At long last the day Jaimathan had been praying for finally came.

"Brother Pelles has all the things he needs to perform the ritual to bring back your magic," Shelton told him one cold and snowy morning. "And I have an Asir."

That came as a surprise. It seemed like something everyone would have been talking about, having someone with such rare powers in the castle. But Jaimathan hadn't heard anything about it.

"Ah, there he is," Shelton announced with a smile.

Jaimathan looked toward the door to Shelton's office in time to see Second King Coulta enter the room.

As far as Jaimathan knew, Coulta's only magic was from a broken curse. The Asirim didn't get their powers that way, he knew that. After all, he'd been born with it himself.

"Coulta's mother was an Asir," Shelton explained, almost as if he'd read Jaimathan's thoughts. "He possesses her magic, but the curse magic is stronger and makes it impossible for him to use those powers himself. However, they can be used in other ways. I know this because he was possessed by spirits to save Wildas's life in battle. Only someone with the powers of the Asirim can be possessed by multiple spirits at one time and survive, and only if they've trained their bodies for it. Coulta survived because they broke his curse. And you can see more proof of his magic in his eyes and when he casts a spell."

Coulta lifted a hand and produced a handful of fire that was black in color, but glittering within the black were flecks of silver. He knew from his own magic that silver was the color of the Asirim magic.

Coulta closed his hand and the fire vanished. "I know the magic comes from my mother because she used her powers to tie my soul to someone who could make living with my curse bearable."

Jaimathan had a feeling he knew who that person was. Fae had commented about how fascinated she was by the obvious, deep love between Wildas and Coulta.

"Is it rude of me to ask what the curse was?" Jaimathan asked without thinking, then quickly added, "Yes, that is rude of me. I'm sorry. Forget I asked."

Coulta shrugged. "I'm not ashamed of it. I was cursed to obey the commands of whoever had control over me, because my father disobeyed the sorcerer he was apprenticed to. He was supposed to bring my mother to his master for the old man to marry, but ran away with her instead. When the sorcerer found them, he cursed the product of my father's disobedience."

There was clearly more to the story, but Jaimathan felt he had asked too much already. He changed the conversation when a new thought occurred to him. "I won't have the marks, will I?"

"You shouldn't," Shelton answered. "It's only a mingling of the Asirim magic, not the curse magic. Or so we hope. The ritual hasn't been tried with someone with two kinds of magic before and Coulta's magic is slightly unpredictable."

Jaimathan thought about the marks visible on Wildas and Myri. He assumed Anil also had them somewhere. It would probably be very difficult if Jaimathan ended up with some of his own. Especially if anyone else knew of this ritual.

He got to his feet with a nod. "I'm ready."

Jaimathan had been to the royal temple in the castle several times since his arrival in Ryal, but he'd never seen it as it was when he stepped inside with Coulta and Shelton. It was darker than usual, with only a few candles burning. The room was also empty but for Brother Pelles and the two guards at the door to tell others that the temple was closed. There was a heavy scent of incense in the air, though of what kind he wasn't sure.

Brother Pelles, dressed as always in his dark blue robe, motioned them forward and Jaimathan walked with Coulta to the altar where paintings and statues of all the major gods were arranged. Jaimathan sent them a quick, silent prayer asking for their help in the ritual.

He and Coulta were instructed to sit on either side of a large golden bowl filled with dried leaves. Once they were situated, Brother Pelles lit the leaves with the fire from a nearby candle.

"Remain silent and breathe deeply," he told them.

The slow burning, fragrant herbs created a strangely sweet smoke and soon Jaimathan found himself in a waking dream. He could hear Brother Pelles chanting in a language he didn't know, but as if from a great distance. The air was filled with glittering, dancing lights and shadows that almost seemed to take on real forms. The lights and shadows were like soldiers on a battlefield, twisting around and striking at each other in great waves. He could no longer see Coulta on the other side of the smoking bowl.

He was only vaguely aware of the priest's voice coming closer, hardly cared when each of his hands was lifted and a blade was sliced across his palms. It hardly felt like more than a sting. Then another hand was placed in each of his.

Brother Pelles was chanting even louder and Jaimathan felt his hands and those he was holding pressed down into the burning herbs.

