Another reason returning would hurt more than staying ever had.
"We should research the flowers while you have energy," Arion said as they left the kitchen.
Briar nodded, though the warm food had filled her stomach to bursting and left her limbs feeling heavy. She could do this, she had no choice. She had only two days left to understand why she'd grown a golden path from nothing.
They'd made it halfway up the staircase when the world tilted and her legs threatened to give way beneath her. Her hand curled tightly around the banister even as she stumbled forward and nearly fell.
Arion was quick to her side, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. "Maybe you should get some more rest.”
"No, I'm fine." The lie came easy leaving Briar to wonder how many times she had said those same words since arriving in Eliam's court.
She felt the weight of Arion’s gaze as he studied her. It was as though he could see through her to the truth hidden underneath. She wasn’t okay, she hadn’t been okay since the moment Allegra had gotten sick. It seemed a lifetime ago now, and for all she knew it had been. After what felt like an eternity, Arion seemed to make a decision.
"The library's just through here. You can rest while we read."
She wanted to protest, two would work faster than one, but the words refused to come and so she nodded, allowing him to help as they resumed climbing.
When they entered the library, her breath caught.
Not because it was grand, but because it was so alive. Where Eliam's library had been all dark wood and forbidding silence, this was warm chaos. Books lay open on tables,notes scribbled in margins. Chairs clustered in discussion circles rather than solitary rows. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
"Sit," Arion said, guiding her to a chair that looked well-loved by readers. "I'll find what we need."
Briar sank into worn leather that rose up around her, embracing without trapping, and watched him move between shelves with easy familiarity, selecting volumes with careful hands. There were no dramatics or tests, just a man who knew his books.
He returned with an armful, setting them on the table beside her. Then disappeared again, leaving Briar to wonder where he had gone before returning moments later with a tea service.
Her shoulders tensed, wariness creeping over her. "What will this do?"
Arion paused mid-pour, looking genuinely confused before understanding dawned. "It's brewed from the silverbell flower and honey, good for clearing the lungs and restoring strength. Nothing more, no enchantments."
Despite his reassurances, she took the cup carefully and sniffed. It smelled faintly of mint and flowers with the sweetness of honey. The first sip confirmed it was just as Arion promised—tea that cleared her head rather than clouding it, helping her breathe easier.
"The accounts of golden flowers are frustratingly vague," he said, settling across from her with his own cup. He set it on the table beside the chair and picked up the first book from the stack he’d created. "Most texts refer to them as theoretical. Legend rather than fact."
He opened it and flipped through the first few pages before finding what he was looking for. He angled it so she could see the text, but the more she tried to focus, the more words seemed to swim in and out of focus. She couldn’t tell if it was some sort of fae trick or her own exhaustion, but Arion seemed to pick up on her struggle and began to read aloud. His voice had the same timbre as Eliam's but gentler. The difference between river stones and cut glass.
"'The golden bloom appears in times of great need, when royal blood calls to royal blood…’ but you're not fae royalty." He frowned, turned a page. "Unless..."
Fae royalty? She might have laughed if she hadn’t felt so tired. Her eyes were so heavy and the chair was so comfortable. When had she last felt safe enough to be properly tired?
"'In cases of mixed essence, where mortal and fae intertwine beyond the normal bounds of marking...'" His voice was becoming distant. "Briar?"
She jerked awake. "I'm listening. Mixed essence."
A smile ghosted across his face. "Rest. The books will still be here."
"But the flowers—"
"Can wait an hour or two."
"I don't have time to waste." But even as she said it, her eyes were closing again. The sunlight was so warm and the chair so soft. And he was still reading, his voice a gentle constant that asked nothing of her except to exist.
She woke to dying fire in a hearth she hadn't noticed before, a blanket tucked around her shoulders, and Arion still reading.
"How long have I been sleeping?"
He looked up. "Two hours. You needed it."
