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The coughing fit worsens once they have him sitting up against some pillows.

Fairon’s body shakes as he releases a deep, guttural noise over and over.

I fight to keep my face neutral, although I want to wince at the noise, punctuated as it is by such desperate wheezes.

The dryads rub Fairon’s back as Leon tries to lean him forward a little, hand still on his shoulder.

There’s a splattering noise, and something black and dense spills from Fairon’s mouth, staining the white sheets. I notice a washcloth by a basin in the corner and rush to wet it, hurrying forward.

Whatever Fairon has coughed up is dark like ink, but thick as mud. He splutters, and a few more globs of it drip onto the sheets. Then he slumps back, his eyes fluttering closed with exhaustion. I lift the wet cloth to wipe the residue from his chin as the dryads hurry to remove the soiled sheets.

“Thank you,” Leon says to the dryads as they bow and leave the chamber with the sheets, murmuring about being back soon with new ones.

“Thank you ,” he then says to me, looking meaningfully at the washcloth.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, unable to meet his gaze. I’m too afraid of the hope I might see there. Seeing Fairon’s condition has shown me how massive the task ahead of me is. Leon’s brother is no wilted flower. He’s a living, breathing person, and death has its grip wrapped firmly around him.

“Do you think you’re ready to try now?” Leon asks. “Maybe just see what you can feel with your magic?”

I exhale. This is, after all, what I came here for. However dire Fairon’s condition, I have to try.

“Alright,” I say.

I close my eyes and run through the process that’s familiar to me by now. First, I locate the heat in my veins, feeling its warmth but taking care not to release it. Then, I reach out for my orbital magic, the power that influences things outside myself, and bring it as close as I can to the heat.

Then I go looking for Fairon’s celestial flame.

It turns out practicing on the sunflowers was a good idea, after all.

As plants, their inner spark was already small and further diminished by the starvation Gallis put them through.

It helps me now, because Fairon’s inner spark is frighteningly weak.

It flickers in and out of my awareness, so faint it’s hard to hold in my mind’s eye.

I can sense the darkness around it too, squatting inside him like some foul parasite, swallowing up what must’ve once been a fierce, burning light and turning it into this frail ember.

Before I can do anything else, my magic starts to come alive. It’s like it’s instinctively drawn to Fairon. I try to gently pull it back, but it just speeds up, rushing from me toward his celestial flame.

I panic when my first try doesn’t immediately make it stop.

My power is pouring into Fairon, and I know too well what happens to anything I overload with my celestial magic.

Images of the dead, blackened sunflowers spring to my mind.

My fear mounting, I make another, frenzied tug on my magic, yanking it free of Fairon and breaking the connection.

I hear a rattling gasp, and my eyes fly open. Fairon’s not only coughing again, but his whole body is shaking uncontrollably, his thin limbs jerking as he has some kind of seizure. The dryads rush in to help Leon hold him down, smearing a paste over his mouth and praying rapidly in old Agathyrian.

I stumble backward, feeling sick as I watch them work.

I did that. My clumsy magic use made things worse for this poor man who has already suffered enough.

Granted, I don’t quite know what happened or why my power was so drawn to him—it never acted like that with the sunflowers—but I should’ve been more careful.

The dryads’ efforts to soothe Fairon are successful. His limbs grow still, and they’re able to tuck them back under fresh sheets. With the white material drawn right up to his chin, I’m struck once again by how much he already looks like a corpse.

Did I bring him closer to the brink just now? I shouldn’t be messing with things I don’t understand. Gallis put ideas into my head, and I could’ve done real damage with my incompetence. I need to stop this.

“Leon, I?—”

I’m cut off by the sound of raised voices carrying through the Sanctuary from the front chamber.

Leon throws a look at his brother before reluctantly striding out of the room. I follow while the dryads duck back into Fairon’s chamber. I suspect he’s watched constantly.

Out front, a group of seven fae are facing off against Leon’s unit.

Unlike Leon’s soldiers, who wear fighting leathers and practical tunics, the new fae are dressed in full armor.

I recognize the orange symbol on their breastplates as the same crest Leon has on a ring around his neck.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick brown mustache stands at the front of the group, arguing with Eryx.

“That’s an order!” the man with the mustache barks.

Eryx draws himself up and growls through his beard.

“We don’t take orders from you, Velrir.”

“But you do take orders from the king,” Velrir clips back.

“I don’t think Lord Frinlail needs to be reminded of that fact,” Leon says, his voice cutting through the air.

The fae in armor straighten, finally noticing us. Then they all bow in turn. Velrir goes last, looking slightly reluctant.

“Your Highness, I apologize. We didn’t wish to disturb you as you visited your brother.”

“If that were true, Velrir, you would’ve stayed the gloam off this island. What do you want?”

Velrir’s jaw tightens, as if it’s killing him not to snap back in response to Leon’s rudeness.

“I carry a message from His Majesty.”

“Interesting. I didn’t know you’d been demoted to errand boy,” Leon sneers. “What’s so urgent?”

“Nothing, Your Highness,” Velrir says. “Only that your grandfather is very pleased to hear you have returned after so long an absence, and he requests your presence at the palace.”

A smile spreads over Velrir’s face that I don’t like at all. Then he looks directly at me.

“As well as the presence of Her Royal Highness Princess Morgana.”