At his instruction, Calya withdrew the brick, the poison source within looking particularly sad and withered. She set it in the center of the corrupted-dirt-filled tub, in between a pair of grassy clumps similar to those she’d seen inside the sphere in the cave.
Ezzyn closed the glass cover, and Zhenya painted fresh ink onto the lines engraved in the heads of each ward. Then she gently took Calya’s palm, her inkbrush poised above it.
“Ready?”
“Will it hurt?” Calya asked, her fingers tense with anticipation. “Last time hurt.”
“I… don’t think so?” Zhenya frowned in thought. “Though I’m still pretty new to working with Eyllic imprinting spells.”
“Great,” Calya muttered.
Eunny gave her a small prod in the back. “You’ll be fine. They only hurt going in.”
Lowe didn’t say anything, but he stood beside her, his arm brushing against her in silent support. Uncaring of who saw, Calya leaned into him.
Finally, she nodded at Zhenya. “Do it.”
The ink was cold to the touch as it spread across the jagged line on Calya’s palm. When Zhenya followed it up with a drop of her own magic, the wet line instantly turned warm. Not burning, but the swift change made Calya startle. She closed her hand by reflex, only to have it pushed open again.
The scar seemed to peel itself off as if it had never been a part of her skin to begin with, leaving her hand unmarked. It curled inward and became a molten ball of light.
Gold flared at the corner of Calya’s eye, as Anadae transformed the glowing scar-turned-mote into a shard of ice. She snapped her fingers, and it blew apart, raining tiny flakes of ice onto the ground, where they melted into plain, unmagicked water.
Within the warded tub, the source poison reacted the same. Instead of a flat white, it morphed more into a glowing gold color. The ice brick protecting it dissolved, letting the golden ball of former poison fall onto the blighted ground. It flowed apart, thin veins seeping through the desiccated dirt as the roots of the two clumps of grass wicked it up. Their long, flat leaves swayed, orbs of gold-tinged dew gathering at the tips. They struggled more than the plants in the glass sphere in the Landing, managing to shed only a few dewdrops no larger than pinheads. But the droplets drew in and landed in a small circle. Where they touched the ground, those small dots of light flared, and the crumbs of dirt they’d landed upon swelled up, turning a healthy deep brown.
Slowly, a single blade of new, green grass poked through the spot of rejuvenated soil.
Ezzyn lifted the lid, touching a glowing fingertip to the ground at the base of the baby plant. The dirt illuminated as his magic coursed through it. He looked up, taking in all of the faces intent upon him.
His mouth opened, but in the end all he could do was form a small smile, shaking his head as a weak laugh came out. “It… worked.”
The room erupted with cheers and exclamations of delight. Calya felt a strange disconnect, as if she observed the others’ jubilation from the outside. Motion flurried around her as Zhenya and her mentor, Professor Rai, immediately began preparing the tub for transport to Rhell. Anadae and Ezzyn were busy refreshing their protective wards on the container; Eunny and Ollas dashed off to another greenhouse for… something. Calya watched as if in slow motion, unsure of her part, if she had one at all.
A tug at her elbow pulled her back to the present. Lowe guided her outside.
“I told them we’d alert the harbormaster to have the fastest ship cleared for Rhell,” he said.
“Good thinking.”
The carriage ride passed in a blur, and they were mostly quiet for the duration. Once on the dock, with a fresh spray of icy rain to the face, Calya’s thoughts evened themselves out.
“It’s strange,” she said when Lowe rejoined her. “My head knows that this is momentous. Historic, even. But it’s strange to witness it and feel so… apart.”
“You were instrumental,” he said.
“I suppose. But it’s their victory, not mine. Not that I’m not happy for them. I guess I just thought I’d feel different.” Perhaps she was as heartless as she joked she was. Still struggling to find joy in the little things, much less something as significant as a potential cure for Eylle’s poison.
“I imagine the king of Rhell will want a word with you,” Lowe said. “And I come with a message from Captain Malek’ko on behalf of the Sentinels. We are in your debt.”
Calya perked up, her gloom blown away like a puff of smoke. “Avenor Guard, the Sentinels, and a king.” She ticked the names off on her fingers, grinning at Lowe. “I love being owed favors. They’re worth so much more than money.”
Lowe laughed quietly, but his eyes remained serious. Slowly, he reached up, brushing her cheek. “Powerful men on your dance card. The Coalition brought to their knees. There are no barriers left—Helm Naval will be yours,” he said. “What more could a woman ask for?”
Calya’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. His words, and the unspoken question hidden between them, rang loud in her mind.
She tore her gaze away, blinking rapidly as she tried to collect her thoughts, any thoughts, something beyond the dull roar in her head and the ache in her chest.
“I—” She faltered, her gaze picking out a familiar figure approaching her on the dock. The Sylvan side of the lake. “Father?”
