He swallowed hard, his grip on the windowsill turning white-knuckled as he held his breath and watched Luca and Filippo step out of the carriage. It was not a large step, and yet Luca held out his hand to the younger Filippo and did not let go even when they both stood on the gravel. Though he had arranged for food and shelter, they were still far too thin and rather small for their age. In their too-big clothes and new haircuts, they looked like changelings who had tumbled into the human world. When Luca wrapped his arm around his brother, Séverin felt a sharp ache knifing behind his ribs.

Slowly, he released his breath.

Slowly, he let go of the windowsill.

Behind him, Argos made an inquisitive screech.

“It’s time,” he said.

Séverin took one last glance at the ouroboros brooch. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he was fooling himself, and all he was doing was taking his place in an endless loop outside his control. Maybe his last kiss with Laila was nothing but a delusion brought on by the crumbling temple. Maybe she existed in the fringes of dreams and nothing more.

But faith was a stubborn thing, and the world’s turning only acted as a lathe that made it that much sharper as it cut through the fog of all he did not know.

Could he live with this unknown?

Could he make peace with it?

Yes, he thought, although he often felt more certain on some days than others. Nevertheless, he would do what most mortals did.

He would try.

EPILOGUE

The first time Séverin made a cake, he used salt instead of sugar.

It was, as Enrique kindly put it, an absolute disaster.

Even so, Séverin was delighted. Laila had considered it impossible that he would ever make a cake. To do so, no matter how awful it was, made him think that perhaps other things that seemed impossible could come true.

And in some ways, they did.

Time treated Séverin with a light hand, and with each passing year, he began to understand what Laila had meant when she promised they would always be connected.

No gray touched his hair. No wrinkle marred his face. It had astonished Enrique and outright annoyed Hypnos, who believed that out of all of them, he was the most deserving of eternal youth.

Séverin himself didn’t necessarily care for eternal youth. If anything, it only complicated his life in Paris and guardianship over Luca and Filippo, and yet it was a sign too. A sign he didn’t understand until he spoke with Zofia.

“It means she’s still alive,” said Zofia. “She promised connection, and she kept it.”

As long as I live, so will you.

Zofia smiled at him. For the first time, he noticed laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, and he was happy that life had marked her with joy. “Séverin … I think that means she will keep her other promise too.”