Leon

D amn it.

I subtly roll my aching shoulder as I ride on ahead of the group. I don’t want the others to notice it’s paining me even a little. If they realized I managed to get hurt during a fight that was entirely my idea, I’d never hear the end of it.

But how was I supposed to know she was going to throw a whole damn tree at me?

I dodged the biggest bit of it, of course, but one of the branches still clipped me as it flew past me at top speed. I don’t think anyone saw, but I’ll probably be picking splinters out of my shoulder for days.

“Feeling a little stiff, are we?” Alastor says with a grin as he rides up beside me.

“I must’ve slept funny,” I grunt.

“Sure.” He eyes me knowingly. Sometimes he doesn’t need to use magic to know when someone’s lying.

“How’s Stratton?” I ask.

“Groggy, but not much worse off for his nap.”

I shake my head, begrudgingly admiring the sneakiness of Ana and Tira’s plan. Humans—you must admit they’re resourceful.

“And Ana?”

I don’t think I left any bruises on her from the fight, but I want to be sure.

Alastor pauses before answering.

“Wiping the floor with her isn’t going to make her forgive you anytime soon, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I grimace. Every time I’m reminded of what exactly Ana needs to forgive me for , I get a nasty twist in my stomach. It might be guilt, though I’m not particularly familiar with the sensation. Whatever it is, I know I don’t like it.

“It doesn’t matter if she hates me,” I say, keeping my voice low. Ana and her friend are too far back to hear us, but I’m still being cautious. “There are other things that are more important.”

“Like keeping her safe?” Alastor asks, a hint of doubt in his voice.

“Yes,” I say, annoyed he doesn’t seem to share my opinion. “No matter how much power she has buried within her, it’s useless without more training. She needs to build stamina and learn how to ration her magic, for one thing. Did you see how quickly she burned out today?”

“True, but why is it our job to teach her if she doesn’t want to learn? I thought she was here because we need her help. Because Filusia needs her.”

“It’s both,” I say firmly. “The stronger she is, the more able she’ll be to help us.” And the more able she’ll be to help herself, because only an idiot would think the danger she faces is anywhere near over.

I just wish she would see that—and understand that I’m her best chance at getting her the training she needs to survive.

Still, I have to make peace with the idea that she might never understand.

That she might never know that the closer we got to the border in Trova, the more I came to realize I’d do anything to keep her safe and close to me.

Everything else is negotiable. I’m not afraid to fight dirty to keep her where she needs to be.

Even if she throws a whole forest at me for it.

Morgana

I squint at the structure rising out of the hills ahead of us.

A few hours ago, I could’ve sworn there were bright patches of sky lurking beneath the line of white clouds on the horizon.

Now I realize those flashes of blue were a series of roofs, the swooping tops of buildings all painted a deep cerulean, held up by bell-shaped towers and broad arches.

“That doesn’t look big enough to be a city,” Tira murmurs to me.

She’s on the back of Hyllus’s horse, positively tiny behind the huge fae. Meanwhile, I’m riding with Phaia. The pair of soldiers are at least considerate enough to stay close to each other while we ride so Tira and I can hold a conversation.

My best friend frowns at me. “I thought they’d be taking us to the capital?”

I thought the same—but apparently not. Although the cluster of buildings ahead of us is sprawling, they all belong to the same, vast complex, with just a few other structures around it. I don’t think this can be the fae court, but it’s certainly impressive.

“What is that?” I ask Phaia. I might not feel as friendly as I once did toward Leon’s soldiers, but I’m still on speaking terms with them. They were just following their captain’s orders, after all.

“It’s Vastamae,” Phaia says. I blink, surprised that the word sounds familiar. “It’s a lyceum. Filusia’s oldest and best.”

That explains it. It must have been mentioned in one of my books at the manor.

“What’s a lyceum?” Tira asks.

“It’s like a school,” I say.

“It’s a place of learning,” Phaia corrects me. “Our scholars and magical experts live, teach, and study here.”

“So, like a school,” Tira replies, rolling her eyes behind Phaia’s back for my benefit.

Leon had said something about getting help for me with my magic.

A place full of scholars and magical experts should do the trick.

But what I still don’t understand is why we came here first. Surely the fae king Respen would be keen to see his grandson again, especially after his unexpected troubles in Trova.

Yet Leon seems bent on me getting this all-important training taken care of before everything else.

That makes me nervous, even if I can’t exactly say why.

Given we’ve been camping out as we travel—and Tira and I were never brought along when some of the soldiers would go on supply runs—these are the first fae buildings we have seen up close.

As we ride through the entrance of the Lyceum, I realize I have nothing to compare it to.

While I’ve seen a variety of structures on my travels through Trova, from the palace in Elmere to the slums of Hallowbane, there’s something fundamentally whimsical about this place that didn’t translate in any of the pictures of Filusia I’ve seen in books.

Each window is curled at the corners like old scrolls, while steps are paved in a patchwork of differently colored marbles. The bright roofs fit with the creative decor, matching the deep blue robes of the fae who mill around us.

I don’t miss their curious looks aimed in our direction as we dismount.

“Are they expecting us?” I say to no one in particular.

“They are,” answers Alastor, gesturing to a freckled fae hurrying toward us.

“Your Highness,” he says to Leon with a low bow. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, but I was only just informed of your arrival.”

“Aren’t you supposed to train seers here?” Stratton asks with a grin. “Shouldn’t someone have seen us coming?”

Damia smirks, but the fae blinks at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry my lord, but the divinatory arts don’t quite work like that,” he says with complete seriousness.

“Why don’t you just take us to Proctor Gallis,” Leon says. The freckled fae nods at Leon’s suggestion and asks us to follow him.

I fall in beside Stratton as we walk through the Lyceum hallways, and he gives me one of his wide smiles.

“Apparently they don’t teach people a sense of humor here,” he says as a passing scholar catches his eye. He winks at the pretty fae, and she blushes, clutching her pile of books tighter to her chest.

“You’re surprisingly perky for someone who was drugged,” I say coolly. What I mean, really, is that he’s surprisingly friendly . I’d have expected him to give me the cold shoulder after what Tira and I did.

My comment distracts Stratton from the scenery, and he turns back to me.

“I figured fair was fair, Your Highness, after what I did.”

I frown, confused. What he did? But Leon’s the one who conjured up dreams so he could slip me a potion without me knowing.

“What do you mean? It’s not like you were the one who?—”

I stop at the look on Stratton’s face.

“ You gave me the potion? Why?”

“It had to be me, Your Highness. That stuff smelled foul enough. Even the captain’s dream magic might not have been up to hiding the flavor.”

“And you could?”

“That’s my sensic power. I can change how things taste—or at least how your mind registers taste. It’s unexpectedly useful.”

“Sure, if you want to poison people without them noticing,” I shoot back. He has the decency to look ashamed.

“I was just?—”

“Following orders. Yes, I know,” I say, glaring daggers at Leon’s back.

The freckled fae stops at the end of a long corridor, gesturing to a set of doors engraved with images of the god Ralus and his queen Lusteris.

“Proctor Gallis’s office is just beyond the antechamber. She’s expecting you.”

“Wait here,” Leon says to the group. “Morgana and I will meet with her alone.”

Tira throws me a questioning look, asking if I’m okay with this. I shrug, willing to let Leon’s games play out for now.

As we pass through the antechamber, I find myself studying his face for some clue as to what he expects from this meeting. But then I remind myself I’d probably misread anything I saw. I’ve been getting Leon all wrong for a while now.

Leon knocks and opens the door to what must be Gallis’s office. The moment we enter the room, I’m hit with the smell of old books. They’re stacked two deep on shelves that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. A desk at one end of the room has more piled on it still.

It takes me right back to the library at Gallawing, and I’m struck with a surprising wave of yearning.

I might have never seen the manor as my home, but for a long time that room full of history books, novels, and maps was my refuge—my way to visit the rest of the world without leaving my prison.

I stare hungrily at the tomes now, tempted by the knowledge they must contain.

It takes me a moment to notice the woman behind the desk, my eyes only going to her when she rises to greet us.

“Proctor Gallis,” Leon says.

She inclines her head. “Your Highness.”

Proctor Gallis’s black hair is streaked with silver and swept up in a pile on top of her head.

She wears blue robes like everyone else here, but hers are a deep midnight shade, complementing her dark skin and bright brown eyes.

A little star, embroidered in gold thread, adorns the cuff on each of her sleeves.