CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A Year of Peace
Against all expectations, the King rallied.
It happened slowly—a good day here, a better day there, until the physicians reluctantly admitted that perhaps they had been too pessimistic. The heart was still failing, still weakening with each passing month, but it was failing more slowly than anyone had predicted.
"Stubborn old man," Marcus said, but there was relief in his voice. "He's too contrary to die on schedule."
"He's not ready to leave us yet," Elara replied. "There's still too much he wants to see."
Whatever the reason, the King lived. And in living, he gave his family something precious: time.
* * *
The first months were careful ones.
The King remained in his chambers, receiving visitors in small doses, conserving his strength for the moments that mattered. Orion visited daily, sometimes with Nera, sometimes alone. They talked about everything and nothing—old memories, new stories, the gaps in their understanding slowly being filled.
"Tell me about the sea monster," the King said one afternoon, propped up on pillows, looking more himself than he had since the collapse. "The one in Coastal City. I want to hear it from you, not from reports."
Orion told him. The Leviathan, the battle, the moment when Nera had revealed herself to save the city. He told it honestly, leaving out only the details that weren't his to share.
"She's more than she appears," the King said when he finished.
"Much more."
"Will you ever tell me what she really is?"
"Maybe someday. When the time is right."
"I may not have a someday."
"Then trust me when I say: she's good. Whatever else she is, she's good. And she loves me."
The King studied him for a long moment. "That's enough," he said finally. "That's more than enough."
* * *
Summer came to Valdris, and with it, the Festival of Founders.
It was the kingdom's oldest celebration—a week of feasting and tournaments and ceremonies honoring the first king who had united the warring tribes into a single nation. The palace opened its gates to the common people, and for seven days, the rigid hierarchies of court dissolved into something more chaotic and joyful.
The King was well enough to attend the opening ceremony, though he watched from a balcony rather than presiding from the throne. His children stood with him—all five of them, together, presenting a unified front that silenced the worst of the succession rumors.
"Look at them," the King murmured to Orion as the crowds cheered below. "They came to see if we're falling apart. Instead, they see a family."
"Are we? A family?"
"We're trying to be. That counts for something."
Below, the festivities continued. Music and laughter and the smell of roasting meat. Children running through the crowds with sticky fingers and bright eyes. Life, in all its messy, beautiful chaos.
"Dance with your wife," the King said. "I want to watch."
"Father—"
"Humor a dying man. Go."
Orion went. He found Nera in the gardens, talking with Elara, and pulled her toward the dancing square without explanation.
"What are we doing?" she asked as he swept her into a waltz.
"Father's orders."
"He ordered you to dance?"
"He ordered me to dance with you. Specifically." Orion smiled. "I think he wants to see us happy."
"Are we? Happy?"
"Here? In the middle of succession chaos and family drama and a dying father?" He pulled her closer. "Yes. Somehow, impossibly, yes."
They danced as the sun set over Kingshold, and on the balcony above, the King watched with tears in his eyes—tears of joy, for once, rather than grief.
* * *
Autumn brought letters from the north.
The first was from Helga, characteristically blunt:
You've been gone too long. The inn is fine. Your house is fine. Sanna asks about you every day. Come home when you can, but take the time you need. Family matters.
The second was from Crag:
Guild's running smoothly. Took on some new blood—good fighters, rough edges. Could use your help training them when you return. No rush. Gold rank doesn't expire, remember?
The third was from Pip.
Orion read it three times, each reading bringing a different emotion:
Dear Orion and Nera,
I made Gold rank! Can you believe it? The ceremony was last month—Helena from the guild in Coastal City came all the way to Silverbrook to present the medallion. She said she remembered you, said to tell you hello.
Old Man Thistle's sword is still with me. I've taken good care of it, just like I promised. The blade's seen a lot of fights now, but it's still sharp. Still lucky.
I want to come visit you. Wherever you are, wherever you end up. You're the closest thing I have to family, and I miss you. Both of you.
Write back soon?
Your friend (your brother, maybe?),
Pip
"He called us family," Nera said softly, reading over Orion's shoulder.
"He's not wrong."
"No. He's not." She leaned against him. "We should invite him here. When things settle down."
"A street orphan from Silverbrook, visiting the royal palace of Valdris?"
"A Gold-ranked adventurer visiting his friends. Titles are just labels."
Orion smiled. "You're right. I'll write to him tonight."
* * *
Winter was quieter.
The King's health declined in the cold months—not dramatically, but steadily. He spent more time in bed, more time sleeping, more time drifting in memories that seemed more real to him than the present.
