Ch. 146 – Epilogue

Thickets upon thickets of Softberry trees hugged the hills surrounding Jarvirium, their flowers just beginning to bloom with red and blue hues to mark the start of Spring. They served as the last frontier of natural life for the capital, an uncanny streak of wildlife in a city that now operated like a well-oiled, undead machine.

“‘Scuse me,” Momo apologized. “Sorry.”

The weak light of morning shone down on Momo as she weaved between skeletal handymen, their shoulders heavy with planks of wood. They had no need for sleep or pay or breaks, a salivating capitalist’s utopia, so they worked all through the day and night. The city was alive with a constant hum of nails and hammers, jackhammers and drills.

Which was all to say – it was loud. Louder than a jet engine. Louder than a woodpecker nipping your eardrum. The type of noise pollution to make you want to pick up your possessions and move into the deepest, darkest corner of the planet, where even roosters would be too proud to squawk in the morning.

Luckily, business followed demand, and the garment district soon became lined with as many shops selling premium ear-covering equipment as they did knock-off handbags. Momo had become a loyal earplug customer herself, stuffing wax into her ears under the flaps of her cowl as she went about her daily rituals.

So far today, she had accomplished only two of the tasks on that agenda – one, pick up sourdough from Bread Beyond the Grave, a new popup bakery in the fourth ring, and two, wrap it neatly in the paper that her Military Advisor preferred, and now she was on her merry way towards agenda item three: delivery.

“Knock knock,” Momo whispered, and then slammed the door knocker down.

“It’s seven AM, Momo, have some manners,” a voice on the other side chided. “But seriously – relax with the door pounding. I haven’t put my earplugs in yet.”

“Oh,” Momo blushed regretfully. “Sorry!”

She had arrived at the former Knights of the Sun barracks, which was currently being renovated into a brand new, highly liveable apartment complex. In fact, it would be the first apartment complex in the entire city to abide by normal human rights and fire safety conventions – to which Momo had already received many complaints from the city council, which was overpopulated with post office lobbyists.

“People prefer to travel by mail chute,” they had insisted. “It’s more efficient than any stairwell.”

Luckily, Momo had come prepared with a slide deck of every death connected to the mail chute transportation system in the last year. It was a remarkable total of four hundred and seventy two. Four hundred and seventy two people who had died by throttling themselves through a pneumatic tube.

That shut them up, eventually.

“Alright, I’m decent now – come in,” the voice behind the door called out.

The door lock clicked, and Momo pushed it gently open.

—

No matter how frequently Momo visited, there was always something new to see in Sumire’s apartment.

It was a medium-sized shoebox of a place, with a small kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a large oak dinner table, which served dinner less often than it served as a place to play Sea Chess. A few half-murdered pieces remained strewn there, clay limbs at rest until the next game.

Sumire kept her space consistently and beautifully cluttered, brimming with tiny loveable things placed in chaotic locations – many ships in glass bottles, mugs and tea kettles, knives and daggers. Momo imagined this was how she grew up, stuffed in a small crew cabin, surrounded by little treasures.

Momo hadn’t grown up on a ship, but she still grew up similarly; everything her parents owned was considered worth keeping somewhere. Above the fridge, below the bed, in a stuffy cupboard that no one was allowed to open. Still, there was an element of shame in her household. That stuff must be kept, but stowed. Not for public viewing.

Momo lowered herself into one of Sumire’s thrifted armchairs, and smiled. It made her happy to see everything so proudly displayed here – like every little bit and bob was worth showing off, no matter the price tag.

“If it isn’t my favorite tiny revolutionary.”

Momo could hear Sumire’s smirk before she saw it – wide and evil. The woman came up from behind Momo, running her hand over her shoulder before joining her on the opposite side of the dining table. Heat ran up Momo’s arm at the touch, and she bit her lip, looking down.

“I brought your bread,” Momo said, placing it on the table. “They didn’t have cinnamon and raisin today, sorry. Just the regular sourdough.”

“And I assume you threatened their lives if they made that same mistake again?”

“Of course I did,” Momo frowned. “What kind of customer would I be otherwise?”

The two stared at each other for a second, then broke out in laughter.

That was until Momo processed what she was looking at. Laughter abruptly died in her throat.

“Sumire – you’re… you’re not wearing it.”

Sumire lifted an eyebrow, still chuckling.

“Wearing what? Did you buy me a necklace that I forgot about?”

Momo stared unblinkingly at the pirate girl. She was wearing a simple robe, a thin, black, fabric thing that hugged her waist and draped over her legs. It framed her beautifully, revealing a figure she had never had the privilege to see.

From behind Sumire, hanging unassumingly from the coat rack, was her formerly permanent attire – the Sleepy, and occasionally Demonic, Luhkka.

