Osin had come to see her while she lay unconscious—Elara learned that much after the fact. Two grand feasts had passed without her, and he was livid. Not the usual simmering annoyance but true, seething rage. He couldn't stomach that she had outwitted Rolfe, slipped past his guards, and reached the stones. There had been punishments for it, harsh ones. She’d heard the healers whispering when they thought her too far gone to notice—whole units reshuffled, men stripped of their ranks, others dragged out and humiliated in front of the court. And Rolfe… well, whatever happened to him, the healers weren’t saying aloud, but she could guess. Osin didn’t need blood to make an example of someone—he preferred the kind of punishment that left a man broken from the inside out.
Elara couldn't shake the guilt. Rolfe had been kind to her, kinder than most would have been in his position, and he didn’t deserve what had come to him. No one had died—that much she knew. But she didn’t want to think about what Rolfe might’ve endured because of her. It wasn’t fair.None of it was.But the shame gnawed at her anyway, a deep ache she felt in the pit of her stomach.
"Lift your arm."
Elara tried, but it barely made it halfway before the tremors started. The limb felt like it didn’t belong to her anymore.
"Good, now your leg."
Her jaw clenched as she forced her leg up from the cot, the muscles screaming in protest. Saria frowned, her fingers pressing into the flesh of her thigh, moving in slow, methodical circles.
"Can you feel that?"
Elara nodded, but the sensation was faint, like her leg was wrapped in thick cotton. "Barely," she admitted, frustrated. She’d already told Saria she was broken, but the healer was persistent, carefully testing every nerve and muscle, as if she could coax them back to life with sheer will.
There was a brief glint of something in Saria’s eyes—concern, perhaps—but her voice remained steady. "We’ll keep at it. You’re making progress."
Progress. If this was progress, Elara wasn’t sure she wanted to imagine whatstuckfelt like.
"Don’t give me that look. I’ve never had anyone come back after touching the stones. Ever. That you’re even sitting up after five days is a miracle." Her hand drifted to her hair, fingers tugging at the coronet braid that circled her head like a crown, silver strands already coming loose. Her gaze softened, though, just for a moment, as a small, weary smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Then again," she added, with a resigned shake of her head, "you’reyou."
Saria’s eyes seemed to glaze over, like her mind had wandered far from the room, her gaze lingering too long on the thin, silver scars lacing Elara’s wrists. Her lips pressed into a tight line.
Elara frowned, the silence stretching. "What?"
The single word seemed to pull Saria from whatever distant place she’d gone. She blinked once before shaking her head.“Nothing,” she muttered, her tone clipped as she turned away toward the cluttered worktable in the corner. The sharp scent of crushed herbs and burnt sage filled the room, mingling with the steady rasp of her mortar and pestle as she ground dried roots with far more force than needed.
Then, Saria’s gaze flicked, quick as a breath, toward the two guards standing at the door. With a soft exhale, she looked back down at her hands, busy but tense. "You’re expected at the party tonight," she said, her tone casual, like she hadn’t just thrown a boulder into Elara’s lap.
Elara snorted. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to manage that?"
"I’m working on something," she said, not looking up from her task. "It’ll help you get through the night, but it won’t last. You’ll need to take another dose every hour to stay on your feet." She added a pinch of crushed petals to the bowl, the scent of lavender mixing with something medicinal. "It’s not a long-term fix, just a patch to get you through. By the next gathering, I’m hoping you won’t need it."
Elara sank back onto the cot, the coarse fabric scratching at her skin as she closed her eyes. "How much time do I have?"
Saria hesitated enough to make Elara's pulse quicken before the healer finally spoke. "Two hours."
Two hours.
Her stomach twisted. She didn’t know if she had the strength to pretend anymore.
Shifting on the cot, her body protested with every small movement as she began the routine Saria had drilled into her since the feeling had crept back into her legs. Simple stretches at first—lifting one leg, then the other, flexing her toes, rolling her ankles. She lay flat, muscles trembling with the effort, but at least it wassomething.
She was supposed to focus on working sensation back into her limbs, on each deliberate movement and breath. Bend, flex, release. But her mind wouldn’t stay quiet. Five days since the fiasco with the stones, and all she could do was replay it over and over. She couldn’t stop picking it apart—what had happened, what shestilldidn’t understand.
Elara clenched her jaw, pulling her leg up again, holding it until her muscles spasmed. The stones had done more than just tear through her body—they had opened her eyes. Made hersee. Something she’d been blind to for far too long, something that now felt so glaringly, painfully obvious.
She was missing memories.
Not just the usual gaps where people forget things but whole pieces of herself were missing. Like someone had reached inside and torn them out.
Saria had said no one ever came back from touching the stones. Not a single soul. And for the life of her, Elara couldn’t figure out what their purpose was if all they did was kill anyone foolish enough to approach. She didn’t have the answers. Not yet. But she would.
And Elara had a pretty good idea of just how to get them.
The Stonebrew sliddown her throat thick and slow, like molasses left too long over a flame. It wasn’t the worst tonic Elara had ever endured—there was a freshness to it, like crushed mint mingled with damp earth after a storm—cooling, almost pleasant, and not enough to make her gag. But it was her fourth dose of the night, and she was already creeping dangerously close to the limit Saria had set.
As the tonic settled in her stomach, she could feel it working, moving through her veins like steel, tightening her muscles, reinforcing the tendons. The tremor in her legs settled, the ache dulling to a low thrum beneath her skin.
