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Jester drags herself to her feet, bloodied and spent. Fjord is alive, thank the Traveller, though groaning on the ground and clutching his arm. The Ruby Vanguard lie dazed around them in the cold murk of the Shadowfell, but they're already stirring. Her last spell, her very last one, bought her and Fjord a little time, but nothing more.
Anger and grief bite into her gut. She doesn’t want to die down here today, brutally, lost in the dark. She wants years and years and years in the bright beauty of Nicodranas then a quiet, easy parting from those she loves. She wants to go to Caduceus’s graveyard and become flowers, so that if he misses her sometimes, he can drink Jester tea and remember.
That’s no longer an option.
Still. There’s one last choice she gets to make.
As the Ruby Vanguard start to stumble to their feet, she pulls Fjord up with one hand, and fumbles for her pearl of power with the other, casting one final spell.
"Beau," she Sends, holding close the image of her wonderful friend, somewhere still in this awful place. "I’m going to cast Word of Recall now. Take Fjord and I home. Caleb should get you out. We’ve done what we can here."
Precious seconds drain away as the mages regain their footing. Terror that she was wrong—that her friends are already lost—starts to choke her, and only Fjord’s good arm, curling around her shoulders, helps her maintain the spell.
Then Beau's familiar, rough, perfect voice rings out in her mind.
Yeah, go! Caleb’s about to teleport us to the Hellcatch Valley. Was waiting on you. See you when it’s over. Love you Jess. Get home.
The spell twists to nothing, like a lit paper. Its job complete.
The Ruby Vanguard have regrouped now, fury on their faces, blood on their dumb red robes. Jester drops her pearl, but while instinct has her hand twitching for her axe, she doesn't grab it. Instead she leans into Fjord, and meets his gaze with her best, brightest, most loving smile. And if his own is less bright, it’s just as loving.
“You got them out,” he murmurs, holding her tight to him. The Star Razor lies abandoned at his feet. The mages are closing in once more, but his eyes never stray from hers. “They’ll finish this, and survive.”
Jester just nods, then throws her arms around him, pressing as close as she can, as he buries his face in her hair. Around her neck, Sprinkle mimics the gesture, nuzzling in.
She couldn’t tell Beau and Caleb goodbye, or how much she loves them. They’d never have left. But that’s okay. They know. And if they’re angry later, she trusts that they love her enough to forgive her, even for this.
The swell of magic around her and Fjord is palpable, like heat from a forest fire. But she doesn’t look up, and nor does he. Sprinkle crawls from her neck, down the sleeve of her robe, and tightens round her arm.
I love you, Artie. Please, let him hear her. Thank you for being here, my whole life. She shuts her eyes, and lets the gentle saltwater scent of Fjord’s skin take her back to kinder days. To friendship and adventure and love.
Then there is only heat, and white, and a wash of green that sweeps her away.