The lights suddenly came up in the Hearth Room, jarring and bright. Blinking, Vyrl looked around. His ten-year-old brother, Shannon, had wandered into the room.
"I'm hungry," Shannon announced.
Roca made an exasperated noise. "Shannon, where have you been?"
"With Moonglaze. I missed him."
Vyrl sat up straighter. "Moonglaze is back?" Lily's family had agreed to bring the lyrine home with them after their stay with Lord Rillia. If Moonglaze had returned…
He realized everyone was watching him.
His father smiled. "Go on, son."
Vyrl jumped up, knocking Althor's arm off the chair. He mumbled an apology, then strode from the room.
Within moments he was outside, running through the winding streets of Dalvador. His feet pounded the blue cobblestones as he sped along the familiar route. When he was halfway up the last hill, someone came out of a house at the top and ran down toward him, her red-gold hair flying about her body and her blue dress whipping around her legs.
They collided in the middle of the street. Vyrl threw his arms around her, hugging as hard as he could, until she gasped for breath. He pulled her into a kiss, uncaring of the pedestrians around them. Lily was crying and laughing, trying to talk and kiss him at the same time.
Eventually they calmed down enough just to hold each other. Vyrl stroked her curls off her tear-stained cheeks. "It's so good to see you."
She took his face in her hands. "Your father's runner reached us in Rillia. He told us you weren't going with the sky queen."
"I'll never go away. Never, Lily." For all that he would always wonder what he had given up, he could live with that loss. He couldn't live without Lily.
He touched her cheek. "My parents say that if we want, we can live with them until we are ready to run our own farm. But they will help us no matter what we decide."
She ran her hand over his arm as if marveling that he was real. "I don't think I would like to live with parents."
"I neither." He spoke earnestly. "But even with their help, setting up the farm will be a lot of work. And I must finish my schooling. That was the only way they would let me stay married to you."
"We can manage." Her mood shone with optimism. "Lord Rillia gave my father three lyrine and many crop cuttings as compensation. My father says you and I can have it all to help us start out."
Vyrl blinked. "Your father said that?"
She laughed softly. "Actually, what he said was 'If you intend to stay with the damn fool boy, you better take this, because you'll need as much help as you can get.' "
Dryly, Vyrl said, "That sounds more like your father."
"He likes you. Really. He's just worried about us."
Vyrl pulled her close. "I'll make you a good husband, Lily, I swear." He finally became aware that other pedestrians were watching them. His parents were a few nouses farther along the road, talking with Lily's parents. Taking Lily's hand, Vyrl drew her off the lane into an alley between two houses, where a bubble tree hid them from view. As they brushed the tree, one of its bubbles detached and floated into the air.
Then Vyrl took his wife into his arms.
Epilogue
Light sifted from the hall into the darkened bedroom. Vyrl stood with Lily in the doorway, watching their two youngest children, toddlers of two and three, sleeping on the downy bed.
"They're so sweet when they're asleep," Lily whispered.
Vyrl laughed, quietly so he didn't wake the boys. "And terrors when they're awake."
"They're angels," she admonished. When he didn't look suitably chastised, she tickled him. Vyrl picked her up and swung her away from the door, with Lily struggling not to laugh or make noise. It amazed him how light she felt. He had kept growing after their marriage and his shoulders had broadened even more. Now, at nineteen, he had reached his full height of six feet two.
He set her down outside their daughter's bedroom, and they peered in at the four-year-old snuggled under her quilt. Then, as quiet as mumble-mice, they walked into the living room of the farmhouse their families had helped them build. Rugs warmed the floor, hangings brightened the walls, and bubble plants in pots added touches of color.
Lily tugged Vyrl toward their bedroom, but he shook his head. "I need to study." He suddenly felt heavy. Sometimes the weight of his responsibilities seemed to sink into him. He was so often tired, working the farm, raising the children, and keeping up his studies. Even having delayed his entrance into Parthonia University until this year, he didn't feel ready. If their families hadn't helped so much, he didn't know how he and Lily would have managed.
She laid her hand on his arm. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."
Vyrl smiled at her. Don't worry. "How often you've said that to me. And how often you've been right." She made him want to dance.
He had less time to work out now, but he managed to keep up his training with Rahkil. That he and Lily had two sets of parents happy to spend time with their grandchildren meant more than he knew how to say. It gave Lily time to learn more about the farm while Vyrl studied. It astonished him that Lily was so good at running the farm. She could do sums faster in her head than he could on his palmtop. But as much as he worried about his university work, he liked the challenge. Lily settled him, and now that he could pursue his own interests in agriculture and biology, it was easier to concentrate on the subjects he dreaded. And no matter how much the children exhausted him, he loved them so much that sometimes he thought he would burst with it. Perhaps someday, many years down the road, he could think of dancing beyond Lyshriol, but until then this was more than enough.
Vyrl pulled Lily into his arms. "Dance with me."
"Always," she murmured.
They twirled around the living room, moving to music they heard in their minds, and Vyrl's heart filled with the stained glass colors of joy.
Skin Deep
by Deb Stover
1
After two years, Nick Riley still wasn't used to the clean, white, fluffy kingdom. Sure, the Pearly Gates and golden thrones were nice, but he was a third-class resident, stuck on the lower levels of Heaven until he proved himself.
"How the hell am I supposed to prove myself?"
"Your language is more like a trucker's than a lawyer's — though I'd rather deal with a trucker than a lawyer any day."
Nick looked around for his ever-vigilant watchdog, Séamus — a former New York City cop, overblown with self-importance as Chief of the Mortal Watch Division.
Séamus crossed his arms over his chest and wore a stern expression on his not-so-angelic face. "Two years and still can't mind your tongue?"
"My father was a marine before he was a real estate tycoon. I probably learned to cuss before I learned to walk." Nick shrugged and pointed at the monitor. "I saw Margo again. She doesn't look any happier."
Séamus sighed dramatically. "Of course she isn't."
Nick didn't argue! How could he? "She didn't love me, but I made her think she did."
"You were too busy trying to win at everything," Séamus said, his tone filled with disapproval. "Well, you won Margo."
"Yeah."
"And now she's alone down there and you're up here, though I still can't figure out how you slipped through the Gates."
"I wish I could go back and fix things for her." Nick meant every word. He regretted his selfish, shortsighted lifestyle. And short-lived.
"Maybe you can."
He glowered at his superior. "Chief, don't…"
"Believe me, it wasn't my idea." Séamus looked upward for emphasis. "A higher authority wants you to go back and help Margo get on with her life."