act41side

Worry about yourself. Look at you, rich boy, leaving your lamp on in the middle of the day!

Tch, I was just so busy I forgot.

It's been warm lately, so I've been renovating. Thought I'd take the day off. Guess I really have been too busy.

So how about another beer? I've got to get this fatigue out of my system.

Here you go.

On the other hand, I'm almost more afraid of <i>not</i> being tired. Being tired is how I know I'm still breathing—no, that's not quite it. How should I put this—

Living.

Yes, living.

You too, ma'am, here's one for you—

Oh, it's you, Emma.

I'm sorry. I've got to get going.

Off to do your time on the ag plate?

Yes.

No idea how you managed to smuggle all that food out last year, but I hear you've been paying it off with honest work over there. So no need to be shy now, have one on me.

Thank you...

To living.

To Tara.

To...

Emma holds the cup with one hand and puts the other in her pocket, clutching the necklace she reclaimed last winter.

The words said to her when it was returned come out of her mouth almost by instinct.

...To all our countrymen who gave their lives for Tara.

You're really leaving, Brigid?

Yeah, the burdenbeasts are callin' for me from their pastures.

Besides, still haven't been to this 'Rhodes Island' that Loughshinny wanted me to see. Want to come with?

Maybe if I have the chance.

It's just sad to think that you're the one who brought us to Na Saoirsí, but can't stay yourself.

It's not that I couldn't, I just chose not to. Like your own choice to stay.

Say hi to the wakemen for me, if they come back to the city.

Is that your intuition again?

It's not <i>always</i> right.

But I don't smell that burning stink anymore. Smells like fresh buds in spring, dew in the morning.

Hello, Brigadier.

You two know each other?

You could say that.

What are you doing here? I don't recall anything happening which the Redsteel Guard would need to be deployed for.

I'm on leave. I came to honor the memory of my comrades... scoundrels, to be sure, but they fought by my side.

If you're looking to take revenge for those who died during your exile, this is your chance. A brawl with a soldier on leave wouldn't be considered an attack on the military.

...It wasn't you who killed Selmon and the others. Not directly.

I'll remember what you did. That's enough for me.

I see...

What more can anyone ask for, than to be remembered?

'...Bealtaine, also known as the Festival of Fire, is scheduled to be revived in the coming days.'

'The fire-passing ritual will start in Oak Grove County.'

You're awfully quiet. Are you nervous?

No, it just strikes me that we managed to turn what you'd see in the books into reality.

On the last day of spring, we extinguish the fires in our homes, then come together to relight them at Bealtaine. In the smoke of the bonfire and drifting ash...

We welcome the coming of a new season, and of a new life.

Your Highness Loughshinny, the lighting ceremony will begin in a few minutes—

Alright, thank you.

Maybe I've waited too long for this. It feels no realer than a dream.

I wanted to sing, Nemos, but you've already sung for me back in Na Saoirsí... So this time, the flames in my hand will do the singing.

One more thing, Your Highness... about Her Highness Eblana—

Your Highness! It's time!

Sorry, Nemos. We can speak after the ritual.

The Draco steps forward.

A stone platform, sculpted in the style of the ruins, serves as her lectern. She lights the bonfire upon it, and turns around.

From the square below her, many faces gaze up with bated breath.

She takes a deep breath.

A thousand years ago, the Dracos of Victoria invaded Tara, creating the title of King Gaeil as an epithet of shame, robbing the nomadic Tarans of their freedom.

Six hundred years ago, the reigning King Gaeil had no choice but to allow the Victorians to remake the royal capital in their own image.

Two hundred years ago, the Aslans seized the crown of Victoria, but once again they trampled the dreams of the Tarans beneath their feet, such that even our language was almost lost to us.

Now, Tara stands on her own.

I recite this history of shame, not to fan the flames of hatred, but in defense of peace.

Sing what songs in Victorian suffice to praise the beauty you see.

Tell what tales in Taran will move the passions.

We remember so that we might provide the living the dignity of life, and the dead the promise of reunion.

Throughout the cold night...

We shall retain a warm flame.

As such, I, Loughshinny Dublinn, the last descendent of the Taran Dracos...

'I shall light this fire symbolizing new life. May it guide the way for all, whether living or departed.'

'Enclosed you will find templates for nomadic city immigration forms.'

Signed... 'The Kingdom of Tara'.

This is... This is treason.

The King of Tara has long been one of the titles of the Victorian emperor. Nothing in this letter denies it.

To avoid conflict, the Red Dragon has even indefinitely delayed the 'coronation' so many are looking forward to.

But in reality...

In reality, the indecisive claimant, the corrupt oligarchs, the blockading army, and the flames of dissent... all these issues have been put to rest.

For the first time in centuries, they proudly tell a new legend of a King Gaeil.

In the short term, the unrest has indeed been contained within Wellington's domain. With time, however, it can become a greater threat than any insurrection.

Tara must not be allowed to secede from Victoria.

As long as Wellington doesn't take his entire territory away on a nomadic city, the other dukes and I will continue negotiating with him.

Yes, ma'am. I'll draft some long terms plans regarding that.

Phew... It's finally over...

Well done. Well done indeed.

Thank you.

So what was it you wanted to say about Eblana before the ceremony?

We never found her body. If she somehow survived, I worry that someday...

Someday a completely different story will be told about the resurrection of the Red Dragon.

What story? That it was no miracle, but the assassination of one dragon by another?

Worse than that.

I see. You're afraid that Eblana will return and paint the whole thing as a conspiracy I orchestrated.

Our position is not unassailable.

We both know that her body disappeared earlier that night, after you killed her the first time. What I dragged through the streets wasn't her body, but an empty coffin.

I know.

I also know that it was I who used the last spark of fire she left in her spear to ignite the coffin.

It was I who left the city to parlay with Wellington, laying out our plans in exchange for him delaying military action while they played out.

It was I who walked into the fire the people had returned to Eblana, I who quenched and replaced the fire of death with the fire of life, and I who walked out of the fire in the end.

We've known all this since that day on the balcony of Na Saoirsí's citadel.

Eblana had left us a puzzle with no solution. The only way out was a miracle.

A miracle we scripted and directed.