Love Will Find Out the Way

Ten years since they saved the world. To the day. It seems like as fitting a date as any.

The weather is perfect—not too warm, not too cold, hardly a cloud in the sky—and as the carriage makes its way along the road, Oscar can see field after field of thriving crops. This part of France has done remarkably well for itself, although from what he’s heard, it always has.

When he’d first heard Hamid had chosen this part of the world to settle in, he’d been surprised and honestly a little confused. Now, having heard the story of the Channel crossing, he gets it a little better. The fact that it’s relatively close to Dover probably doesn’t hurt, either.

Zolf stares out the window of the carriage. He can be a bit difficult to read sometimes, but Oscar knows him well after all these years and reaches over to touch his hand gently. “All right, darling?”

“Yeah, just—” Zolf sighs wearily. “Dreams again.”

“Want to talk about it?” Oscar eases back against the bench and slings his arm along the back, opening up the space between them. Sometimes Zolf is more likely to talk about these things when Oscar doesn’t look interested. Although sometimes…

“Yeah, just—could you come over here first?”

“Of course.” Switching seats in a moving carriage isn’t a thing easily done, but it’s hardly the first time Oscar’s done it. Admittedly, he hasn’t done it in over a decade, but he manages to swing himself around to the seat opposite and put his arm around Zolf’s shoulders. Zolf’s never been much for physical contact, and he still isn’t, but every once in a while he needs it. And Oscar is always happy to oblige. “Now then. Nightmares?”

Zolf closes his eyes. “No, just…weird. Kind of unsettling. It…I was out on the Channel, in that boat, alone. No waves. Water was like a sheet of glass. I was sitting and staring up at the stars, trying to find the constellations and all, but I was having trouble picking them out for some reason. Then while I was watching…you know those charts they have for teaching them, where they’ve connected the dots of the constellations so you can see the shapes?”

“Yes?”

“It was like that. Only in the actual sky. Like someone was just…drawing lines between them, connecting one star to another. At first it was just the individual constellations, but then they started going between the constellations, too. Chaining them to each other, almost. Faster and faster, until the whole sky was just…a web of lines, reflecting perfectly in the water around me.” Zolf huffs. “And then I woke up.”

Oscar is silent for a moment, trying to work out what Zolf wants him to say. What the right words are. Finally, he rests his cheek against the top of Zolf’s head and sighs.

“It could be nothing,” he says. “Just your mind drawing pictures for you while you sleep. It could just be you thinking about the Channel because we were crossing it again.”

“Yeah, but…I dunno, Oscar. Back when I—when I was trying to figure out where I stood with Poseidon? That’s where all my dreams always seemed to take place. Never any other body of water I’d ever tried to cross, just the Channel. I’d have nightmares sometimes about the storm, about the shipwreck, about the Navy, but if I wasn’t reliving something that happened to me, any dream that took place on the water happened there. And I know it doesn’t mean anything, because—I mean, how can I get a message from someone who ain’t there anymore? But it feels like that.”

“I understand,” Oscar says. “Had a dream like that myself the other night, only it was—you remember that corkboard I had when we first started working together?”

Zolf manages a laugh. “The one you said you were plotting theories on that I said looked more like some weird modern art?”

“Hey, it worked in the old pantomimes.” Oscar risks a kiss to the top of Zolf’s head, and for a wonder, Zolf doesn’t immediately shove him away. “But yes. I was looking at that, only it just had all the pins on it, and then…something was guiding my hand. I was just tying pin to pin, making connections too fast for me to understand them. For a moment I thought I understood…but then I woke up and whatever it was I understood was gone.” He straightens up. “Just dreams, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Zolf says softly. “Just dreams.”

He shakes off his melancholy as the carriage pulls to a stop in front of a gate, which stands open beneath a flowered arch. The property is ringed by a white three-board fence, and the path, as opposed to the dirt or gravel paths most of the properties have, is paved stone. At the end of the path is a surprisingly modest cottage, rather old-fashioned but well-suited to the area. It looks like someone might be attempting to set up some kind of vineyard on the grounds, but the structures are bare for the moment.

Oscar pays the driver while Zolf maneuvers himself out of the carriage (these specialized carriages designed to accommodate wheelchairs are usually more expensive than the regular kind, so Oscar was surprised to learn upon requesting it at the inn in Calais that the cost would be the same), and together they start up the path. The smell of roses is strong, and there’s faint music coming from somewhere. Oscar guesses they’re meant to be behind the house.

