Page 20

Morgana

I tilt my head back to bask in the sunlight, the hood of my traveling cloak slipping slightly from my face.

It’s taken us nearly a week to ride from Vastamae to the fae capital, Lavail.

The shift in the weather has been gradual, the air slowly warming each day as we get further south.

Now it’s almost too hot for my cloak, and I glance at the others, wondering if they’re struggling too.

But the fae look quite comfortable, used to the balmy climate of their home city.

“Remember to keep your face covered,” Leon turns to murmur to me where I’m seated behind him. I’m back sharing his horse. He insisted, and I couldn’t be bothered to kick up a fuss about it.

I might still not be over what he did, but we’re working together now. He accepted my deal immediately. And now that we’re in this together, there isn’t room for pettiness.

I’ll admit it was distracting for the first few days, to be so close to him on a regular basis after weeks of trying—with varying success—to keep my distance. But eventually, my treacherous body relaxed enough to handle being pressed up against him for hours on end.

Nevertheless, I was glad when Lavail came into view and gave me something else to focus on.

The city looks like someone spilled a paintbox over it.

Every building, from the smallest, most humble residences to the grandest mansions, is decorated in vibrant shades.

The most common colors are terracotta, mustard, and burnt orange, but the streets are punctuated by buildings painted fern green or the deep cerulean I saw at the Lyceum.

I’d love to explore further, but we’re sticking to the back streets, making sure no one notices us.

“We’ll need to be discreet entering the city,” Leon explained to me a few days ago. “We don’t want to draw attention to your presence.”

I agreed with him, of course. The attack at the Lyceum proved that I have enemies in Filusia. No need to advertise that I’m in the city. However bright and beautiful it is, I’m sure it hides plenty of darkness too.

It also makes me glad I spent so much of our journey practicing my ability to block sensic magic. If I focus, I can keep myself from breaking into cackles of laughter for a full minute before I succumb to Damia’s magic.

I tried to coax Tira into giving it a go too.

I want her to be just as protected as I am, even if she’s less of a target.

But I couldn’t be surprised when she declined.

She’s not talked much in the last week, despite Stratton’s best efforts to cheer her up, and I’ve had to keep an eye out to make sure she’s eating enough.

The news about her family has drained vitality out of her, and I can only hope that things will get better soon.

Once we’ve done what we need to at the palace, we can think about Oclanna, and that might give Tira the focus she needs—something to hold onto in a sea of grief.

I can see glimpses of the palace in question now.

It’s like a two-tiered cake, one layer stacked on top of the other with towers from the bottom portion stretching up to surround the top.

I thought it was where we were headed, but then we take a left and start moving away from it.

Eventually, we come to a tall wall with an intricately wrought gate set into the brick.

Leon holds his hand up to a thick lock at its center. There’s a click, and the gate—apparently bespelled to recognize his magic—groans open.

A huge expanse of gardens lies beyond it. It looks almost like a park, lined with trees but open in the middle, where broad stretches of grass slope gently down to a lake so big there’s an island in the middle of it. The palace is visible in the distance. This must be an extension of its grounds.

We ride down across the manicured lawns toward the lake edge.

“Are we going straight to your brother?” I ask Leon.

“Yes,” Leon says. “He’s this way.” His voice sounds low and tight.

He’s anxious, and I am too. It’s one thing to tell Leon back in Vastamae that I’ll help his brother, but now we’re approaching the moment of truth.

If I’m honest, I’m afraid what state we’re going find Fairon in.

What if he’s already past the point of saving?

When we get closer to the lake, I can make out more of the island. There’s a structure on it—a round building with stone pillars and an impressive dome. It looks like a temple, or maybe one of the sanctuary buildings back home. I remember then what Leon told me about Fairon.

“This is the place you talked about?” I ask. “The one with the blood magic?”

We dismount as Leon answers. “Yes. The Sanctuary is very old, older than the palace even. Come.”

He leads us to the water’s edge, where a small fleet of rowboats are moored. He helps me into one, along with Tira, Alastor, and Phaia. The others take another boat as Leon begins to row us across to the island.

