A scream claws up my throat, but the more I thrash, the deeper I sink. So I stop. I cease moving, the control one of the hardest instincts to fight. It takes a moment once I swallow down enough terror to register.
I have stopped sinking.
Panic dissipates, my mind clearing. I call on my genius, a hesitant request. The little moth inside me flutters awake, beating its wings—and energy surges through my limbs. As my fingers brushagainst petals and leaves, they zap with energy, minuscule sparks of power like little gasping breaths.
I think of my mother, whispering to fruits and vegetables as the Base faeries brought them into the kitchens, the tender way she’d hold each one. The phrase she’d utter before eating, quick and gentle like a ladybug.
“Thank you,” I breathe. “Thank you for giving your life so that I may live mine.”
Pressure sloughs from the plane. The ground rises to meet my body, solid as rock. I lie against the sturdy surface, panting.
A test,I think, staggering to my feet. One I seem to have passed.
At last, the air brightens to a dove gray until the mist is once again colorless and thin. Sunlight spills toward me from the far end of the archway until I am stumbling into its warmth.
The herbal aromas flood me first, revitalizing my mind, soothing my nerves. Soft and smoky lavender, cool mint, floral chamomile, and bright garlic. A circular courtyard materializes around me, surrounded by thick trees and bushes. Gravel pathways divide the space into four wedges, exploding with herbs, and converge in the center, surrounding an enormous, foggy-glass greenhouse. Birds chirp nearby, a breeze slipping through the leaves. While the Illusion courtyards echo a maze with trickery at every turn, the Healing gardens feel like an emerald oasis, a spot of serenity amid the labyrinth of Versara.
I approach the greenhouse and lift the latch on the door with ease. The tremendous room bursts with a rainbow of plants, brighter and more vivid than any I have ever seen. In its center is a curving banister that disappears into the floor.
I descend. A gasp flies from my mouth when I discern a figure standing in the stony corridor. I grip the iron railing and breathe, waiting.
“Lord Eli?” I ask.
“Hello, Avery,” Eli says. “Welcome to the House of Healing.”
After treading down the tunnels, we ascend into a grand gallery with leather-bound titles crammed into shelves that reach thesoaring ceilings. Iron staircases coil up to a mezzanine, where the occasional fae walks along, stack of books in hand. It is silent, save for the sound of footsteps.
I did not know so many books existed. My fingers itch to snag a volume, tuck it under my shirt, and later examine it by firelight. House of Healing has plenty of knowledge—they wouldn’t notice one small piece of it missing. Yet as I gaze at the soaring shelves, a new thought blooms.
Ahead of me, the Head of Healing slows, rubbing the back of his head. “Do you have a question?”
“No, my lord.”
“I swear I can feel your confusion nudging me.”
“Apologies, my lord.”
“Never apologize for curiosity.”
“Where are all the sick patients?” I ask.
“In their homes,” he says. “But rest assured, Lila is in the royal ward.”
I scowl. Typical fae, thinking I would be satisfied with this because my own are cared for. “What of those without a home?”
“There are Healing programs they can go to in the Peri.”
We take a right at the end of the hall, lined with tapestries and portraits of Healing lineage.
“Would the plants in the tunnel have killed me?” I ask.
“Could we call ourselves House of Healing if that were the consequence for failing our entrance test?”
“It would seem fitting. In nature, we are either growing or dying.”
Eli pauses, chuckling. “You wouldn’t have died. There is another state we can occupy with the help of magic—stagnation.”
I think of the chestnut tree, forced into a frozen state by Reign magic.
