Chapter 50
The rooftop garden of their private quarters was a world away from the chaos of the Citadel below.
Logan and Amy had carved out this sanctuary themselves, filling it with climbing moon-vines that glowed with soft, blue-white light after sunset, fragrant night-blooming jasmine, and sturdy, wind-resistant shrubs from Amy's clan.
A thick, woven rug was spread out, covered with cushions and a low table laden with a simple feast: sweet rice cakes, slices of chilled starfruit, a pot of fragrant herbal tea, and a bottle of light, sparkling cider.
Orion, now a few months old, was the center of their universe.
He lay on a soft blanket between his parents, swaddled in a tiny version of Logan's favorite dark blue fabric.
His eyes, a startling blend of Amy's obsidian and something deeper that seemed to hold flecks of inner light, were wide open, staring in wonder at the glowing vines above.
"He's not even looking at the moon," Amy said, her voice soft with affection. She lay on her side, propped on an elbow, gently tracing the curve of Orion's cheek with a finger. "He's staring at the boring old glow-vines. Your son has terrible taste in celestial bodies."
"Or brilliant taste in practical illumination," Logan countered, sitting cross-legged.
He held a small, harmless orb of shimmering spatial energy, distorting the light around it like a tiny soap bubble.
He floated it gently towards Orion. "See? He appreciates manipulated light. A future space-bender in the making. Much more interesting than a big, predictable rock in the sky."
The orb drifted down, and Orion's chubby hands waved, trying to grab the shimmering distortion.
He let out a happy, gurgling coo when it popped against his blanket with a soft puff of harmless energy.
"Show-off," Amy laughed, swatting Logan's knee. "Using high-level spatial manipulation to make baby toys. The other Moon-Class elites would be scandalized."
"The other Moon-Class elites don't have a son who deserves the best toys," Logan declared, puffing out his chest in mock pride.
He created another, smaller orb, this one making little hopping motions in the air.
Orion watched, mesmerized.
They talked of nothing and everything.
Amy recounted, with dramatic flair, her battle with the Citadel's head chef over the proper amount of spice in the weekly stew. "He said 'a lady of your standing' should prefer delicate flavors! I told him a lady of my standing just survived a Tier 9 mana beast and childbirth—I can handle a scorpion-pepper!"
Logan nearly choked on his cider laughing. "Please tell me you didn't challenge him to a duel."
"I challenged him to a cook-off," Amy said, her eyes gleaming. "My mother's five-alarm fire-broth against his 'delicate consommé.' The adjudicator was the head gardener. My broth made his prized frost-lilies bloom out of season. I won by default due to 'unexpected horticultural impact.'"
Logan's laughter echoed softly in the rooftop garden. "I married a menace. A beautiful, brilliant menace."
In turn, Logan complained about the interminable meetings of the Sky King's council. "Old man Hemlock spent forty-five minutes today discussing the granular aesthetic impact of different types of gravel for the eastern ceremonial path. Gravel, Amy! I started using a micro-spatial fold to secretly practice my dagger drills under the table."
"Did anyone notice?"
"Ronan did. He sent me a note that just said, 'Your left parry is slow. Also, I vote for the dark grey gravel.' Bastard."
As the night deepened, the first firework streaked into the sky from the festival grounds in the lower city.
It burst in a silent, radiant chrysanthemum of gold and red, the distant pop reaching them a moment later.
"Oooh, starting!" Amy scooped Orion into her arms, settling him against her chest so he could see. "Look, my little sky-bearer. Pretty lights."
Orion's eyes went even wider.
More fireworks followed, painting the night canvas with shimmering willows of silver, roaring dragons of green and purple, and spinning wheels of blue fire.
Each explosion was met with a distant, collective "Ahhh" from the city below.
"You know," Logan said softly, moving to sit behind Amy, wrapping his arms around both her and Orion.
He rested his chin on her shoulder. "I used to hate these festivals. Too loud, too crowded, too many people....."
"And now?" Amy asked, leaning back into his warmth.
"Now I get it," he murmured, watching a cluster of fireworks explode in a sequence that looked like a dancing giant.
"It's not a distraction. It's the point. This is what we're doing all the fighting for. The boring gravel meetings, the border patrols, the endless training… it's so nights like this can happen. So he can watch fireworks without a shadow looming over him."
Amy turned her head to kiss his cheek. "Spoken like a true dad. A sentimental, spatial-warping, gravel-hating dad."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the three of them a single, cozy unit against the cool night air, illuminated by the flashes of color in the sky.
"What do you think he'll be like?" Amy asked after a particularly spectacular volley of crimson stars.
"Stubborn," Logan said immediately.
"With your temper and my stubbornness? The poor clan elders won't know what hit them."
"Hey! My temper is focused and righteous."
"It's terrifying, is what it is," Logan teased, squeezing her gently.
"And brilliant. He'll be brilliant. He'll probably figure out spatial theory before he's out of diapers just to annoy me."
"I hope he's kind," Amy said, her voice growing softer.
"With all that power inside him… the Dragon, the legacy… I hope he learns to be kind with it. Not just strong."
Logan nuzzled her hair. "He will. He has you for a mother. You'll whack kindness into him with a ladle if you have to."
She chuckled. "Damn right."
Another firework, this one a giant, smiling sun-face that winked before fading, drew a delighted squeal from Orion.
He waved a fist at it.
"See?" Logan said triumphantly. "He likes the funny ones. My son has a sense of humor. Future secured. He'll be fine."
"Your entire assessment of his future is based on his reaction to a firework?" Amy said, raising an eyebrow.
"It's a very telling data point!" Logan insisted. "Appreciates advanced spatial constructs and quality pyrotechnic comedy. He's going to be the most well-rounded, powerful, and entertaining Sky King the world has ever seen."
Amy shook her head, laughing. "You're impossible."
"You love me."
"I do," she said, and the simple words held the warmth of the suns in the sky.
"And I love our stubborn, brilliant, hopefully-kind, fireworks-loving future chaos-gremlin."
Orion chose that moment to let out a huge, milky yawn, his eyes finally beginning to drope, overstimulated by love and light.
The grand finale began in the distance, a roaring, rapid-fire succession of light and sound that turned the night into day for a full minute.
They watched it, the colors reflecting in their eyes and in Orion's sleepy, awestruck gaze.
As the last echo faded and the smell of smoke and magic drifted on the breeze, the rooftop garden felt even more peaceful.
The glowing vines provided just enough light.
"Best meeting I never had to attend," Logan whispered, pressing a kiss to Amy's hair and then to Orion's forehead.
"Better than gravel," Amy agreed, smiling as she watched their son finally succumb to sleep, safe, warm, and surrounded by a quiet, joyful love that felt, for this perfect night, stronger than any beast sealed within or any empire beyond the walls.