Grinsa smiled, gripping the young man's shoulder. "Thank you, my lord."

Tavis scowled, giving his scarred face a fearsome look. "Don't call me that!"

"What am I supposed to call you?"

"You're supposed to use my name, of course."

Grinsa nodded, still smiling. "Very well, my lord."

The duke shook his head, and walked over to Cresenne and Keziah.

"We're most grateful to you, my lord," Cresenne said, sounding terribly formal. Theirs had never been an easy relationship. Tavis bore his scars in part because of things she had done for the conspiracy.

But Tavis smiled and took her hand. "You're to call me Tavis, too."

"All right," she said. "Tavis."

Bryntelle looked up at the duke's scarred face, and for a moment Grinsa feared that she'd shy away from the man. But she merely smiled and said, "I'm Bwyntewwe. Who ah you?"

"I'm Tavis," the duke said, squatting down beside her. "And I knew you when you were too small to walk or talk."

Her eyes widened. "You did?"

He nodded.

"I'm gonna wiv in a new house," she told him.

"Yes, you are," Tavis said. "And I'm going to make certain that you and your parents are always very happy there."

The duke paid the ship's captain the balance of what he was owed. Then the five of them started up the lane away from the pier, toward Curgh city and the promontory where Grinsa, Cresenne, and Bryntelle would spend the rest of their days.

Tavis led the way. Keziah carried Bryntelle in front of her on her horse. Grinsa and Cresenne followed them, riding side by side.

Grinsa stared up at the great castle of Curgh, which was shrouded in shadow and framed against an indigo sky. He hadn't thought that he'd ever see this city again. He hadn't thought he'd ever get to see his sister holding Bryntelle, or his friend the duke growing into his title. They'd been away from the Forelands for less than a year, but it felt like far longer. Leaving these shores for the Southlands had seemed like the right decision at the time. But only now did he feel that he and his family were where they belonged.

"Are you all right?" Cresenne asked him.

"Yes," he said, smiling at her and reaching out a hand. "Are you?"

She took his hand in hers and nodded. "Yes," she said. "It's good to be home."

About the Author

David B. Coe is the author of eleven epic fantasy novels, including the LonTobyn Chronicle, a trilogy that won the Crawford Fantasy Award for best work by a new author, and the Winds of the Forelands quintet. The Dark-Eyes' War is the third and final volume of Blood of the Southlands. He lives with his wife and their two daughters on the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee.