Isaiah heard his mother's voice stop dead when he and Niccola entered the throne room. Years—decades—of memories thickened the air until it threatened to suffocate him. His heart beat into his throat like it would find some escape there. There was no escape. The only reason he could still breathe was Niccola, striding at his side with a gait that only gained confidence as they approached the throne dais together. Confidence, and something akin to danger. She hadn't been kidding when she said she wanted to rip his mother a new one. Niccola was the opposite of quailing right now. Her step was regal, her head was up, and Isaiah felt her toss it to one side as Meribah Cantor continued to sit in dumbstruck silence. From just a read of Niccola's body language, Isaiah was almost certain she was actually enjoying this.

"I'm back," she said a moment later, confirming that. Her voice was laced with a savage kind of glee. "I must say, your son is a difficult one to convince that he deserves nice things. It took quite a bit of honest flattery to convince him to let me stay." She paused for dramatic effect. "I hope that wasn't too presumptuous of me."

Meribah's breath hissed. Niccola was revealing that she'd hidden under Isaiah's bed that night before his mother locked them in together, a fact that Isaiah had given her lease to exploit if she wanted to. There was no way his mother hadn't already guessed at this. Not unless she thought him capable of escaping on his own... only now he wondered about that. Niccola had said Meribah's treatment of him came in part because she feared him. And he'd come very close to taking that balcony escape route before. He'd only refrained thanks to that little voice in his head.

"But all that aside," continued Niccola, "I do hope you don't mind having a crow-keep as a daughter-in-law. We're actually quite inclined to stay together... which I suppose brings us to the topic we're here to speak to you about."

Isaiah could tell his mother was not used to having someone else seize the reins of a conversation before she had a chance to. She remained speechless as Niccola passed the lead smoothly to Isaiah. His stomach flipped clean over like he'd jumped from the escape tree all over again. But he wasn't alone here. And that alone put something like a shield between him and Meribah. A physical one—four guards could easily stop the queen—but one against anything she might say, too.

"I've been corresponding with Madeira," he said, far more calmly than he felt. "First by crow, and then they sent a delegate to Calis yesterday in order to speak with Niccola, Phoebe and I in person. They were quite impressed with the alacrity with which we neutralized Dinah. And, I must say, quite unimpressed with how much resistance we met in our attempts to do so... to stop a necromantic responsible for deaths and disappearances in all four realms in this corner of the Ring of Thirty. Madeira and Drevo have both signed over their formal support to Niccola and I, and rescinded it from the rest of the Calisian royal family."

Meribah made an incoherent noise. "You. You sold your family for this, you insolent child. Take this back immediately. That is an order, Isaiah."

"It's already done," said Niccola. "This is out of your hands now, and every step we take from here on out will be taken in collaboration with our allies, in the interest of diplomacy and effective action. You may take it up with Madeira yourself if you think this transfer of power is undeserved."

More spluttering. As Meribah flailed for words, a strange calm began to settle over Isaiah. For the first time, he felt he was standing on level ground with his mother. She was no longer a looming menace—a presence so daunting, it obstructed his ability to think or act with confidence. She was just a person. A person acting in selfish interest, who'd sooner see this realm lose untold numbers of citizens than do what he had and ally with those she thought would regard her poorly.

A person who, despite their respective titles, now held less power than he.

The Madeiran delegate had spoken highly of Isaiah's actions against Dinah, and condemned his parents' lack thereof. By the end of that conversation, she'd gone so far as to say he and Niccola were markedly easier to negotiate with, and had complimented them both on their respectability among "others who'd come before" them. The veiled contempt for Calisian nobility, while a hurdle for diplomacy between the realms, had served only to drive home the sincerity of the compliment.

Niccola was still verbally fencing with Meribah, bringing down the blunt hammer of reality time and time again as the Calisian queen—now in title only—attempted to wriggle her way out of the political chains they'd clapped her in. Had he any more emotion to spare for her, Isaiah would have found the situation pitiable. In the span of only days, his mother had gone from the most powerful person in Calis to a puppet with a toy throne. Seeing the conversation going nowhere, Niccola shut her down once again and turned the floor back to Isaiah.

The next hour had a surreal quality to it. Meribah fought, argued, insulted, and threatened them both—and even Phoebe—but it did nothing except slow down the delivery of information that would not change no matter how she battled it. Isaiah still cowered whenever she snapped his name. Her first attempt to stride towards him kicked his pulse into panic mode even though Meribah scarcely made it three steps before the guards accosted her. After that, though, further threats lessened in impact, until Isaiah could almost bear them without flinching. That had never happened before.

And then it was over. He and Niccola exhausted all the things they needed to formally deliver. With nothing left to do except become mired in the endless torrents of obstruction now emanating from Meribah, Niccola tugged Isaiah's arm. They could leave. Just... turn around and walk away. And there was nothing either of his parents could do to stop him.