But it didn't hurt. Instead, a fierce tingling began in his palms and shot through each of his fingers, then up his arms at a strangely slow pace. It spread through his shoulders, down his back, up his neck and across his face and scalp, through his chest and into his belly, and down his legs. His entire body felt consumed by the tingling, though it was neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

Then his hands were lifted from the fire and separated from those he held as Brother Pelles practically yelled a final word.

The room flared a blinding silver, then everything was gone.

He woke to soft dawn light, and Fae gently caressing his cheek, in their bed in the guest room.

"Did it work?" he asked hoarsely.

"You'll be the one to know that," she replied, handing him a cup of tea. "I hope it did as it made you sleep for a full day and night."

He sat up and accepted the tea. He drank it quickly, then shifted the blankets to look at himself. His naked body looked normal to him.

"No black marks?" he asked Fae just to be certain.

She gave him a curious look. "No. Why would there be?"

"Shelton wasn't sure if the ceremony would be limited to the Asir magic."

She still looked rather curious. "I would have worried about what was involved in this ceremony except that I was the one to undress you."

He snorted. "Thank you for that."

Even without trying his magic, he felt better – he felt whole again. Everything felt as it should, not as though he were lost in a haze. The world around him was clear and sharp again.

"I think the magic is back," he declared with a grin.

Fae smiled and leaned over to kiss him. "Good. Maybe now you'll be yourself again."

"I hope so," he agreed, pulling her closer. "I should test it, though."

She playfully swatted his arm. "Tonight will be soon enough for that. Shelton will be checking on you before long. Try something else."

He reluctantly released her. "Let me get dressed first."

She let him get up and he used the room's private privy before getting dressed. Then he sat down on the bed again and felt within himself for the power.

Much to his amazement, it was stronger than it had been even at home. That was something to ask Master Shelton about. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do, until the thought of speaking to his mother came to him. Maybe he should try opening a door between the realms here, at least temporarily. From what he'd read in the books he'd been scouring, such doors closed themselves over time. Perhaps others here would have loved ones who they longed to see one last time.

His consciousness drifted into the Mist, the wavering barrier between the realm of the living and the Spirit Realm, and the place where Asirim could pull their magic from. It was surprisingly easy to picture a door before him, which he carefully pulled open to reveal a world of solid white.

"Those who are Good are welcome to visit the living," he called, his voice carrying out through the apparent emptiness.

Then he slowly brought his mind back into his own self to wait. When he opened his eyes to tell Fae what he had done, she gasped.

"What?" he demanded.

She quickly brought the hand mirror from the washstand and held it before him.

His eyes were solid silver, like polished silver plates. Then, as he stared in wonder at himself, they began to turn deep blue again, starting at the center and moving outward.

He'd read that most pure Asirim had silver eyes, but he'd never read that others had eyes that changed to silver when they used their powers. Another thing to talk to Shelton about. First, though, he would see if anything happened to prove that his magic had fully returned.

Coulta hadn't been as deeply affected by the ritual as Jaimathan had been. He'd only felt a vague sensation of lightness brought on by the meditation herbs. When he'd seen Jaimathan fall to the side in a faint he'd been immediately concerned, until Brother Pelles had checked on him and assured Coulta that all was well. Braith and Shelton had gotten Jaimathan to his guest room, where Fae was waiting, with the help of some obscuration magic.

There would be no way to know if the ritual had worked, Shelton had warned him, until Jaimathan attempted to use his magic again. From what Coulta had heard, the Algoman prince had slept for the rest of that day and into the night. Now, as he went about getting dressed for breakfast, he wondered how much longer it would take for Jaimathan to recover.

One of the hardest things to get used to in marrying Wildas was allowing someone else to select his clothes for him on a daily basis. Ralix was a good attendant who had quickly learned Coulta's dressing habits, and he gave Coulta plenty of privacy, but it was still strange to him even after so many months to find clothes laid out for him each morning. At least Ralix didn't insist on helping him dress for routine days, only for banquets and special court appointments where more finery was required.

Ralix did, however, always check with him every morning to make certain he didn't need anything else. So Coulta was expecting his return, but was concerned when he heard his attendant gasp.