Before he can bring this up to Zolf, the front door opens and Hamid comes out, beaming ear to ear. “Oscar! Zolf! It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s only been a month,” Oscar teases, but he holds out his arms for a hug nevertheless. Hamid’s a world-class hugger and Oscar is never going to turn one down.

“Does that mean I’m not allowed to be glad you came?” Hamid hugs him tightly, then turns to Zolf and offers his hand. Zolf takes it—and then surprises all three of them, if his face when he does it is any indication, by actually pulling Hamid in for a hug as well.

Oscar mentally reassesses their earlier conversation. It may have been “just a dream”, but it was enough to unsettle Zolf enough that he seems to be actually seeking out physical contact.

“Hope we’re not the last ones here,” Zolf says when he lets go of Hamid, obviously pretending he hasn’t done anything unusual.

Thankfully, Hamid plays along with it. “No, we’re still waiting on Ed.”

“Sorry, Ed is coming?”

“Eren Fairhands isn’t ordained. Also, he doesn’t like to travel if he can help it, but he sent his best wishes.” Hamid smiles again. “Wait until you see the flower arrangement. It’s…interesting. Come on. Everything’s set up out back…through the house or around?”

“Around is fine,” Oscar says. While he’s sure Hamid’s house is tall enough for Azu, let alone him, to walk around comfortably, he’s enjoying the sunshine and the smell of the fruitful countryside. Also, he knows if they go through the house, they risk Zolf getting distracted by what Hamid’s working on, and they’ll all be at risk of imminent death if they miss this.

A curved branch of the path leads around the side of the house, so it’s pretty obvious which way they’re meant to go. As they walk, Oscar glances at what he originally thought was the start of a vineyard—a series of wires suspended between poles at what would probably be about Zolf’s head height if he were standing. He notices for the first time that the poles are doubled, the wire hanging between them, and there’s an odd sort of pulley-esque arrangement at the top of each one. He also notes that it cuts across the path just ahead of them; he’s going to have to duck under it.

“What is this?” he asks, gesturing at it. “It looks a bit like a clothesline of some sort, but…”

“Well, no, it’s—” Hamid begins.

He’s cut off by a frantic squeaking sound, and a moment later, an odd shape comes flying around a corner. It takes Oscar a second to recognize Yara, holding onto two handles on either side of a sort of wheel that rests on top of the wires, pumping them for all she’s worth like the pedals on a bicycle.

“Ah,” he says.

“Uncle Zolf! Uncle Oscar!” Yara crests over the pole nearest them; Hamid holds up his arms in the same moment that she lets go of the handles. Her momentum carries her forward, giggling in a very childish manner, and Hamid catches her easily. It’s obvious they’ve done this a lot. The wheel rolls onward and slows to a stop just before the next pole, then slides backwards a bit.

“Clever,” Oscar says, looking at what he can now see is a sort of way for someone unable to walk to get around the grounds, at least nominally.

“Uncle Hamid made it for me,” Yara says. Her hair is loose today, hanging past her waist, with frilly pink roses woven into it, and her dress is the same color as Hamid’s suit.

Hamid smiles and shakes his head. “She acts like it was my idea. The physical therapist uses something like this on a smaller scale, and he suggested we set up one at home so she can practice.”

Zolf smiles warmly at her. “Building up your muscles, eh?”

“And it helps me walk some when I get too tired,” Yara says proudly. “I can get a whole eighty-seven steps a day now. But if this went more places, I could get anywhere, even if the ground isn’t good for my chair. I had a dream last night that Uncle Hamid put it up all over the world.”

Hamid laughs, but there’s something in his eyes that Oscar almost wants to poke at. “You’ll have to talk to Cel about that. Speaking of, we’d best get back there before they turn your chair into a self-driving car or something.”

“They promised they wouldn’t touch it without me saying it was okay,” Yara says, but she settles against Hamid’s chest anyway. This is obviously a routine they’re both extremely comfortable with. Hamid gestures with his head, and Oscar and Zolf follow him around to the back of the cottage.

If Oscar thought Hamid and Ishaq’s graduation party was crowded…well, it was, he reflects, but this is a different kind of crowd. For one thing, the average height is greater. Other than Zolf, the only guests under five feet tall are the Kobolds and a pair of Orc children Oscar presumes, first of all, to be siblings based on the fact that the taller of the two has the other in a headlock, and second of all, to be Emeka’s children based on the fact that the smaller one looks precisely like Azu in miniature. Which is…odd, to say the least, because there should definitely be at least one more shorter person there.

“Where’s Earhart?” he asks Hamid, as quietly as he can.

Hamid looks up at Oscar in surprise. “Inside. Where else would she be?”

“Wh—oh, right.” Oscar feels like a bit of an idiot.

Yara’s chair sits off to one side, bedecked in flowers; Hamid lets her slide out of his arms and settle herself into it, then tugs a strand of her hair lightly, making her giggle. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, then slips back into the cottage.

Oscar watches Yara wheel herself over to coerce Emeka’s children out of throttling each other—she’s got all her uncle’s charisma—then turns to study the rest of the assembly. Emeka is also nowhere to be seen, but an Orc Oscar presumes to be his wife is conversing with one of the Kobolds and, surprisingly, Carter. Other members of the Venge’s crew are mingling with one another or sitting comfortably in the chairs set up facing a makeshift altar. Oscar recognizes Hamid’s hand in that; he might not have magic enhancing his abilities, but he still has taste and an eye for color and design. There’s also a table piled with flowers and gifts, a small bandstand set up next to what can only be a temporary dance floor, and what looks like a portable pump organ of some kind. Hamid’s really gone all out.

He’s about to go over and say hello to Cel and Barnes when Ed comes around the corner, beaming and waving at all of them. Surprisingly, he’s not wearing his ceremonial bishop’s robes, but rather the buffed and polished armor he wore when Oscar first met him years ago. He’s carrying a large black gilt-edged book, though, so probably he does actually know this is supposed to be a ceremony and not a fight, but still.

Hamid comes through the house a moment later and waves for everyone to find seats. Yara wheels herself up to the front row, to a place where two chairs have clearly been left out of the arrangement, and beckons to Zolf and Oscar; Oscar doesn’t bother to hide his affectionate smile as he follows Zolf up to join Yara and Hamid. Across the makeshift aisle, Emeka’s wife tries to keep her youngest still on her lap; it’s a struggle until the older one lifts a flower crown off his own head and places it on hers, whereupon she settles down quite happily. The others sit wherever there’s room for them, except for Ed, who stands behind the altar, and Friedrich, who sits down at the pump organ and begins to play.

Two figures approach the altar from either direction. From one side comes Azu, wearing a dress that looks familiar—nearly identical to the one Hamid in Azu’s body wore to the opening of the Bow Bar all those years ago, a pink-and-purple ballgown with a tuxedo top—a crown of matching flowers around her head, leaning on Emeka’s arm. From the other comes Kiko, standing tall and proud, wearing a tailored white suit with gold trim and a flower crown of her own to match, one hand resting on Earhart’s outstretched arm. Earhart, for her part, is wearing a crisp admiral’s uniform trimmed with gold braid, her hair grown out to her shoulders, and looks…good, Oscar has to admit. She’s definitely proud, and her eyes are a bit misty. And after she leads Kiko to the altar and she and Azu join hands, Earhart sits next to Oscar without a word of complaint or dirty look.

The ceremony is surprisingly simple and heartfelt. Azu and Kiko giggle a few times when Ed goes off on a tangent, but for the most part, they’re simply too busy staring into one another’s eyes. More than one of the guests are sniffling, and at one point, Oscar passes Earhart his handkerchief and she actually takes it. The sun beams down on them, the breeze carries the scent of flowers and the faint perfume of the breeze, and it’s…honestly, it’s just about a perfect day. Oscar’s never been one for marriage, even if he doesn’t play the field as much as he did when he was younger (or, well, at all), but he has to admit that watching Azu and Kiko smile radiantly at one another and somehow putting a unique, personal spin on the rote words of the ceremony as they repeat them is almost enough to make him change his mind.

“By the blessing of Apollo who guides me,” Ed says at last, “by the blessing of Aphrodite who loves you, by the blessing of Poseidon who watches over you, by the blessing of Artemis who for some reason has some kind of interest in you”–Hamid chokes on what’s either a laugh or a sob, Oscar isn’t sure which—”I hereby pronounce you wed, bonded, united in spirit and soul, together in life and love until death comes for you both. You may engage in whatever display of affection you so desire.”

Kiko takes Azu’s face in both hands; Azu does the same. The kiss they share is surprisingly tender and sweet, but also goes on for an incredibly long time. After a few moments, though, Azu’s hands abruptly shift and she grabs Kiko, dips her practically in half, and kisses her for all she’s worth. The assembly goes wild.

They process down the makeshift aisle to Friedrich coaxing a theme Oscar vaguely recognizes from some opera or other out of the pump organ while everyone seated on the aisle ends of the rows showers them in rose petals. Ed stands behind the altar and beams at everyone. “That was fun! Anyone else want to get married while I’m up here?”

Oscar flinches when Ed looks in his direction, but everyone else in the crowd is laughing and getting up from their seats, so he relaxes, assuming it was a joke. Ed looks disappointed, but does come out from behind the altar and join the crowd.

“I think he was looking at Cel and Barnes,” Hamid says, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leans forward to address Oscar. “They were sitting right behind you.”

Zolf snorts. “Pity. I was about ready to take him up on the offer.”

Oscar stutters in mild panic—not just at the idea of being married, which he’s always been firmly against (although…well, he has to admit, he’s not sure he’d object if it was Zolf), but at the idea that it might have been something Zolf wants that he’s denying him. Zolf smiles and pats his hand, though. “I’m joking, Oscar. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Yara wrinkles her nose as she flicks off the brakes on her chair and starts wheeling herself away. “Too bad, ‘cause you’d look really good in Auntie Azu’s dress.”

Hamid, Zolf, and Earhart all burst out laughing, and honestly, it sounds too good for Oscar to really mind all that much that it’s at his expense.

Friedrich leaves the pump organ and heads over to the bandstand, followed by Natum, Carter, and Emeka’s wife, who turns out to play a mean percussion. Despite the fact that Oscar knows they haven’t practiced, they sound pretty damned good. Oscar finds himself standing next to Emeka when they go to congratulate the happy couple and nods towards the bandstand. “She’s quite talented.”

Emeka glows with pride. “Isn’t she? She had the opportunity to be part of a traveling band a few years ago, but—Ifeanyi!” He turns his head and barks something in what Oscar presumes to be Orcish in the direction of his children, the older of whom whines back in the same language.

Azu looks like she’s struggling not to laugh. “This doesn’t sound familiar at all, does it?”

“Shut up,” Emeka grumbles without any real heat to it.

Hamid, standing not too far away, covers his mouth with a hand for a moment and turns to call, “Yara, why don’t you take Ifeanyi and Nwanneka for a ride?”

Yara lights up. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm. I bet they’d enjoy it.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow and studies the two children. They’re not large, compared to a human child of comparable age—although they’re both far sturdier than a human would be—but they’re definitely big compared to Yara, and it’s not like wheelchairs are designed for more than one person to begin with. Before he can comment on it, though, Yara wheels off quickly, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”

Hamid tips a wink at Azu. “I’d better go help her. Back in a moment.” He jogs off after his niece, who is capable of a great deal of speed if she wants to.

Zolf comes over and holds out his hand to Azu. “Congratulations. Both of you.”

“Thank you.” Azu clasps his hand warmly. “You know we could have made it a double wedding.”

Oscar tries hard not to flinch again, but Zolf just shrugs. “We’ve had that discussion. Neither of us has any family—well, I mean, beyond you lot, but you know what I mean—so if anything happens to one of us, it’s not like we’ll need any kind of official paperwork or whatnot for the other to look after what needs looking after. I’m not going anywhere, and neither is he, and we both know that, so why bother with the mess of legal nonsense? Besides. The important people know we love one another. What makes the rest of the world think they’re entitled to know that?”

The simple, matter-of-fact declaration takes Oscar’s breath away. It’s not like he didn’t know how Zolf felt about him, and it’s certainly not like he thought Zolf didn’t know that went both ways. But they don’t use the L-word very often, even between the two of them, and Oscar is usually the one to say it, normally getting little more than a soft love you too in reply. He doesn’t think either of them have ever said it openly in public. Even if, as Zolf just said, the others know how they feel. For Zolf to just say it like that, like it’s simply a fundamental truth of the universe…well, it’s probably the most romantic thing anybody has ever said to or about Oscar in his life.

Azu’s delighted, mischievous grin tells him that his face is probably doing all sorts of interesting things, and he attempts to school it into the casual, aloof mask he wore for so many years. “You ought to have made that offer to Cel and Barnes. I’m sure they’d have been all for it.”

“Civil ceremony in Tokyo, three years ago,” Kiko says. “Didn’t they tell you?”

“Must’ve slipped their mind.” It’s not surprising, actually, that Cel would have gotten distracted talking about their work and forgotten to mention something personal like their marital status, but Oscar is a bit surprised Barnes didn’t tell Zolf. Then again, the only two times they’ve met in the last three years, they’ve had other things to discuss.

Azu nods. “Cel’s stepsons were in port, and, well, they don’t get much time off, apparently. So when they agreed that Barnes would make a good stepfather, Cel went and found an officiant pretty much as soon as Barnes said okay.”

Oscar has to hold back a laugh as he turns to find Barnes, who’s talking with Cel and Earhart a few yards away. “That sounds like our Cel.”

Hamid comes back into the yard—alone—and goes over to Ifeanyi and Nwanneka, who are a couple feet away and clearly only not wrestling with one another because their father yelled at them. Ifeanyi is taller than Hamid, but he gives him the same look that Nwanneka does, one of delight and respect. Oscar doesn’t know how long he’s known them, but they obviously adore him.

“Look,” he says, pointing.

There’s a soft, rhythmic creaking and a gentle snorting sound, and a moment later, Yara comes around the corner on the other side of the fence, grinning ear to ear from the driver’s seat of a simple cart, her back straight and her hands absolutely correct on the reins, which are attached to a beautiful, sturdy little tan-and-white pony. She pulls up to the fence and stops the horse with a quiet word. “Want to go for a ride?”

Emeka laughs and crosses over to help his children into the cart. Once she’s sure they’re safely settled, Yara shakes the reins once and clucks to the pony. “Gee up, Sparky.”

The pony whinnies in response and starts off at a trot, Ifeanyi and Nwanneka cheering and giggling with delight respectively. Hamid winks at Emeka, then comes over to give Azu a hug. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you both.”

“Thank you,” Azu says, hugging him back. “And thank you so much for letting us come here to have the ceremony. It means so much to us.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As Oscar—finally—goes in for his own hug, he hears Zolf say quietly to Hamid, “Did she really name her horse Sparky, or did you?”

“She did,” Hamid says, his voice equally quiet. “That’s one of her favorite stories. To be fair, I do have a hard time telling it with a straight face.”

“Telling what?” Cel suddenly appears in the midst of them, making Hamid jump and Zolf nearly tip his wheelchair over. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, I was just coming over to congratulate you, Azu, but it sounds like you’ve got a funny story to tell, Hamid.”

“Oh…” Hamid looks uncertainly at Zolf, who nods slightly. “It’s—you know that story I told you after Einstein’s funeral, about crossing the Channel? Well, after that we still had to get to Calais, and we had an…interesting experience.”

Oscar’s never heard this story either, but it’s far less fraught with danger than the other and he’s able to relax. He also can’t help but laugh when Hamid imitates the two drunken elderly ladies whom they coerced into giving them a ride to Calais, and sure enough, Hamid also starts laughing halfway through. Zolf starts to chuckle as well, but his eyes are definitely misty.

“I managed to get to Calais at almost the same time as Bertie,” Hamid finishes at last. “Barely. But he got through the front door of C’est first, so technically he won the bet.” He snorts and looks up at Oscar. “I remember wondering why everyone was staring at him at the time. I assumed it was because he looked like he’d crawled out of a swamp and was walking a dog in a sailor suit.”

“That would be a good reason to stare,” Oscar agrees.

A slow grin curls across Zolf’s face. “If I’m remembering right…the next morning was when we found out about a certain newspaper article from a day or two before?”

Hamid starts laughing again, almost boyishly. Oscar is about to ask what they’re talking about when he remembers. “Oh. Oh. The one where…”

“Mm-hmm. With the picture—” Hamid laughs harder.

“He was so furious about that,” Zolf says. “Wasn’t so funny at the time, maybe, but in retrospect, it’s hilarious.”

“It wasn’t funny at the time because Bertie was standing in the middle of the room screaming threats and murdering tables,” Hamid points out. “If we’d been able to listen from a distance, it would have been a lot funnier.”

“Murdering furniture?” Azu repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll tell you about it later,” Hamid promises.

Someone else comes up to congratulate the happy couple then, and Oscar moves aside. Zolf and Hamid do as well, and Oscar notices Hamid silently pass Zolf a handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Zolf murmurs, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry. Didn’t expect…” He sighs heavily and looks towards the field beyond the fence, where the cart is making a wide circle while staying in sight of the house. “She’d have loved this.”

Oscar doesn’t have to ask who she is. Hamid nods. “There’s not really been a day since Rome I haven’t missed her.” He pauses, then adds, “She’s one of the ones there was an empty seat for. In the second row. Azu asked if I’d make sure there was space for…for people who couldn’t be here in person.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Zolf says. “Wasn’t really looking back. How many seats were there?”

“Six. Two for Kiko’s parents, one for her grandmother, one for Einstein, one for Sasha, and one for Grizzop.”

“A good assembly.” Oscar’s about to say that maybe they were there, in a way, but he doesn’t. Whatever they did to save the world by necessity removed their connection from the other planes; he’s not entirely clear if that means the dead don’t pass on to the afterlife, but it certainly means they can’t come back. Or at least, he assumes that’s what it means.

On the other hand, that might mean Einstein is hanging about, at least.

The song the band is playing comes to an end, and Carter, ever the professional, calls cheerily, “Oi, lovebirds! Ready to come open the dancing?”

Kiko and Azu grin at each other and make their way over to the dance floor. Emeka’s wife taps out a rhythm, and Natum and Friedrich begin to play a lilting waltz. Somehow, Oscar’s not surprised at how gracefully the happy couple dance, how in sync they are, how easily they respond to one another. Azu’s skirt swirls around her dramatically as Kiko spins her under her arm. A single sunbeam seems to spotlight the pair. It’s…perfect. There’s no other word for it.

Once their first dance is over, everyone takes to the floor. Dances range from stately ballroom standards to wilder, more freeform dances. Yara and her new friends, evidently done their ride, come back at top speed and join the fun. Oscar can’t help but smile as Yara alternates pushing one wheel or the other, moving forward and back, so she can dance with Ifeanyi. He looks down at Zolf. “Care to join in, dearest?”

Zolf gestures at the dance floor. “Not my thing, but you have fun.”

Friedrich plays the opening bars of a new song, and Cel claps their hands. “Ooh, I know this one, it’s a Virginia reel! Come one, everyone, it’s easy, line up!”

Oscar succumbs to Cel’s enthusiasm and joins one of the two lines forming on the floor. He finds himself facing Earhart, of all people, who smirks at him. “Try to keep up, Mr. Wilde.”

“I’ll try to match your pace, darling,” Oscar snipes back playfully.

Fortunately, it’s a dance with a strict rhythm and Cel calls the steps for those who’ve never done it, which means there’s only so much Earhart can do to throw him off. Their differing heights are going to make it difficult when it’s their turn to form the arch for the rest of the line to dance through, but weirdly, it seems like it’s going to work.

As they get closer to being the “head couple,” Oscar glances over and sees Yara, smiling and clapping along as she watches, her shoulders shifting in time. There’s just a hint of melancholy in her smile, though. He turns to look at Zolf, but Zolf is already moving, calling as he does so, “Come on, Yara, let’s show ‘em how it’s done!”

They join the back end of the line, just as Hamid and a giggling Nwanneka “reel the set” along it. Oscar can’t help but laugh as Zolf fumbles with his chair and manages—just—to figure out how to manage to spin himself around in time before Nwanneka gets to him, then claps along as the pair join hands and slide back along the space between the two lines.

It’s hard to tell who’s enjoying themself more, the toddler or her dance partner, but their joy is unfeigned and infectious. Even Earhart laughs as they skip between them to take their place at the head and lead everybody in a curve along the back of the line.

Oscar has to practically drop to his knees and scrunch himself into a ball in order to fit under their joined hands, since Nwanneka is only about an inch shorter than Hamid, but manages it…barely. Emeka’s going to be a bit more of a squeeze to do it while staying on the beat, and Oscar can’t help it, he turns around and hops backwards towards where the front of the line will be so he can see this. Everyone is laughing and clapping, all of them probably thinking the same thing.