The three of them turned in silent agreement and did just that. Meribah's curses turned to shouts. She tried again to come after them. Once again, the guards intercepted her. She struggled fiercely, shrieking verbal abuse that battered Isaiah's back, caustic, toxic, eating into his flagging energy. The doors to the hall couldn't come fast enough. Niccola told the guards to shut these behind them, and at last, the hallway fell quiet. Not silent, but at least Meribah's shouts were no longer coherent.

Niccola turned Isaiah around and hugged him.

Isaiah returned it, slumping to drop his head to her shoulder. Phoebe added herself to the pile. Now that the meeting was over, Isaiah could finally feel just how much the last hour had taken out of him. After finally escaping this place, he had no idea anymore how he'd survived so many years in it.

"Can we leave?" he murmured, and felt Niccola nod.

"Picnic this afternoon in a quiet place?" she said.

"That'd be nice."

"Can I come?" said Phoebe.

"We can have another one tomorrow," said Niccola. "I think Isaiah and I need to take this one alone."

Phoebe's acquiescence sounded more understanding than upset. Isaiah drew away when he felt ready to, and Niccola released the hug. They walked back to the carriage in silence. And then the palace was rolling away. For good, Isaiah's mind kept trying to tell him. It wasn't true; they would be back for all manner of administrative things. But it was true enough to matter.

The path up to the small ruin in the forest proved easier now that Isaiah had walked it once before. Pekea still clung to his shoulders as he navigated the rough terrain, but at least some of the rocks were familiar. Niccola walked ahead of him, kicking brush and branches out of the way. The picnic basket she carried tinkled softly. Isaiah was willing to bet Verde had packed cold ginger tea in the glass bottles he only used for special occasions. Niccola and Isaiah had been forbidden from snooping in the basket until they reached their destination, so neither knew yet what awaited them inside.

At last, the small clearing around the ruin opened up about them. Niccola offered Isaiah a hand as they swung themselves over the wall into the quiet, grassy space.

"Wait," said Niccola as they were about to sit. "I think there's a picnic blanket in here."

"I thought you liked sitting on the grass."

"I didn't pick a good colour of dress for grass." She sounded sheepish. "It's yellow."

Isaiah laughed, but waited for her to spread the blanket. She did so by the wall that would best shelter them from the chilly breeze. Leaves had begun to shed off the trees already, adding crunch to the ground and saturating the air with the rich, sweet scent of autumn. Sunlight warmed the ruin, though, and Isaiah shed his jacket as Niccola cracked open the picnic basket.

"Oh, he didn't," she said. "I thought we told him not to go overboard."

"For anything that could pass as a date? Have you met Verde?"

"This was not just Verde."

"All the more reason. Have you met Margaret? When I say they've been holding back all these years because I didn't have a partner..."

"Don't they have, what, four adult children? Surely they've had their share of playing matchmaker."

"You underestimate the tenacity they have for matchmaking."

Now they were both chuckling. Niccola unpacked the food, and it was clear neither of them would be complaining. Verde and Margaret had packed little meat pies, fresh bread, ripe cheese, a jar of Verde's famous pickles, another of red pepper jelly, crisp apples, and thick slices of squash baked with honey and candied walnuts. There was ginger tea to drink, in fancy little bottles like Isaiah had predicted. Pekea sniffed and sniffed, pushing her luck with proximity to the basket until Niccola pulled out another jar and shook it. It tinkled and then crawled with the distinctive sound of mealworms. Pekea abandoned the human food again.

Niccola set everything out on the picnic blanket where both of them could reach, then paused. "Eat first, talk after?"

"My mouth is a river at the moment. If we talk now, I'm going to start drooling."

They dug in. The meal passed in mixed silence and fits of laughter as Isaiah recounted stories about Margaret and Verde. When the food was gone, he and Niccola leaned against each other's shoulders and sipped ginger tea as the conversation took a more contemplative turn. It meandered in and out of the political and the personal, hypothetical and specific, past, present, and future. The air cooled with the approach of evening. Rather than move, Niccola and Isaiah simply pulled on their jackets again and cuddled closer.

The dew had begun to fall when they found themselves in silence once again. Isaiah let his thoughts calm. Beneath them was something he'd thought countless times in the last month. Niccola's presence beside him had a life of its own. He could feel it. More than the weight of her head on his shoulder, her still-braided hair both soft and rough against his cheek, or Pekea stretched across both their laps. More than the warmth of their intertwined hands. They had allied for convenience and mutual gain, but it had become so much more than that.

"I love you," murmured Niccola.

It came so easily.

"I love you, too."

"Can we stay together?"

"Yes."

That was all they needed. Just that final confirmation, before silence fell again, as comfortable as speaking had been. Cricket-song filled the dusk all around. Isaiah and Niccola stayed there until the air chilled enough to seep through thin jackets, and the prospect of hot mugs and a warm fire outweighed the peace of solitude. A breeze made them both shiver.

"Time to head back?" said Niccola.

That prompted another strange feeling on top of the many Isaiah had felt today. He'd never looked forward to leaving a hideout and going "home" before. Even Verde and Margaret's had always carried the threat of palace guards knocking on the door, come to collect him. They never had, but he'd feared it constantly.

"Yeah," said Isaiah, and let Niccola pull him to his feet. "Let's go back."