By contrast, the interior of the Keep feels deeply nostalgic, from the scent of the dusty carpets to the golden glow of the lamps in the wall-mounted sconces. I’m glad to be back, if only for a short time.
“Thank god we made it back for the Quartum Bellum,” Leo says.
“Oh Jesus,” Kade groans. “Don’t remind me.”
Anna asks, “What did Adrik say about you trying to beat his record?”
Leo grins. “He said he’d never forgive me if I win. But he won’t respect me if I lose.”
“That’s as close to a blessing as you’re gonna get from him,” Kade laughs.
“If you hadn’t pulled Leo out of the water, it would have been down to Kade and me,” Sabrina says to Dean, sourly.
“Well, I sort of owed it to him,” Dean says.
Leo gives Dean a fist bump. “We’re even. ‘Til the next time I need your help.”
As we come out onto the dark lawn, we all stand awkwardly in a group, hesitant to part ways after a solid week in each other’s company.
Leo, warm and affectionate as ever, pulls Rafe into a hug.
“What should we call you now?” he says. “Is it still Ares while you’re here? Or just Rafe?”
Rafe smiles, his face more relaxed than I’ve ever seen it.
“I don’t care what you call me,” he says. “As long as you call me.”
Anna hugs him, too. “You can count on that,” she says.
“Oh, get the fuck over here,” Rafe says, pulling Dean into a hug too, and then Hedeon. I think he holds onto Hedeon the longest of anyone.
“Come see us in the summer,” Rafe says.
“I will,” Hedeon promises.
Then, finally, we’re all walking to our respective dorms. Kade and Hedeon split off in the direction of the Octagon Tower. Dean heads to the Undercroft to grovel for forgiveness with Cat—I assume he’ll be successful, as I’ve been told he has some experience with that.
Leo is walking Anna to the Solar, strolling along a few yards ahead of us. Sabrina stays on Anna’s other side, trying to avoid Leo’s teasing on the subject of Adrik Petrov.
Rafe likewise escorts me, his arm around my waist. I lean against his shoulder, looking up at the stars.
“Do you think you and I ever looked at the same star at the same time?” I ask him.
“I’m sure we looked at the moon at the same time.”
I laugh. “It’s funny to think that the Oregon moon and the Kyiv moon are the same.”
“The wind that touched your skin might have blown all the way across the world to me,” Rafe says. “Maybe that’s why you smelled so good to me, the moment I got near you.”
We stop on the grass so he can kiss me.
When we break apart I say, “You know . . . I kind of like the way we met. It will be something to tell our kids someday.”
“Yes,” Rafe says. “Only we’ll tell them all of it, the whole thing. The good, the bad, and everything in between.”
“That’s right,” I nod. “The truth is always the best story.”
Epilogue
Nix Moroz
Cannon Beach, Oregon
September
Home — Edward Sharpe
Spotify → geni.us/spy-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple
Rafe and I collect the real Ares Cirillo from the Portland airport.
I wait in the pickup lane while Rafe runs in to get him.
The two young men walk out together—both tall, tan, blue-eyed and dark-haired. My heart gives a lurch at the bizarre mirror effect: as if I’m looking at the old Ares and the new one simultaneously. One dressed in worn blue jeans and a plain wool sweater, a gentle expression on his face. The other in a new leather jacket and a fresh haircut, grinning happily at the sight of his friend.
I jump out of the car to greet them.
Ares shakes my hand, giving me a lopsided smile.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” he says.
“Likewise,” I reply, and I can’t help laughing. Ares laughs with me, understanding at once what I mean.
Rafe looks chagrined. “Wondering which one of us you actually fell in love with?” he says to me.
I slip my hand in his and kiss him on the corner of his mouth, where his stubble rasps against my lips.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “You were yourself all along.”
We climb back in the car. I try to let Ares sit up front with Rafe, but he absolutely refuses, holding the door open for me until I return to the front seat.
“I could never take shotgun from a lady,” he says.
His voice is softer than Rafe’s, his manners unassuming. It makes me realize how much Rafe was acting at Kingmakers. How much he inhabited a character. Since we’ve come home to Oregon together, I’ve seen the full extent of his confidence, his boisterousness. How he throws himself into the Petrov business. How much energy he has when he’s not weighed down by stress and sorrow.
My happiness blooms with his.
I love living with the Petrovs.
You would think so many big personalities in one house would be overwhelming, but in fact, it’s invigorating. I love the noise and the energy. The sprawling mansion currently houses Ivan, Sloane, Freya, Rafe, me, Timo, Zima, and now Ares, as well as four overgrown Ovcharkas and two pups.
Dominik, Lara, Kade, and Adrik were here up until last week, and Sabrina Gallo came to visit on her way back to school, though neither she nor Adrik would admit that they purposefully came at the same time to see each other. This despite the evidence of disappearing for long periods of time, then returning in a distinctly rumpled state.
Leo visited us earlier in the summer. He left before the other Petrovs arrived, probably intimating that Adrik still hasn’t forgiven him for knocking him off the pedestal of Quartum Bellum champions. Sabrina and Kade may not have forgiven him, either.
I haven’t been lonely for a minute in America, even when Rafe is working. Freya and I go for long walks along the beach early in the morning. She’s incredibly well-read, and likes to make Mount Rushmore lists for the best fictional villains of all time, the best surprise endings, and the best science-fiction predictions.
Ivan has been teaching me how to train the Ovcharkas. We kept horses in Kyiv, but no dogs or cats, because my father was allergic. As soon as Kira birthed her two puppies, Ivan gave me the pick of the pair. I chose the rowdiest of the two, the one who wouldn’t stop chewing on his brother’s ear, and named him Okeanu. Ivan teases me that I’ll have to perfect my Russian because that’s the only language the dogs understand.
Much as I love Rafe’s father and sister, to my surprise it’s Sloane I bond with most.
We go shooting together. I’ve never seen a more terrifying marksman.
“My father taught me,” Sloane told me, carefully cleaning her Beretta before packing it away in its case. “He was CIA. Special Activities Division—covert ops, paramilitary operations, that sort of thing. Brilliant. Incredibly talented. Until he lost his fucking mind.”
“Really?” I asked, instantly curious.
“Yes. He ruthlessly trained me from a young age. Took me all over the world, constantly on the run from the countless enemies trying to hunt us down. It took me much longer than it should have to realize that most of those enemies existed only in his head.”