Then Tay pulled a folded envelope from his pocket. “They both wrote to you too.”
Sudden tears stung my eyes. It was ridiculous. I might die within days, and yet what undid me was the relief of not being forgotten. “How did you manage that?”
“I told the queen that I missed Lidi and Mother,” he said, smiling a little. “She suggested I write to them.”
The image of Tay chatting with the queen about our family made my stomach twist. “Tay, you shouldn’t talk to her about them.”
“Right, because you’re convinced she’s a monster. Because of Fieran.” His smile was sly, knowing.
“Before you say it,” I warned, “I’m well aware that Fieran is also a monster.”
“But he’syourmonster,” Tay teased.
“Not at all.” I sighed, trying to steady myself. I didn’t want to argue with him, not when these might be among our last conversations. I wanted to be kind, to let him carry good memories into a future where I might not be there to apologize. “I’ve spent too much time thinking about Fieran as it is. Can we talk about something else?”
“Of course,” he said easily. “Anyway, you should read your letters.”
A small, unsteady joy unfurled in me. I held the two folded pieces of paper between my fingers, hesitating over which to open first. Lidi’s would be dessert. Mother’s…might not be so sweet. I was never sure what to expect from her.
I decided to read my mother’s letter first. Her neat script filled the page. Something loosened inside me as she wrote about the spring planting, about the goat possibly being pregnant, and about how much she wished I were home. I could almost see her writing by lantern light at the kitchen table, imagining I’d walk in before the kidding. My mother hated tending animal births—she was surprisingly squeamish for someone who’d borne three children.
There was no scolding hidden between the lines, no disappointment, no sharp edge.
When I finished, I pressed the page to my chest. It was exactly the letter I needed.
I opened Lidi’s next, reading as we walked. Tay reached out once to catch my elbow, steering me around a tree that grew up through the middle of the passage as I squinted at her chaotic handwriting.
“She has a…creative sense of spelling,” I said.
He laughed. “You do too.”
“I do not!” I protested, though he wasn’t wrong. I’d never understood why spelling couldn’t just match how words sounded.
I folded both letters carefully and tucked them into the pocket ofmy tunic. The faint crinkle of paper against my heart made me feel steadier, tethered to home, to family.
When I looked up again, we stood at the entrance to a garden that took my breath away.
The air shimmered faintly with magic. Flowers glowed with soft bioluminescent colors in blues, violets, and golds. Silver streams trickled through mossy stones, and hundreds of small, suspended lanterns floated like stars caught midair. The walls of the grotto breathed faint light, making everything seem alive.
“Lidi would love these glowing flowers,” Tay said, pointing.
“Maybe we can bring back seeds for her,” I replied.
“Do you think they’d grow on the farm?”
I felt a pang at the thought that Lidi couldn’t grow things as she used to. “Maybe. Even without her magic, she could make anything bloom.”
Magic didn’t make us. The Fae and the shifters might think mortals were nothing without it, but I knew better.
If a dragon claimed me, maybe I would have magic myself.
The thought unsettled me. I pushed it away. I didn’t want to think about the dragons’ claiming, not when I was here, with Tay, and everything felt briefly safe.
“I think Lidi would love the magic of the city,” Tay said. “It’s incredible here.”
Fear closed around my chest like a wolf’s jaws. “It’s beautiful, but it’s dangerous too. I want us all to go home.”
Tay gave me a knowing look. “You’re scared.”
