I look up at her over the rim, the edges of the bowl biting into my fingers before I hand it back. Her grimace softens, if only a fraction.
“Come to the village,” she says quietly. “There is more broth, and the Blades need your instruction.”
I shake my head. “Orios can lead them. Tell him I give him command.”
Her eyes flash. “Tell him yourself.”
The words snap through the air between us. My patience, already thin as wire, frays. “You forget your place, Solena,” I say, my voice a low growl. “Do as I say.”
She doesn’t flinch. Not this one. She takes only a half step back, chin lifting.
“You promised me hope,” she says, voice trembling but unbroken. “But if all is lost. If we lose Amara, Zyphoro, Reon… and you, my prince, then who will bring back Estra? Do you entrust that too to Orios and the Blades?”
Her words cut through the armor I’ve built around the hollow inside me. I swallow hard, the ache settling deep. “No,” I murmur, rolling my shoulders to loosen the knots that have fused there. “That is my duty.”
It takes effort to stand. Every muscle protests, stiff and screaming from days of stillness. I stretch, arch my neck, and draw a slow, steady breath. Then I glance down, to the lavender blossoms that have become her shroud, and even though my body creaks and aches, I crouch down beside them.
“I will be back, wife,” I whisper. My fingers brush the petals, trembling as if they might bruise beneath my touch. I kiss my fingertips and lay them upon the blooms. “Soon.”
I feel Solena’s eyes on me as I speak to my love, but I don’t care for the pity in her gaze. Straightening, I rise to my full height, shoulders squaring, and as I tower over her, she bows her head, almost submissive, as if she finally recognizes the prince she demanded I become.
“Come then,” I say, my voice steady, strength returning to my bones. “We must bring back Zyphoro.”
She nods once, and a thunderous boom shakes the air before she steps into the void, vanishing in a curl of black smoke. I follow, slipping through shadow, the endless dark folding around me until a flash of light burns my vision. When the smoke fades, I’m standing in the village courtyard.
The cooking fires roar with my arrival, the sudden rush of wind snuffing some of them out. The Tenders gasp, startled with fright. They scatter, most back into their homes, but the children linger, wide-eyed, their faces lit with wonder rather than terror. To them, Fae magic must look like a story come to life. Their parents disagree. They snatch their children by their collars and drag them inside.
Solena takes longer to appear, her connection to the void not as attuned as mine. When she does, she tips her chin toward one of the great dwellings woven through the upper branches. Candlelight glows in the arched windows, silhouettes pacing within.
“They’re up there,” she says. “Waiting for you.”
I nod, my shoulders tensing as I prepare to call my wings, but before I can, a woman approaches. Her cloak is woven from forest greens and fresh blooms, as if she carries the woods themselves on her back. A gnarled staff rests in her hand, her dark eyes fixed on me with a force that could cleave stone.
“Prince Daedalus,” she says, her voice hard and cold as the walls of Baev’kalath.
I incline my head, not enough to break her gaze. “Keeper Erania.”
Solena glances between us, then takes a careful step back. “I’ll see if I’m needed elsewhere,” she mutters, seizing the excuse to escape.
As the tension between us thickens, the Tenders reemerge, resuming their work under the soft glow of early twilight. Solena joins them, tossing herbs into simmering pots and barking instructions. Judging by their faces, none of the Tenders seem particularly grateful, but since when has that ever stopped Solena?
Erania steps closer, and I match her. Between us, shadow and light meet like opposing tides, an invisible wall neither of us dares to cross.
“I prayed to the Souls for the day our Jewel would return to us,” she says, voice trembling beneath its steel. “How cruel the gods are, to bring her back so broken, hovering between life and death.” Her gaze sharpens. “But what else should I expect when the Prince of Smoke and Shadow is involved? Tell me, how did this happen?”
“I’m not certain,” I reply, breath tight in my chest. “When I found her, I was already too late. I brought her here as quickly as I could.”
“But how?” Erania presses.
“There was a fire,” I say quietly.
Her jaw hardens. “And who set it? Who did this to her?”
The words claw their way up my throat before I can stop them. “She did.”
Silence falls, incredulous, as Erania stares at me, trying to grasp what she’s heard.
“She set herself on fire?” Her voice rises, sharp with disbelief. Her fingers curl around her staff, wood creaking as the runes carved along it flare bright green. “Do you take me for a fool, Prince?”
