze.

Ashlara set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Then she stepped forward holding a leather thong with a small metal dagger-shaped pendant. Scratched into the blade were the same words - Tarn-korr.

You have my blade.

I took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Ashie… thank you.” I slipped it around my neck.

Mirri hopped up. “I’m next!” She bounced forward with a bulky leather bundle.

I unfolded it to find it was a reinforced leather shirt layered inside with thin wooden plates and outside with intricate stitching. Protective without looking like armor. And inside the collar, stitched in small letters - Don’t die, idiot.

I burst out laughing, scooped her up, and attacked her with kisses.

Then I got up and chased Grams around the table, threatening to do the same to her.

“Keep your hand off me, ox!” she shouted with a grin. “Mirri, help your old grandmother before this lunk puts his grubby mitts on me!”

When we finally settled, Mirri nudged Elise, clearly urging her to do something.

The void-mage flushed, then disappeared into the kitchen. “Mirri!” she called, and the goblin darted after her. A few moments later, the two appeared again. Elise had a plate in her hand with a small, flat cake on it.

“It’s a honeycake,” Elise said shyly. “It’s what people give in Morentis.”

“You made this?”

She nodded. “Mirri helped. She did most of it.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Mirri countered. “She found the recipe, cut the almonds, mixed everything up. I just helped measure the ingredients,” she told me.

“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful. Should I eat it now?” I asked.

She nodded.

I took a bite.

It was perfect. Honey-sweet, almond-rich, soft and warm.

“Ish weely gud,” I mumbled through a full mouth.

Elise blushed again and retreated.

I finished the small cake. “You need to make that again. It was delicious!”

Serah approached with her everpresent grace, though she looked nervous. “We dragons are solitary,” she said softly. “Birthdays are greeted alone in the dawn sky. But mates sometimes gift something from their hoard. My hoard is forfeit since I left.” She swallowed. “But I was able to convince someone to retrieve an item I gave up.”

She blushed and cupped her hands and as she separated them, a bright, cut gem appeared, as if the act was merely sliding a screen out of the way.

I sputtered.

It was tear-shaped - a brilliant aquamarine color. Nearly a foot long. Clear and flawless.

“This is the Emberheart,” she explained. “It is said to possess powerful magic, protecting that which you hold most dear.” She extended it to me.

“Serah… I… I can’t accept this. This is… It must be worth a fortune. And it’s all you have left,” I told her.

“It is worthless to me,” she said gently. “My true hoard is here.” She gestured to everyone present

I didn’t know what to say. I gently took it in my hands. It must have weighed twenty pounds.

I looked up at her. “I know where to put this to protect my most precious treasures.”

I stood slowly, holding the Emberheart, and walked outside. Everyone followed.

I began humming - a half-remembered tune, maybe from my childhood. It didn’t matter - it focused me. Mana gathered. The stone above the door softened like clay.

A dragon carved itself into the wall - tail coiled, wings unfurled, scales etched in exsquisite detail. I wasn’t a sculptor, but with magic, what I saw in my mind was perfectly reproduced in the stone. As the carving neared completion, the Emberheart lifted from my hands and embedded itself in the dragon’s chest.

Light flared once, then settled into a steady glow.

I turned to them, my voice thick. “Thank you. All of you. For the gifts. For the love. For this family.” I looked at each of them in turn.

“Now,” I said quietly, “it can protect what I hold most dear - all of you.”