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It dances across my skin with the breeze, effervescent and unsettling.

The two elven races were at quiet war long before the humans arrived in Caldenbauer—their magics as different as oil and water. Even though it was technically the humans who fought the High Vales in the battle, this must be the Woodmores’ unassuming way to celebrate the victory.

We ride through the nearly silent city, saying little, all of us a little wary of the foreign setting. We pass the tree and its unsettling adornments, and though I don’t voice it to the others, I wonder what the chances are the tree will take offense to our presence and simply crush us with one of its massive limbs. Not that I believe trees are sentient.

“Henrik,” Clover breathes, her eyes focused on something in the distance.

I follow her gaze, and I draw in a breath.

We’ve reached the northernmost edge of Furlaskin, which ends at a massive courtyard that stretches the length of the city along the sheer cliff. Beyond the battered stone rail, the bay sparkles in the late afternoon light. The sea stretches past it, infinite and hazy, with a sheer veil of mist that rises from the water.

Clover dismounts, and Bartholomew and I follow her.

Ancient benches sporadically dot the long stretch, the black iron impervious to the corrosive sea air. Lampposts stand on the balcony, their copper aged to a muted green.

“Do you think they still turn on at night?” Clover asks, gesturing to the lights.

“I doubt anyone has filled the city’s oil reserves in a century.”

“It’s a little sad, isn’t it?” she says softly, running her hand along the back of a bench. “I imagine it was lovely.”

“It’s still lovely,” Bartholomew says. “Just…empty.”

It’s not hard to imagine the city at the height of its glory, filled with the beautiful Vallen people who built it over a thousand years ago. But the beauty is marred by something darker.

When the first human explorers discovered Caldenbauer, they found a land rich in magic, fertile earth, and wondrous new creations. The High Vales welcomed them, and for a while, there was peace. But it was not to last. Like the Boermin before us, the humans were eventually enslaved and forced to serve the High Vale people.

The original Phoenix King, King Algernon’s grandfather, freed us from our shackles—he pulled us from the ashes of our sad existence and brought a new era to the land. But Furlaskin was a casualty, abandoned after the battle—the elves’ once golden city left to crumble.

“Do you wonder if this is the future of all Caldenbauer?” Clover asks pensively. “Generations from now, do you think people will explore our ruins and wonder what happened to us hundreds of years ago?”

“We know what happened here,” I point out.

Bartholomew nods sagely. “It’s no wonder the High Vale elves hate us, isn’t it?”

“They brought it upon themselves with their greed and cruelty.” I turn from the disconcerting sight. “And they’ve certainly found a way to gouge us, haven’t they?”

After the long war, when the humans finally claimed victory and the treaty was signed, King Telgin granted the native races a choice of land. The Woodmore people claimed the temperate vineyard region, and the Boermin chose a chunk of the rich farmland in the middle of the continent. Though the High Vale people could have taken a section of the northern mountains or the eastern forests, they retreated to the swamplands.

Later, the Phoenix King realized he’d been quietly deceived. All of Caldenbauer’s precious oil, a resource that lights and heats much of the kingdom to this day, comes from the swamps. We pay dearly for each barrel that’s shipped into the mainland.

“Let’s continue looking for the elf,” I say, ready to leave the silent ruins.

But it doesn’t look like we’ll have to search for long.

A loud, semi-masculine scream comes from the center of the city, carrying on the breeze that gently blows through the central tree.

Clover pulls the bow from her back. “Well, that’s fortuitous. I believe we’ve located him.”

Drawing my sword, I take off at a run, firmly instructing Clover and Bartholomew to wait for me to return—so naturally, they follow me into the depths of the city.

16

Clover

By the timewe reach the tree, my lungs pinch painfully, and I feel like I’ll never be able to draw in enough air to soothe them. I’m exhausted after attempting to keep up with Henrik—the man canrun.Bartholomew is somewhere far behind us, lugging his ridiculously large crossbow. The fact that he and his weapon are at our backs doesn’t instill a lot of confidence in me.

Henrik and I pause for a moment in a square that partially contains the tree, frantically trying to locate Pranmore. As we stand here, I get my first glimpse of an aynauth.