Coulta turned, his pants still unfastened and his hands reaching for weapons he wasn't wearing. He stared in confusion at the figure of a strange woman standing in the center of his bedchamber. She was tall and fit, with flowing black hair and eyes of piercing silver. She wore a gown of deep red. The only thing that made him realize that she wasn't truly real was that he could just barely make out the outline of the door behind her.

At first he had believed her to be a stranger, but, somehow, he felt a mysterious connection to her. It was as if he did know her, but didn't recognize her.

"Who are you?" he breathed.

A sad smile came to her beautiful face. "I'm not surprised you don't recognize me. After all, you never got to learn my face."

This wasn't like the dreams, where ghosts taunted him and hurt him. Everything about this ghost felt... good. A new thought slowly came to him.

"Are you..."

She came closer, still smiling her sad smile. "Yes, my son."

"How are you here?" he whispered.

"The ceremony you took part in was successful. He opened a door for us to visit if we wished to. I knew you would not know me at first, but it felt wrong not to see you when I had the chance. I don't doubt that all your spouses will be seeing their families as well. I didn't want you to feel abandoned again."

Coulta took a deep breath as she stepped close enough to touch if he wanted to. Or if he could. Questions he had always longed to ask her finally came back to him, questions he was terrified to know the answers to. But he still needed to know.

"Did you know?" he asked softly.

Her sad smile still remained, and it spread to her eyes. "That your father would feel so helpless and hopeless that he would leave you? No. Had I known, I would have tried to encourage him to have hope. But he truly thought he was doing what was right for you. He had no idea what would happen to you in Arren. In truth, he still doesn't know everything. He's only heard the rumors of your past and doesn't know what's true. He thought you would be happy, that perhaps you'd become a soldier or a guard, because that's what he knew from his life in Berk. Wealthy landowners only had female servants. The boys only help out until they are old enough to lift a training sword and shield. He had no idea the sort of traitor Varin was."

Coulta was rocked out of his state of shock. "Don't ask me to forgive him. I don't know that I can. You couldn't help leaving me, but he could have."

"I would never ask you to do that," she assured him gently. "That will have to be your decision. I can only tell you what I have seen while watching over both of you. Of course I would like for you at least to talk to him, but I would never suggest that you must."

He nodded silently and turned away to finally tie his pants.

"As for the other part of your question, I didn't know who I was linking your soul to, either. I simply sifted through the Mist until I found a soul that I knew would be the kindest to you. Patient, gentle, loving, strong, and noble of heart. I couldn't see the person in which the soul resided, nor get any feel for gender, social class, or age other than that it was relatively close to yours. It took the last of my strength just to sense the general location and tell your father. Perhaps I shouldn't have told him after all."

Coulta shook his head as he turned back to her. "It's all right."

"I'm glad that you're happy now." Her smile became a little less sad. "You have people who love you and who you love in return, your curse is broken, you have children on the way – "

"It's not my child," he cut in.

"Not by blood, perhaps," she replied with a small shrug. "It's really all the same." She took a step closer and placed a cool, ghostly kiss on his forehead, though she hardly had to reach. "I love you."

The words came to him without a second thought. "I love you," he repeated, amazed that it seemed so natural despite the fact that he had never known her in life.

She stepped away and looked toward the far wall. Coulta followed her gaze and saw Wildas in the doorway that separated their rooms. He seemed awed, one hand on the handle of the door and the other on the frame, his eyes wide and his mouth open in amazement. The ghost made him an elegant curtsy, smiled once more at Coulta, and was suddenly gone.

It took a moment for Wildas to get his voice, then he finally asked, "Was that your mother?"

Coulta nodded.

"I thought ghosts only haunted the places where they either lived or died."

"Jaimathan has his magic back," Coulta explained, surprised by the tightness of his throat. "He opened a passageway between the realms so that spirits could visit their loved ones."

Wildas walked over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. As Coulta wrapped his arms around his husband he hoped, for Wildas's sake, that Deandre decided to visit him. He knew Wildas could use the reassurance that only his father could give.

Shelton was preparing to check in on Jaimathan when he was stopped by the sound of his name being spoken. The voice was soft, but it was jarringly familiar. He stopped halfway to the door and turned.

