who had supported them. His position as Marquess of Norwend was to be confirmed, as was his position as Duke of Northern Brigant. The ceremony also honored those who could not receive the king’s and queen’s thanks because they’d given their lives, including Sir Rowland Hooper, the ambassador to Pitoria; Rafyon; and Catherine’s maids Jane and Sarah.
As the names were read out slowly and solemnly, Ambrose remembered each of them: Sir Rowland’s sense of humor, his charm and wit, lost to the world. Rafyon, loyal and brave and stalwart, killed by a lunatic. Kind and gentle Jane, shot by arrows in the race to Rossarb. Sensible and practical Sarah, cut down by an assassin. Each death a waste. Each a person who should be with them. And then Tarquin’s name was read, as was Anne’s. And as tears filled his eyes, Ambrose chose to think of how brave they were in life, and how they were killed because they were true and honest and wouldn’t bend to another’s lies. He missed his brother and sister desperately and wished they’d known that the future wasn’t as bleak as the world they’d experienced. That was another pain, the thought that they’d not know that things could be better.
Eventually the formalities were over, and music and talk and relaxed chatter filled the hall. Edyon joined Ambrose and raised his glass. “Congratulations, Lord Ambrose, Duke of Northern Brigant.”
“Thank you, Prince Edyon. You still outrank me, though.”
“Everyone does these days,” March said, flicking the gold medal on his sash. He’d been made Prince of Abask at the ceremony.
“Well, I won’t for much longer,” Edyon said.
“You’re really going to give up your position?” Ambrose asked. Catherine had told him some of this plan.
“Yes, in time. I like Tzsayn’s ideas for a government of administrators. I’ll have to keep an honorary title, though, just for fun. Something absurd.”
“Duke of the Demon World?” Tash suggested as she joined them from the buffet table. She herself had been given an award and was now Lady Tash of the Northern Plateau.
“Not sure. Doesn’t sound quite me.”
Tash nodded. “How about the Knight of the Burning Smoke?”
“Oh, I like that.” He smiled at March. “What do you think?”
“I have a bad feeling you’re serious.”
Tzsayn and Catherine joined them, and Catherine proposed a toast.
“To Lady Anne. The woman who started me on this journey. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her bravery.” Ambrose raised his glass and drank the toast to his sister. Perhaps he too would not be the man he was without her.
“Well, I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t stolen our smoke,” Tash said, giving Edyon a gentle kick on the shin.
“And that’s why I’m the Knight of the Burning Smoke,” Edyon said.
“Yes and no,” said March. “We’re all here because of our own actions. Good and bad. Others influenced us, but we made our own choices.”
Ambrose nodded, though he wasn’t sure he agreed. He had chosen Catherine, but she had chosen Tzsayn. He stayed for the festivities that evening, then rode north in the morning as the sun was coming up.
It was a glorious day, and he’d be home soon.
TASH
NORTHERN PLATEAU, PITORIA
AT THE invitation of Edyon and March, Tash traveled to Calidor after a short stay in Brigant, but returned north before winter set in. She was Lady Tash of the Northern Plateau, after all, and she wanted to go back to her lands. She wasn’t alone, though. Geratan went with her.
Now he sat gazing across the stillness of the lake.
“Anything?” Tash asked, looking at the fishing rod, which was propped by Geratan’s feet.
“Not since the last time you asked.”
“It’s a bit boring this, isn’t it? Can’t we go hunting?”
“We agreed to fish. It’s quiet. Relaxing. A pleasant change from fighting Brigantines and fleeing from demons.”
“Actually, we didn’t have to flee from demons much; it was mainly fleeing from Brigantines.”
Tash briefly thought of Gravell, who hadn’t been able to flee them.
“Do you think of him much?”
She knew Geratan didn’t mean Gravell.
“Twist?” She looked across the Northern Plateau. The demon world had gone. There were no demon hollows at all left on the plateau. “Yes, I do think of him. I’m sure the smoke will return—maybe not here, but somewhere. It’ll seek out an undisturbed spot and make a new world.”
“But that’s just the smoke. The smoke needs a body to make a demon.”
“I prefer to call them smoke people.”
“Well, it needs a body to make one.”
“Yes, and it may take a year, or hundreds of years, or