The shorter guard’s eyes widened. She lowered her bow.
“And the rest?” the taller one asked.
“Rydian of Midnight,” I said.
The guard’s eyes narrowed. Not at me.
“And him?” he asked, gesturing with his chin toward Callan.
My half-brother straightened instinctively, like his body couldn’t help responding to being challenged.
“His Majesty King Callan of the Autumn Court,” he said coolly.
The guards exchanged a look. Their magic rippled, conferring in a way words didn’t. Finally, the shorter one lifted two fingers to her lips and let out a high, trilling whistle.
A minute passed.
Then the forest shifted.
Branches bent aside of their own accord. Roots drew back,revealing a faint path lit by a glow that came from nowhere obvious. The scent of jasmine thickened in the air.
Talthis stepped out of the green.
The Spring emissary looked fresh considering he was camped in the forest—braided hair threaded with new leaves, armor polished, eyes too knowing for someone who smiled as much as he did.
He wasn’t smiling now.
“Talthis,” Aurelia said.
“Aurelia.” His gaze swept over her as he cut a short bow. “This is unexpected. We received word you were headed for Grey Oak.”
His gaze flicked to me, his frown evident.
“We’ve just come from there,” Aurelia told him. “Heliconia has taken control of the court.”
“Yes, we felt the surge yesterday from here. Frost and… something older.” His eyes flicked to me and lingered. “I see you survived it.”
“Disappointed?” I asked.
“The opposite,” he said mildly. “Come. We’ll talk at camp.”
The camp was just as hidden as before, half-grown, half-built. Tents stitched from living leaves. Platforms nestled in the branches above, vines woven into ladders. Lanterns glowed from high in the canopy. The ground itself felt softer underfoot, like a mossy rug, cozy and welcoming.
Spring soldiers watched us as we passed—bows lowered but not put away, hands near blades, expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
One young woman near the center whispered Aurelia’s name. I couldn’t tell if it sounded more like a prayer or a curse. More than a few glared outright at Callan.
Talthis led us into a large tent where a low table had been set up, maps spread across its surface. A couple of his advisorsfollowed us inside but remained silent near the tent wall. Nali was nowhere to be found.
Talthis turned, crossing his arms.
“All right,” he said. “Tell me why Heliconia’s curse bearer and Autumn’s runaway king are standing in my camp.”
I glanced at Aurelia.
She lifted her chin and spoke, laying out the facts with that calm, steady voice I’d come to recognize as the one she used when the ground was falling out from under her.
The war camp. The Frostwights. The valley burning. Lesha. The thrones. The wedding. Heliconia trying to use a marriage to take the throne’s power for herself. Callan yielding his court to save his people.