Deandre stood in the center of the room, looking impossibly real. He was dressed simply, which, along with the fact that Shelton could vaguely see the bed through him, were the only things that suggested that he truly was a ghost. As if this could even possibly be real.

Shelton felt his throat grow tight anyway. How often had he wished to just see Deandre one more time? How many times had he wished he'd just been able to truly say farewell?

And now here he was, and all Shelton could manage to say was, "It appears the ritual worked."

Deandre actually chuckled, a warm, familiar sound. "That's the first thing you say to me?"

Shelton shook his head, smiling despite the tears burning in his eyes. "I'm sorry. You caught me by surprise." Then it occurred to him that it shouldn't just be Deandre here. "Where's Xiao?"

"She'll visit later," Deandre answered. "She decided you needed to see me first. I was never able to say farewell." He stepped closer and took Shelton's hand. His touch was cool, as if he'd been outside without gloves, but it was otherwise solid. "Where's Yvona?"

"She's helping to train the soldiers, especially now that Ruairi is on the border."

"When will she return?"

"Usually in time for the evening meal."

Deandre nodded decisively. "I'll come back to see her tonight then."

"Will you see the children? At least Wildas?"

"I plan to. But you are doing so well for them. I want you to know that I've seen what you've been doing and I love you all the more for it. Both of you. Thank you."

Shelton forced a smile. "I do believe your last request of me was to help Wildas."

"I know, but I am still so happy about how much you've done for him. For everyone. Come here."

Shelton was momentarily confused. Then the hearth fire faded and the room grew dim, as if a storm was covering the morning sun. At that very moment Deandre's cool hand grew much warmer. Shelton looked up into those familiar dark eyes in surprise. He could no longer even vaguely see through Deandre's ghost. He was as real as he'd been in life, though rather pale.

Deandre smiled. "I can do magic now, too. Come here."

Ignoring how strange this situation was, Shelton gave himself over willingly. He wasn't going to lose this chance.

It had been easy for Anil to think of a design that would be best for Coulta, but actually stitching it had been something of a nightmare in itself. The design had so many complicated patterns that it had taken her days to sketch it out. The embroidery hadn't taken quite as long, but she'd been especially careful to place every stitch perfectly. It had been difficult to focus her mind on only her desire to help Coulta for so long, as well. She loved him and wanted very much to help him, but sometimes her mind just didn't want to focus. Especially when the baby felt the need to remind her of its presence. As if she could ever forget about the life blooming inside her. In fact, she was starting to believe that there may be two babies instead of one. She wasn't sure how she knew this – perhaps it was a mother's instinct along with the comments she'd overheard about how quickly she had been growing – but the thought simply felt true.

She was content either way.

Finally satisfied with her work, she rose from her seat by the hearth and pulled a shawl on over her heavy gown. They were in the coldest grip of winter, and though Wildas had explained the impressive engineering of the castle that helped keep it significantly warmer than the air outside, it would still be chilly away from the fire. Teeya would be at work with the other seamstresses on the other side of the castle now.

But as she started toward the door she stopped abruptly. There, impossibly, stood her entire family. Her father. Both of her mothers. Her three brothers.

"I knew there was a reason you had been spared," Momma said with a teary smile.

"I'm so happy for you," Mother added with her own sad smile.

Kyler, her youngest brother who had been only seven when the winter illness had taken him, stepped closer and looked at her thoughtfully. He'd always been a curious child, she remembered fondly. "Are you really having a baby?" he asked, looking up at her with his wide green eyes.

She nodded and placed a hand over her belly. "I am," she whispered hoarsely, then cleared her throat.

"You should name it after me!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"She can't just name the king's baby herself, dummy," Lial, who had been thirteen when he'd died, pointed out. "There's probably a tradition or something."

Anil bent slightly to look at Kyler, who was now sulking. "I don't know what the rules are, but if I can, I promise I'll name a son after you."

Kyler smiled. "Really? Thanks!" He moved like he wanted to hug her, then stepped back quickly, as if he wasn't sure if he could.

