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“What’s this area called?” I asked as we reached the gate separating the House of Wisdom from the seedy neighborhood, and one of our Clawsguards began speaking to the attendant at the entrance.

“Rall Row.”

“They called the people who lived here dregs.” Igestured to the Clawsguards, who were too busy speaking with the attendant and being on watch to notice.

Vale cringed. “That’s a slur for those who live in this part of the city. I’ll speak with the guards about that later.”

“A good idea,” I said, glad that Vale didn’t use the same terms. “And the House of Wisdom is here among the poorest fae. That seems odd to me.” I gestured to the great black gate separating the row from the elaborate building that resembled a small castle.

“The Row grew around the House of Wisdom. Healers train here and many in the Row seek their services for free.” Vale watched a youngling kicking a ball down the street.

The child had long white hair, and despite that being a common enough color among the fae, I caught myself wondering if he was one of my blood relatives. If so, this could have been where I’d grown up.

“This area wasn’t always like this.” Regret laced his voice. “The Row began developing about ten turns ago.”

A decade after the rebellion. I understood what he was cryptically saying. These fae were among the first to be affected by the slow decline of Winter’s Realm.

The poor and downtrodden were always the first to feel the downfall of society.

“Prince Vale, Princess Neve, this way.” The Clawsguards ushered us inside the gate. “The attendant has informed a vishku of your arrival and will see to you now.”

Vale winced. “I’d rather speak to Lärling Duran.”

The attendant at the gate shrugged. “I’m sure the vishku will take excellent care of you.”

Vale scowled but didn’t argue as we passed through the gates, down a long path lined with tall evergreen trees, to the vast double doors that looked more intimidating than welcoming.

From the outside, the House of Wisdom reminded me of a smallish, rectangular, sandy-brown castle with towers in every corner.

One tower appeared to be newer, whiter, and brighter than the rest of the building.

“What’s that?” I pointed to the tower.

“The White Tower,” Vale answered. “Healers train and live there. Though there is a small portion that the rest of the scholars use—mostly for potions.” He arched his eyebrows.

So if all went well, we’d be going there.

“They separated healers from other scholars?”

“To a certain degree, every sect of study is separate, though healers are an extreme. The Masters and the teachers live at the top of the White Tower.”

“Hmm,” I mused. “Have you been here often?”

“A few times.”

“For what?” He read but not like I did. Then again, few readthatvoraciously. I wondered what he was interested in reading or studying.

“Rhistel is a klär, a level below the vishku, the highest honor one can achieve in the House of Wisdom. He’s studied here since we were young—a perk for the heir. Most have to wait until they’re adults to study in the House of Wisdom. I used to visit him.”

“Oh.” That Prince Rhistel did anything besides antagonize others and spout lewd comments astonished me.

The double doors opened, and Vale directed all his attention to the older, plump female dwarf sweeping toward us. She wore white flowing trousers and a top to match. A white cloak atop kept her warm.

“Prince Vale, welcome to the House of Wisdom,” the female said, her deep-set black eyes blinking with interest.

“Vishku Sindri. It’s an honor to be here.”

“And what, might I ask, brings you here today, Prince Vale?”