His heart swells. He hasn’t felt this much carefree joy in…he honestly can’t remember how long. Ages. He can almost feel it filling him, lifting him up, giving him a lightness and an odd sense of power. His eyes meet Zolf’s at the end of the line and can almost see the waves of love and contentment coming off of him, despite the sun beginning to set—someone’s going to need to light some torches or something. It reminds Oscar of the Hero’s Feast in Chaucer’s crypt, the lot of them laughing and sharing stories and memories and just enjoying one another’s company. Even with what came after…that was a good moment.

Just as Emeka and Ed are attempting to force their way through the too-small arch, laughing as they do so, there’s a loud ripping, tearing sound. Oscar assumes one of them tore their trousers…

…in the split-second before a pair of gigantic, scaly wings erupt from Hamid’s back.

Friedrich’s accordion gives a discordant squawk as he slams it together too hard, and Nwanneka shrieks in surprise and reels back. Hamid looks up and over his shoulder, wide-eyed and open-mouthed; Azu puts both hands over her mouth; Zolf’s hands tighten almost imperceptibly on the wheels of his chair. The silence is absolute. Even Cel seems speechless.

Slowly, it dawns on Oscar what it means, what all of it means. His dreams about the string board, Zolf’s dreams about the constellations, Yara’s dreams about the wires. The feeling of power and of being filled by the joy of the moment. Even Ed’s odd blessing on Azu and Kiko’s wedding makes sense, because how would Ed have realized or remembered Azu’s tenuous connection to Artemis through her friendship with Grizzop?

His smile blossoms. Throwing both hands up in the air, he calls on a half-forgotten memory and draws on a power he’s barely touched in years. Pink and purple fireworks explode in the sky overhead, just visible against the darkening sky, and zigzag together to form something of a net or web overhead for a moment before sparkling away into a shower of gold.

“Show-off,” Zolf calls, but there’s a grin spreading across his face as well.

Nwanneka claps her hands in delight and runs about, palms up like she’s trying to catch the falling sparks. Oscar can’t help it, he starts sending up more and more fireworks, taking the shape of flowers and spirals and WE’RE ALL FINE, THANKS FOR ASKING. Azu laughs when she sees that one, grabs Kiko, swings her around, and kisses her again.

Hamid’s whole face lights up in delight. He turns to Yara and holds out his arms; she holds her arms out in response, and he scoops her up into a bridal carry. With a powerful flap of his wings, he shoots up into the air, Yara clinging to his neck.

Carter claps his hands twice and sends up a few fireworks of his own, great gold rings that expand and contract. Hamid angles his wings and dives through the center of one, making Ifeanyi and Nwanneka cheer. Ed bellows out a hymn to Apollo, which Friedrich tries to drown out with a triumphal fanfare on the accordion.

Oscar tosses up more and more fireworks, then feels a hand at the small of his back. He glances down to see Zolf next to him, smiling broadly.

“You do know how to liven up a party,” he says, without taking his eyes from Hamid’s first flight in years.

Oscar laughs and puts one arm around Zolf’s shoulders. “If I thought you’d be all right with it, I could kiss you right now.”

He’s joking, mostly, but Zolf turns to look at him, and the smile deepens. “I reckon I’m all right with that.”

Well. Oscar’s not going to pass up that opportunity. He bends down, cups Zolf’s cheek in his free hand, and kisses him in much the same way Azu and Kiko kissed at the altar.

They separate a moment before Hamid swoops down and lands, Yara still in his arms, both of them looking windswept but elated. Zolf laughs—actually laughs—and throws out his arms to hug both Hamid and Oscar. Cel and Azu appear out of nowhere to join the hug as well.

Yara beams up at all of them, takes a deep breath, and starts singing loudly. Oscar recognizes the song she’s singing as one he’s often thought of when he looks at Zolf, and joins in. Carter joins in, too, and Friedrich and Natum pick up the tune on their instruments, and soon everyone who knows the words is singing along and everyone else is clapping or dancing or both.

It’s a magic all on its own, and Oscar realizes as they sing how it is the lines between the planes were able to redraw themselves. They’ve all learned to live without it, they are just fine with the world being mundane, but it’s the connections they’ve all forged that strengthened things enough that the connections to bring magic and the gods and everything else back to their world could reforge themselves.

Love, after all, will find out the way.