Anil didn't know either, and didn't want to possibly do anything to risk her pregnancy. She just smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she looked to her other brother, Alis, who had been only a few months younger than her in life. "Are you..." She couldn't decide how to ask what she wanted to know. Asking if he was doing well seemed foolish – he was dead after all. But she knew his lover had died only a week before him. Had they been able to meet each other again?

"Lin and I are together again now," he answered, almost as if he'd read her very thoughts. He smiled gently. "I'm happy."

"That's very good," she said with a smile. Her attention then turned to her father, who had been watching the entire conversation fondly. "Yes, I still have your coat," she assured him, then pointed to the chest at the foot of her bed. "I have it stored in there."

He smiled. "I know. I'm sure it's not fit for a queen, is it? But I'm glad you kept it."

"I would never be rid of it. It's all I have of any of you."

"That's not true," Momma argued. "You have your memories of us."

She always had been sentimental.

"I'll always keep those, too," Anil promised.

"Now, we've kept you too long," Mother said gently. "There are others who need to visit their living families and we've held them up too long, too."

Anil gave her a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"You know about Coulta's ritual with the Algoman prince to unlock his powers," Father explained. "It worked, of course. The prince opened a door between the realms of the living and the dead so that those of us who wish to could visit. But only so many can visit at once before the exit is temporarily blocked. The world knows how to stay in balance. Other spirits chose to wait for the royal family's kin to visit."

"But we are truly only commoners," Momma pointed out. "We shouldn't cause too much of a delay."

Anil nodded in understanding. "Thank you for visiting. I miss you all."

"And we love you," Mother replied.

They vanished rather quickly, but even after they had gone, Kyler's voice echoed back, "Don't forget your promise!"

Only the tears on her cheeks made her realize she was crying, not laughing.

***

Myri was tired, but that didn't stop her from taking a solitary walk through the castle. She would have preferred to walk outside, but the bitter cold would require her to return to her room for a coat, and she didn't want to chance encountering any of her spouses, Wildas most of all. She wanted to suffer this sadness alone, and he had been watching her with veiled expectation for months now.

She'd taken her fertility teas several times in the last months, but she had no news to share. Twice she was sure she did, but twice she had miscarried early. This second one had stayed with her long enough for her to be certain. She had been so hopeful.

Last night she had gone to bed feeling mildly ill. In the morning she had lost all her hope.

None of her fellow healers knew what to do for her. There were teas to increase fertility and help her conceive, but nothing that anyone knew of could help her keep the pregnancy. It would be her body's decision.

That wasn't a helpful thought, not when Wildas was waiting for her to tell him she pregnant. He was patient for now, but the day would come when he would ask her about it.

Would the court allow him to keep a wife who clearly couldn't give him children? She didn't know if there was such an expectation for both her and Anil.

The thought of Anil having all of Wildas's children saddened her as well. According to what she had heard, the Grand King traditionally had ten children, give or take one or two. Though it was possible for one woman to have that many children, it was still more than she would want to bear herself. Perhaps with a set or two of twins it would be easier. In her opinion as a healer, it was quite possible that Anil was already carrying twins. Myri just hadn't wanted to say anything too soon.

"I see you have been putting my lessons to good use."

At the sound of the familiar voice, Myri froze mid step and turned to find her mother's ghost standing beside a window nearby. For a brief moment, Myri wondered if she was losing her sanity, then she remembered the ritual Coulta had participated in with the Algoman prince.

"I'm trying," she replied. "It isn't always easy."

Mara stepped closer and gently gripped her hand. She wasn't surprised by the solidity of the cold touch, remembering the brief hauntings they'd had at home after patients had died.

"I know about the babies," Mara told her gently. "Don't stress yourself. Help your wife with her babies. Perhaps that will help."

Myri nodded. "I will try."

Her mother kissed her forehead. "That's all you can do."

"Did you suffer?" Myri asked abruptly.

Mara almost seemed to chuckle. "No. I stood before them when they broke down the door and cut my own throat before they could rape me to death. I died by my own choice, it wasn't forced upon me. I was able to watch you as you traveled and saved his life. I was able to watch you be married."

"I hope you didn't watch much more than the wedding," Myri said with a smile.

"Of course not. Though I have had to resist the temptation to look in on your very attractive husbands from time to time."

