12
Elle
The room they gave me in the Autumn Court was impossible.
Not impossible like “hard to believe,” but literally impossible. The walls were made of falling leaves that never landed. The bed was carved from platinum driftwood. Outside my window, autumn held its eternal moment—leaves frozen mid-fall, suspended in time.
“This is giving me a headache,” I told Peeble, who was investigating a vase that kept flickering in and out of focus.
“The Autumn Court likes its paradoxes,” they replied. “Makes them feel sophisticated.”
A knock at the door interrupted my attempt to figure out if the bathroom was physically accessible or just a very convincing illusion. Thessaly entered without waiting for permission, carrying a tray of something that smelled amazing and probably shouldn’t be trusted.
“Thought you might want something to help you sleep,” she said, setting a crystal decanter on the table that materialized just for that purpose. “Dream wine. It’s safe—guest-right protected.”
“Thanks.” I eyed the wine suspiciously. It seemed to contain actual dreams, swirling like smoke in liquid. “I’m not really in a drinking mood.”
Thessaly sat uninvited on the edge of the impossible bed. “Kaelren seems very protective of you.”
There it was. The real reason for the visit.
“He’s protective of the mission,” I corrected.
“Is that what you think?” She laughed, musical and somehow sad. “Oh, you really don’t know him at all.”
“And you do?”
“I knew him before. When he was still trying to be what everyone expected. Still believing he could earn the Bloom’s acceptance through sheer will.” She picked at the moonlit bedding. “Did he tell you why it rejected him?”
“No.”
“He fell in love.”
I tried to hide my reaction, but she saw it anyway.
“Not with me,” she clarified quickly. “With the idea of power. Of being more than what he was born to be. The Bloom saw that hunger and recognized it as corruption. Root-touched, they called it. Too much destruction in his heart.”
“But his marks are carved, not natural.”
“Yes. He tried to force what wouldn’t come naturally. And now they’re killing him slowly.” She looked at me directly. “Your marks, though—they’re nothing like I’ve ever seen. Natural but not. Root but not. You’re rewriting the rules.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“It frightens them. Kaelren especially.”
“Why?”
“Because he can’t protect you from yourself. And that’s all he knows how to do—protect things. Even when they don’t want protection.”
Before I could respond, another knock interrupted. This time it was Vashael.
“The Duchess requests your presence,” she said to me, then noticed Thessaly. “Both of you.”
I exchanged a glance with Thessaly. A summons this late couldn’t be good news.
We followed Vashael through corridors that seemed to breathe, the walls contracting and expanding with the Court’s slow pulse. Peeble had gone very still on my shoulder—their version of high alert. The air grew colderas we descended, tasting of frost and copper.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