But there were good days still. Days when he was lucid and sharp, when the fire in his eyes burned as bright as ever. On those days, Orion treasured every moment.
"Tell me about Thornhaven," the King said one winter afternoon. Snow was falling outside, blanketing Kingshold in white. "The frozen city. I want to imagine it."
Orion described it: the cliffs, the steam vents, the buildings carved into rock. He told him about Helga's inn and Crag's guild and the little house on the fifth terrace where they'd made their home.
"It sounds beautiful," the King said. "In a harsh way."
"It is. It suits us."
"Better than this palace?"
"Different. Not better or worse—just different." Orion considered how to explain. "Here, everything is history and tradition and expectation. There, everything is survival and simplicity and choice. I needed the second to appreciate the first."
"And now?"
"Now I can see the value in both. But Thornhaven is home. It's where I became who I am."
"And this place?"
"This is where I came from. That matters too."
The King nodded slowly. "I'm glad you found your place, Orion. Even if it's far from here. Even if I'll never see it."
"You could—"
"No. My traveling days are done." He smiled sadly. "But I can imagine it. And that's something."
* * *
Spring brought renewal—to the land, if not to the King.
The Queen's Garden bloomed as it hadn't in years, Nera's careful tending bringing forth flowers that the gardeners swore had been extinct. Roses in colors no one had seen, vines that climbed in impossible patterns, a fountain that seemed to sing when the light hit it just right.
"She's put herself into this place," the King observed, watching from his window as Nera worked among the flowers. "The way Margret did."
"She has a gift."
"It's more than a gift. It's... love, I think. The garden feels loved again."
Below, Nera looked up and waved. The King raised a trembling hand in return.
"Take care of it," he said. "After I'm gone. Promise me you'll come back sometimes, you and her, and take care of what she's built."
"I promise."
"Good." He turned from the window, exhaustion pulling at his features. "I've asked a lot of you, Orion. More than I had any right to ask. But this... this is the last thing. The garden, and your siblings. Take care of them all."
"I will."
"Even Marcus?"
"Even Marcus."
"He'll need it. Being king is lonely. He'll need someone who doesn't want anything from him." The King's eyes were distant. "That was always my burden. Everyone wanted something. Except your mother—she just wanted me."
"I remember."
"Do you? You were so young when she died."
"I remember enough. The way she looked at you. The way you looked at her." Orion's voice softened. "It's the same way Nera looks at me."
"Then you're blessed. More blessed than you know." The King closed his eyes. "I'm tired. I think I'll sleep for a while."
"Rest, Father."
"I will. I've earned it, I think."
Orion stayed until his father's breathing deepened into sleep, then slipped out to join Nera in the garden.
She looked up as he approached, dirt on her hands and flowers in her hair—human-sized, human-shaped, but more beautiful than anything else in the garden.
"How is he?"
"Fading. Slowly, but fading."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He's had a good year. Better than anyone expected." Orion pulled her close. "We've all had a good year. Even with everything."
"It has been good, hasn't it?"
"The best I could have hoped for. Time with my father. Time with my siblings. Time to heal old wounds." He kissed her forehead. "And through all of it, you. Making impossible things bloom."
"That's what I do."
"I know. It's one of the many reasons I love you."
They stood together in the garden that had been dead and was now alive, surrounded by flowers that shouldn't have existed, in a palace that had once been a prison and was now something closer to peace.
A year. A whole year of healing and growing and learning to be family again.
But the King was fading. And soon, very soon, decisions would have to be made.
The crown would need a head to rest upon.
And Orion would have to say no one final time.
* * *
The letter from Vex arrived as spring turned toward summer.
Orion—
We did it. Denna and I made Gold. Ceremony was two weeks ago—you should have seen her face when they put the medallion around her neck. First time I've ever seen her cry.
We're also engaged. Finally worked up the courage to ask. She said yes before I finished the question. Called me an idiot for taking so long.
Come to the wedding? Whenever it is. We haven't set a date yet—Denna says we need to find the perfect venue, which apparently means she's going to be impossible for the next six months.
Miss you both. Hope the royal family drama isn't too terrible.
—Vex
P.S. — Denna says to tell Nera that the advice worked. She won't tell me what advice. Women and their secrets.
"What advice?" Orion asked.
Nera smiled mysteriously. "That would be telling."
"You're as bad as Helena."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
He laughed—a genuine, free sound that echoed through their chambers. Despite everything—the dying king, the looming succession, the weight of decisions yet to come—there was still joy to be found. Still love. Still moments of light.
Life went on, even in the shadow of death.
Perhaps especially then.
— End of Chapter Thirty-Two —