Myri laughed. "Well, they are handsome. I've very happy I met them."

"As am I."

Since seeing Coulta's mother that morning, Wildas had been wondering if his father would choose to visit him. At times during the day he thought there was no way his father wouldn't visit. Other times he wondered why he would bother.

To distract himself, he sparred with Rohan and Coulta for an hour after the midday meal. The arena was still being used to train soldiers except in the worst of weather, but the packed snow footing was icy in places. The match ended when he slipped into Rohan while blocking an attack from Coulta. He flung his left arm out and caught Rohan in the face. Rohan instinctively tried to grab him before he fell, despite the smack to the face, and instead went down on top of Wildas. Coulta tossed his sword aside and reached to catch both of them, and only managed not to fall on them by using some magic to throw himself to the side. Still, the way they all went down, the sword Wildas still held would have fatally wounded Coulta if not for the magic he always used to render the blades harmless in a practice fight.

Thankfully, none of them had been badly injured. He was sure they'd all be sore in the morning, though. He already was. His side hurt where Rohan had landed on him.

And as he walked back to their rooms, after having ash spread on the ice they had discovered, he noticed Coulta was in obvious pain.

He stopped walking and turned to Coulta. "You're limping."

Coulta stopped beside him and nodded. "I think I turned my ankle."

"Myri should look at it."

"I planned to ask her to," Coulta assured him.

Wildas nodded and continued on, a bit slower this time. He could tell Coulta appreciated the change in pace.

So thoroughly did he distract himself that he was startled when he entered his bedchamber and saw his father standing in the middle of the room.

He looked much like Coulta's mother had; slightly translucent but otherwise real. The only other difference between the ghost of Deandre and Wildas's memories of the man was the simpler clothing style he wore. Not the elaborate coats and gaudy shirts he'd worn in life. The plain blue he wore made him look less like a king and more like any other man.

Coulta gently squeezed Wildas's hand, then moved toward his own room, pausing only to bow swiftly to Deandre. Wildas could tell that he was trying not to limp very badly as he walked away.

Deandre smiled as he watched Coulta leave, then turned back to Wildas. "He's a good man."

Wildas nodded. "He is."

"I was thankful he reached you in time," Deandre added, his smile fading. "I regret that I left you in such a way."

Memories that Wildas had consciously locked away long ago came rushing back. The piercing look on his father's face as Varin had cut his throat. Seeing the light in those familiar, bold eyes vanish.

"You didn't have a choice," Wildas replied, fighting a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop it."

Deandre stepped close and squeezed Wildas's shoulder briefly. "You are not to blame for anyone else's actions."

Wildas nodded and pushed those memories away again as best he could. "Are you happy with me?" he asked, though he wasn't sure why he needed the approval so badly.

Deandre smiled. "Very. Every decision you have made thus far has been a good one."

"I can only hope I'm still making good decisions when the next attack happens. Or the war itself begins."

"I believe you will be. I know I was never the greatest as a father, but I believe you will be a great king. You are a good and just one now, but whatever happens with this war, you will need to deal with the consequences. I believe that whatever choices you make will be good and that you will be loved by the people. You have more compassion than I ever did. I suppose I shouldn't have expected much else with Shelton having a hand in your raising," he added, an obvious fond smile on his face. "He could never do much to change me, much to his frustration, so he made sure to spend as much time as he could with you."

Wildas smiled. "He's a good man, too."

Deandre nodded. "And a better father than I ever was."

"Just different. Not solely concerned with making certain I didn't fail when I needed to take your place."

"That was one of his concerns and still is. I'm thankful you still have him."

"I am, as well." He suddenly realized he was speaking to only one of his two missing parents. "Will Mother visit?"

Deandre nodded. "She assured me she would."

Wildas smiled. "I'll be waiting for her."

Deandre returned the smile. "I need to go and visit your siblings, but know that I'm watching over all you do. Don't ever doubt your decisions. They are all sound."

"Thank you," Wildas replied.

When he had vanished, Wildas realized how sad he felt. He and his father had had many differences over his lifetime, but he was still Wildas's father and it was painful to remember him. Brushing tears from his eyes, he began to change out of his dirty clothes so he could walk with Coulta to the healers' room.