Jordan hesitated beneath the sweeping stone wings of the gryphon statues. She tipped her head back, as far as it would go, following their grandeur to dizzying heights. Esadora caught an arm around her shoulders, nudging her forward.

“Come, dearie,” she said, “It does not do for royalty to stand and gawk.”

Jordan lowered her gaze, caught sight of myriad faces watching her with a mixture of curiosity and fear. She blushed, dipped her chin, and Esadora pushed her on. Guardsmen fell in to flank them, marching in stern silence, keeping the crowd at a respectful distance. They passed beneath the shadows of the gateway, and the onlookers parted like the sea. Whispers followed them as Esadora moved with sure strides, leading her small entourage across a glittering courtyard of polished marble, right up to the doors of the palace itself. She raised her hand, and they flew wide, revealing a long, richly decorated hallway beyond, that lay in disarray after the ripples of the battle outside. Palace staff scurried to and fro like ants, furiously swiping at dusty statues, straightening crooked pictures, rearranging wayward drapes. Gentle flashes of homely magics accompanied their ruthless cleaning, and, somehow, they managed to keep ten paces ahead. Everything was perfect by the time the Lost Queen’s feet reached it, and Jordan marvelled at their quiet efficiency.

Esadora swung right, through a graceful archway, leading the way down a smaller, yet equally opulent, corridor. They halted at last as they entered a large, formal drawing room, tastefully arranged with cream and copper furnishings. A large fire crackled cheerfully in its marble hearth, and to one side of the room a long table was bedecked with all manner of fine finger-foods. There was no sign of the palace staff – somehow, they had already been and gone.

Jordan caught sight of the food and swung a glance at Esadora. The Worldkin inclined her head, and Jordan towed Norae with her to the table. They fell upon the feast, ravenous from the rigours of their day. Smiling at their enthusiasm, Esadora and Nalvadian settled themselves upon a pair of tall, padded stools, and a Kitchkin materialised with a silver tray of tea and dainties. Nalvadian accepted it cordially, and then the silent attendant was gone, the door swinging closed with a soft click in his wake.

Thallo kneaded the rug by the fire, circled it, and then lay down with her belly to the flames. Norae took her some meaty pastries, and she purred like a kitten as she picked at them with delicate claws. Jordan watched with a smile, waiting for Norae to re-join her, and then they settled themselves at the high table with Esadora and Nalvadian. Nalvadian poured them each a cup of tea, and then sat back with his arm tucked around Esadora’s waist.

Jordan raised her eyebrows. “Something you’d like to tell me, Grandma?”

“Actually, yes,” Esadora smiled, leaning against the Earthkin’s shoulder, “Now that the insanity of the day is over, I would like to properly introduce you to Nalvadian Dre’Cor – your grandfather.”

Norae nearly toppled from her stool. “What! All these years, father, you never said a word!”

Nalvadian smiled, unperturbed by her astonishment. Esadora raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m equally surprised,” she said, “That you never mentioned your true position to your daughter.”

Nalvadian lifted his chin beneath her scrutiny. “You were gone a long time by then, Esadora. Asbeth was a grown woman, a Queen in her own right, and I did not want Norae to live in her shadow. Besides, people have a funny way of forgetting who sired a World Queen” – he winked – “only the mother is important.”

Esadora slapped his arm. “That is not true!”

Nalvadian shrugged, a twinkle in his dark eye as he looked to Norae. “It matters not. Both of my daughters grew into fine, capable women.”

Norae swallowed in stunned silence, and Jordan leaned over to elbow her with a grin.

“D’you know what this means…?” she smirked.

Norae found her voice with a scowl. “Do not dare say it!”

“That makes you my aunt.”

Norae groaned. “Do not accept it – makes me sound old.”

“Let’s not speak of age, dearie,” Esadora said flatly.

Nalvadian laughed, and the exuberant resonance of it was infectious. “You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you, Esadora.”

“Can’t say the same for you, dearie,” Esadora shot back.

“Maturity becomes me,” he chortled.

They laughed, and joked, suspended in a familial moment that belied the ending of the world.