Sabine met Meera on the edge of the blackened cane fields.

“How is it so muddy?” Meera asked.

“I called the rain.” Sabine turned to her, speaking in English. “I remember how to do that now.”

“Handy.”

“For a farmer? Yes.”

Meera stood next to her sister, charred fields before them and a ruined haven in the back.

“Roch and I are mated,” Sabine said. “I imagine you probably guessed that. We didn’t tell anyone because… We didn’t know if it would make any difference.” The singer’s face was solemn. “I thought it had, but it turns out he’s just officially bound to a crazy woman now.”

“It has made a difference.” Meera glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “I can see it. You will too when you’re not so upset. And Roch has always been bound to a crazy woman. Now it’s just official.”

Sabine’s smile was sad. “I thought I was going to get better. I really did. And then I did this.”

“You had a moment of madness and lost control in your grief.” Meera shrugged. “It happens. Just think of it as a jump on the harvest this year.”

Sabine grimaced.

Meera softened her voice. “You were trying to protect us. You’ll rebuild.”

“I don’t know—”

“I’m going back to Udaipur with Rhys.”

Sabine’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“We need to be there. I need to make this training available to mated pairs who want to learn. The Tomir have already secured Akune’s memory stone and are taking it to the treasury. Rhys is ready to be settled for a while, though I think we may go to Istanbul for a long visit soon.”

Sabine blinked. “Your parents?”

“My retinue comes with me.”

Sabine’s eyes grew panicked. “And the haven?”

“Is yours,” Meera said softly. “Yours and Roch’s. My parents agree with me. This land is tied to you and your blood. Your wards deterred an archangel for decades, even when you were unstable. You’re the best possible guardian for Havre Hélène.”

“You’re leaving me in charge of the haven?” Sabine’s laugh was manic. “I’m still half-crazy!”

Meera pursed her lips. “You’re a work in progress. Aren’t we all?”

“Meera, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but—”

“I trust you.” She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I trust you, Sabine. Roch trusts you. My parents trust you.” She leaned forward and kissed the singer’s cheek. “You need to trust yourself.”

Sabine’s expression was still riddled with doubt.

“And Ata has agreed to stay close,” Meera added softly. “She will not fade. At least not right away. Some of the Koconah Citlal will be moving north to rebuild the Atchafalaya mound with her. You’ll have another haven close by. A new place of learning. An elder able to guide you.”

“Meera…” Sabine’s lip trembled. “I want to succeed. I want to be a guardian. I just… don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I expect you to rebuild. I expect you to be you. Bright and brilliant and protective and strong. And when the madness threatens to come and overwhelm you”—she gripped Sabine’s hand tightly—“I expect you to grab it with both hands, find a safe place, and dance.”

* * *

Meera followed the sound of shouting men to the old guest house, partially renovated and now partially burned. Rhys stood on the roof, tossing down charred shingles to waiting scribes on the ground. His shirt was stripped off and sweat ran down his chest.

His body was whole. The only wounds left in her mate were those on his psyche. And those, like any wound, would take time to heal.

He was even starting to get a tan. Meera hadn’t thought that was possible.

Rhys spotted her, whistled for a break, and climbed down the ladder. “Hello.” His smile was still held an edge of arrogance, but it was softened by the love in his eyes. “Did you talk to Sabine?”

She nodded before he kissed her. “How much water have you drunk today?”

“Enough.” He gave her bottom a friendly smack and nudged her toward a towering magnolia tree that shaded what was left of the back porch. “And they insisted on pouring that hideous tea down my throat.”

“It’s cold and sweet and delicious.”

“It’s cold tea.” He grimaced. “It ought to be illegal.”

She handed him a bandana to wipe his forehead.

“Tell me again”—he stretched out on the grass and put his head in her lap—“about the weather in Udaipur.”

“Um… not as humid as here?” Most of the time. “And don’t forget the large, air-conditioned fortress. It’s been completely modernized.”

He smiled and closed his eyes. “Right now that’s good enough.”

They lay in the shade of the magnolia, listening to the hammering and labor of the scribes and singers repairing the guest house. In the distance, Sabine started her old gramophone and pointed the horn toward the workers.

The breeze smelled of burned sugar, but it was soft and cool. The fire had burned the chaff away from the cane, but it had not destroyed everything. The ground was raw and exposed, but the roots remained. The cane would grow back, healthier than it had ever been.

“I love this place,” Rhys said. “Quite surprised by that, but I do. I want to come back.”

“But you don’t want to stay.”

He reached up and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “Now is the time to let others build. You came to record a dying language only to revive it. Ata’s traditions were dying. Now they’re growing. You helped with that.”

“And you came to learn martial magic, only to dread its use.”

“I’ve always dreaded its use,” Rhys said. “But I understand its necessity.”

“What do you do with a weapon too terrible to use?”

“Use it on the terrible.” He drew her down for a kiss. “And then hope you can rebuild.”

“One day, when the Fallen are gone, there will be peace.”

“I believe that now,” Rhys said. “I can see it, thanks to you.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.”

“And thanks to me.” Vasu appeared next to them, stretching out on the grass like a lazy cat. “You’re not going to get rid of me, are you? How boring would that be?”

Rhys closed his eyes. “If I don’t look at him, can I pretend he’s a figment of my imagination?”

“Then you’d have a disturbing imagination,” Vasu said. “Did I hear that you’re returning to Udaipur?”

“Yes, Vasu.”

“Good, I’ll see you there.” And he disappeared.

Rhys stared at her. “Please?”

“No. And you have to stop throwing daggers at him. I don’t need holes in the walls.”

“They’re stone walls, aren’t they? They can take a few holes. Gives them character.”

“Try to restrain yourself.”

He grumbled, “You like it when I’m unrestrained.”

Meera laughed and Rhys pinched the back of her thigh. Then he rolled over and bit her leg while she yelped and scrambled away. They played in the grass like children, drawing disapproving glances and rolled eyes from the scribes and singers trying to work.

Meera’s whole life had been bound by duty. She’d been born to it, nursed on it, and resigned to its call. She’d traveled to the other side of the world to escape its clutches, only to find her heart’s desire in the soul of a rebellious scholar.

Rhys had remembered how to teach mischief.

And Meera was more than happy to learn.