Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
General Pekka comes next, seemingly older now than when I first bestowed the title on him. He salutes me, a small, proud smile on his face while General Suvari and the rest of the army run toward him, hooting and hollering.
Then comes Ahto, my dear brother, a crown of coral and fishbone on his head, a trident in his hand. Vellamo yells for him and runs to his side, their reunion a little sadder when he realizes her injury. Still they embrace and he gives me a solemn wave. I wave back, eager to talk to him later.
After him comes Kalma, my old advisor, his wrinkled face smiling at me from under his hood. I didn’t even know the guy had died, but that’s probably a good thing. I’m happy he’s back.
Behind him walks one of my Deadmaidens, veiled in black. For a moment I think there’s been a mistake since they all turned against me in the end, but then Hanna runs toward her and pulls her into a hug. That’s when I realize that it’s Raila, Hanna’s loyal servant, and the one who sacrificed her life for our escape when we were trying to get out of Inmost and into the Upper World. I’m briefly reminded that Raila is indeed an ugly as sin spider person underneath, one that ate her own children, but hey, she’s one of us now.
More and more emerge—soldiers who fell in battle, allies we thought lost forever. They step into the garden like a tide of life rolling in, their faces shining with disbelief, relief, and joy. Even a unicorn steps out—Alku, I think its name was—and Sarvi immediately canters over to greet them.
But I’m back to watching Hanna as she pulls away from Raila and looks around. Tears streak Hanna’s face as she watches the reunion, her hands trembling, the last remnants of her power flickering away like embers.
I look at her and see her for who she truly is—Hanna, the woman who saved us all. Not just with her strength, but with her sacrifice. She gave up nearly everything she had left to bring them back, and though it cost her dearly, I can see the peace in her eyes.
“Are you all right?” I ask her softly as she comes over to me, Tuonen having gone to embrace Lovia.
She gives me a small, tired smile. “I will be.”
“Do you feel anything? Other than all of this?” I gesture to the emotions flying around us.
“Maybe,” she says, thinking it over. “A kernel of something, deep inside in my gut. I think I have some power left. Could be indigestion, though. It’s hard to tell.”
I can’t help but laugh, the sound booming across the garden.
Fuck, that felt good.
From across the way, Tapio approaches me. He reaches out, clasping my arm in a warrior’s grip.
“You brought us back,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t me,” I reply, glancing at Hanna, who now leans against her father Torben, utterly spent. “It was her.”
Tapio bows his head toward her in silent respect before stepping back, his family gathering around him.
Rasmus and Tuonen are laughing with Lovia now. She still looks a little broken, but with them back, I think she’ll manage.
The soldiers begin to mingle, laughter and tears mixing as they embrace, as they realize they have been given a second chance. Beyond the garden, the portal that Torben opened remains open for anyone that wants to go back.
And above us, even in the blue sky, you can see the stars. They burn brighter, shimmering like a thousand watchful eyes. I know the Magician is there, among them, guarding the void as he promised.
Hanna moves closer to me, her face soft, peaceful despite the tears still tracking her cheeks. “We’re whole again,” she says quietly.
I nod, glancing around the garden at all we had lost and all we gained. “We are.”
CHAPTER 42
LOVIA
The Library of the Veils was once a place of quiet majesty, a sanctuary of knowledge, an encyclopedia of lives and souls. Now, it feels hollow, as though the air itself mourns its desecration. The stained glass windows still hold their vibrant colors—pale golds and violets, deep blues and greens—but the light they cast is dulled by dust and grime. Broken shelves and scattered books lie everywhere, some pages torn free and others soaked with dark stains. The lingering residue of Louhi’s foul magic hangs in the corners, like cobwebs spun of shadow.
It has been a week since the final battle.
A week since we lost the Magician.
And we have so much cleaning up to do.
I kneel beside a heap of books, carefully sorting through them, running my fingers over frayed bindings as though they’re fragile, living things. The act of rebuilding this place, of putting the pieces back together, gives me something to focus on. Something to keep my hands busy while the weight in my chest festers quietly.