I watch his powerful arms pull us through the water with ease and notice that our party is unusually quiet. I think the fear of what we might find here is getting to all of us. Leon starts talking, his voice rising a little above the swish of the moving water.

“The legend goes that thousands of years ago, a terrible plague ran through the city. The rulers—my ancestors—could easily have fled Lavail to keep themselves safe. They stayed, however, to find a way to put a stop to the sickness. Supposedly, Viscalis blessed this spot as a reward for their selflessness.”

“Viscalis?” Tira pipes up. “But I thought she was just the dryads’ goddess?”

I’m relieved to hear her talking. It’s a good sign that she can summon up some curiosity.

“She is the deity of viatic magic, of course,” says Leon.

“But she’s been known to help fae and humans from time to time.

Of course, it’s just a legend. It might not be true.

Maybe we just had very good dryad allies back then, and they helped build this place for us.

Either way, this site has healing properties for members of the royal line.

My brother has only managed to stay alive this long by remaining permanently inside. ”

We all fall silent again after that, reminded of the reason we’re here.

Our boat slows, gently running aground on the sandy bank.

There’s a strange atmosphere. Even though Tira and I have never been here before, it’s like we can sense the sacredness of the place.

A hush hangs around us. As I step closer to the Sanctuary, I recognize the shape of old Agathyrian carved into the base of the pillars—words I doubt any of us, even the fae, can read.

My stomach twists again. I’m no healer, and I’m certainly not a dryad. Have we all gone insane, thinking I might be able to do some good here?

Leon’s hand lightly touches my elbow.

“We’ll just go to see him first,” he murmurs. “One step at a time.”

I release a breath and nod, then notice the others hanging back.

“They’re not coming?” I ask.

“It’s better not to crowd him,” Leon says.

My gaze falls on Tira. “I’ll stay here too,” she says, stepping forward to squeeze my hand. “But good luck.”

The Sanctuary is cooler than outside. Darker too, a low light creating an immediate sense of calm. The air tastes fresh, almost like peppermint, thanks to the burning bowls of herbs that line the entry chamber.

A pair of dryad attendants approach us. It’s been a while since I’ve seen any who look so healthy.

It’s a reminder of just how vibrantly green Etusca’s hair and skin used to be.

I briefly wonder if she has reached the Miravow yet, but I refocus my attention when both dryads bow and one begins to speak.

“Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you.”

“Healer Yanda,” Leon addresses her. “I apologize for the surprise, but it’s proven necessary to keep my movements to myself lately.” He bows respectfully, and she nods in return.

“I hear he’s worse,” Leon says. You’d only be able to hear the strain in his voice if you really listened, but to me it’s clearly there. The dryads exchange a look.

“We haven’t been able to keep his weight up, Your Highness, despite all our efforts. It’s like the sickness is just swallowing up everything we feed him.” Yanda twists her hands in distress.

“We’d like to see him,” Leons says.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Yanda says. “But I must warn you, he’s much changed since the last time you were here.”

I feel Leon tense a little more beside me, and as the dryads turn to lead us deeper into the Sanctuary, I brush my fingers against the back of his hand, reminding him I’m here.

The healers usher us into another chamber, and immediately I understand the need for the burning herbs outside. There’s a fetid smell, like something rotten and decaying. It’s the smell of death.

As the dryads step aside, they reveal a long bed inside the chamber. My heart stops, because for a moment I think there’s a corpse lying in it. Then the body in bed shifts slightly.

It’s hard to tell what Fairon would have looked like before he got sick, because now he looks less like a man and more like a skeleton.

His skin is sallow, almost yellow at the edges, and stretched over hollow cheeks and a pointed chin.

His hair is still dark, like Leon’s. When I look closely, I see a ghost of the same graceful features I’ve so often admired on his brother.

Leon goes to stand behind him, reaching out to lay a hand on Fairon’s shoulder.

“It’s me, Fairon. I’ve come home,” he says in a low voice. I can’t bear to look at the expression on his face, so I focus on Fairon and see the crown prince tilt his neck an inch and open his eyes.

“ L…Leon… ” Fairon’s voice is a grating rasp. No sooner does he get the word out than he starts to cough. Leon lifts his painfully thin brother to sit upright.