“That isn’t all.” Jean Luc touched the hilt of the Balisarda in my bandolier. Its sapphire winked through the leather. “I spoke with Father Achille. We agreed, both of us—you have a place within our ranks if you want it. That Balisarda is yours.”

The happiness in my chest punctured slightly. But—no. I wouldn’t let it. Not this time. Unsheathing the Balisarda with one hand, I extended it to Célie. “I think there are others better suited.” When her fingers curled around it, her eyes widening in shock, I said, “Two clever little girls once told me they wished to be huntsmen. Not as they are now, but as they should be: proper knights riding forth to vanquish evil. Defending the land and protecting the innocent. One of them even swore she’d wear a dress.”

“Oh, I can’t”—she shook her head swiftly, attempting to return the Balisarda—“I don’t know how to wield a sword. I couldn’t possibly use this.”

“You don’t need to wield a sword to protect the innocent, Célie,” Jean Luc said, nodding to me in appreciation. In respect. He glowed with pride as he looked at her. “You’ve proven that more than anyone.”

I nodded too, stepping away from the door. Opening it wide. “The Tower is broken. It’s time to rebuild.”

She flashed a tentative smile before Jean Luc swept her through it.

I didn’t follow. Not right away. Instead I stared at the ring in my hand.

“What are you doing out here?” Lou touched my shoulder, and I turned, tucking the ring into my pocket. She looked left and right with a pointed smirk. “Having fun with all your friends?”

At her inquisitive gaze, I couldn’t help it. A broad smile split my own face, and I kissed her full on the mouth. When I pulled back, she flicked my nose before soothing the spot with her thumb, her hand lingering on my cheek. “Come back inside. Pan says the sticky buns are done.”

I brushed my lips across her palm. “That sounds like paradise to me.”

Epilogue

Ansel

Summer bloomed slow and languorous at Chateau le Blanc. Wild sage and lavender rippled across the mountain in dusky purple and blue; white and yellow marguerites grew rampant between rocks, along creek beds, joined by the blushing pink of thrift and clover. I’d never seen such colors in life. I’d never felt such warmth on my cheeks, like the kiss of a mother, the embrace of a friend. If the voices—no, the laughter—of my own friends hadn’t called to me, I could’ve stood within the peace of those wildflowers forever.

Lou wore a spray of each on her wedding day.