“Your luhkka,” Momo mumbled softly. “I thought you couldn’t take it off.”

“Ah, that old thing,” Sumire said, grimacing as she gave it a sidelong glance. “There’s a reason we haven’t been able to do our usual tea time for the past few weeks.”

“Oh yeah?” Momo said. She had been hoping the girl would broach the subject. She had been worried she’d done something to insult her – that maybe she’d come on too strong visiting so often, or that her new horns were too big, too unsightly.

“Relax. No need for an anxiety spiral,” Sumire said, smirking. “The floorboards are shaking from how hard you’re tapping your foot to the floor. I can’t have you accidentally kicking a hole in my new flooring.”

Momo stilled her foot, blushing. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sumire waved her hand, taking a knife and cutting a slice off the sourdough. “I feel bad that I wasn’t able to tell you. Unfortunately, taking off the Luhkka for a few minutes to shower is fine, but once I pass the thirty minute mark, the artifact’s [Hangover] kicks in. It mops me to the floor. Completely depletes me of energy. Can’t defend myself. Can barely breathe. Can’t even get out of bed. And it lasts for two weeks.”

Sighing, she popped a bit of the bread in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“So you can see why it would be difficult for me to write you a letter,” she finished, swallowing. “Wow, that’s good, actually. Maybe we don’t have to murder them.”

“You were bedbound for two weeks?” Momo’s mouth fell open. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Nura stayed with me,” Sumire said, her relief obvious. “I didn’t want to bother you with the trouble – you’re a busy girl-ruler these days, and she’s used to it. But it’s no big deal. The curse’s lifted now, so long as I don’t put it back on.”

Momo hated the odd feeling of jealousy that sprouted in her chest. It had felt like a no-brainer taking on the responsibility as the city’s interim mayor, extending her duties from Nam’Dal into the capital, but if she had known what she’d be missing out on – handfeeding Sumire soup, checking her temperature, wrapping blankets around her in bed –

She would have fired herself immediately. On the spot.

“And are you going to put it back on?” Momo said, interrupting her own thoughts. “I hope not.”

“I…” Sumire’s steady voice wavered. “I can’t decide. A few months ago, I would have never considered even taking it off. I didn’t have anyone to help take care of me if I did. I probably would have starved like a beached whale. Not to mention that Roland forbade it. I’d lose my power as his secret weapon.”

“But he’s gone now,” Momo said, planting her hands on the table. “And you have me. And Nura. And Akram – sort of. So you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sumire chuckled, playing with the knife in her hand. “I saw you punch the living daylights out of him with that huge Nether fist. That was insanely hot, by the way.”

Momo’s cheeks burned brighter than hell.

“T – thanks,” she stuttered. Sumire laughed.

“No problem,” she said, relaxing in her chair. “But still – Gods – I don’t know. Sure, I’m not a huge fan of the permanent daze it puts me in, but the power is unmatched. It makes me unkillable. I don’t like the idea of giving that up. I don’t like letting my guard down.”

“I can tell,” Momo said, still recovering from the compliment. “But letting your guard down isn’t so bad. Mine is always down, and somehow I’m not dead yet.”

Sumire rolled her eyes.

“Yet.”

The two ate bread and butter and various assortments of Sumire’s favorite sea-salted gouda until their stomachs hurt, and Momo’s heart fluttered a bit faster each time Sumire smiled at her.

She really couldn’t help it – without the oppressive curse of the Luhkka weighing her down, Sumire’s smile was so much wider, so much more free. She grinned with her teeth, dimples creasing the sides of her mouth. Her laugh was wild and full, and her body lazed around in a hundred different silly positions.

“So,” Sumire said, one hand over her stomach as she propped her feet on the table. “Should I be calling you Queen now?”

“I prefer mayor,” Momo mumbled. “Queen just seems way too… regal. Like I’d need to start wearing high heels and referring to people as subjects. I wear clogs and spend half of my money on cat food. I think I’d be laughed out of the throne room if I were to declare myself that.”

Sumire smirked. She leaned over the table, taking Momo’s hand in her own. Momo tried not to choke to death.

“A queen doesn’t have to look like one thing, Momo,” she said slowly. “I think I’d like to see the queen you’d become if you tried doing it your way. Not Valerica’s way. Or Morgana’s way. Your way. In clogs. With more jail cells full of expiring tuna fish than prisoners.”

Sumire stared at her with such a rare intensity – eyes fully open, not sagging with exhaustion or fear. She rose from her seat, leaning over the width of the table.

“Yeah?” Momo said weakly. Her pulse ricocheted in her throat. What is she doing…?

“Yeah,” Sumire whispered. “Plus, I’d really like to see you in a crown.”

Sumire grinned, grabbed Momo by the horns, and kissed her.