We sat to Trevare’s right and ate quickly.
“Queen Adele,” Trevare said after we’d finished. “Please, explain what you found in Silvervale and how it applies here.”
Adele spread her maps and notes across the table, jumping right in with that focus I loved. “It’s the ancient ice, exposed by the tremor. It’s sublimation, the process where a substance changes from a solid to a gas. This releases mineral particles into the air, and they’re carried by wind currents. Goldwing’s western exposure means you’re getting a heavier dose, which explains why your babies are suffering more.”
She walked them through the process, pointing out wind patterns and particle dispersal like she was teaching students. I watched her work, my chest tight with pride. Fates, she was wonderful.
The scarred woman leaned forward, her eyes narrow. “You’re telling us our children are sneezing and coughing because of melting ice? We’ve lived in these mountains for generations and ice melts every spring. Why now?”
“The ice isn’t ordinary,” Adele said. “It’s ancient, packed with ages of minerals. The tremor exposed it to the warmer air. I’ve got the data here. The timing of the quake lines up with when the symptoms started.”
Another advisor shook his head. “This is supposition, Your Majesty. We’ve tried herbs, wards, and even relocating nurseries. Nothing’s worked. How do we know this isn’t just another idea that won’t make a difference?”
Adele met the man’s gaze head-on, her chin lifting. “It worked with Silvervale, but I can show you. Not with more words or sketches. Let’s go to a nursery right now. I’ll set up a humidity ward. If it helps even one baby breathe easier, you’ll see that the issue is something in the air.”
The room went quiet. The advisors exchanged glances, then nodded.
“Please,” Trevare said, lifting his hand. “Show us.”
He led us to a nursery on one of the lower levels, a cozy space carved into the mountain with woven rugs and flickering torches. Three babies fussed in their beds, their coughs rasping like sand on stone. The parents hovered, their faces drawn. One mother rocked her infant while the child kept sneezing and coughing.
Adele knelt by the first cradle, her hands gentle as she assessed the hatchling in clear distress. “This ward will increase humidity, trapping the particles before they reach the airways. It won’t fix the source, but it’ll give him relief.”
The parents nodded, hope flickering in their eyes. The advisors crowded in, skeptical but watching.
I stayed by the door, giving her space, but my dragon instincts prickled. If this didn’t work, I’d burn the whole damn mountain down. Alright, not really, but I had a fierce need to protect her.
She closed her eyes, her magic humming in the air. The room’s atmosphere shifted. It was subtle at first, then more noticeable, the air growing heavier, mistier, like stepping into a forest after it had rained. A faint shimmer danced around the cradles.
It didn’t take long.
The coughing stopped. One baby let out a tiny sigh, her chest rising and falling. Her mother’s eyes widened, tears spilling over. “She’s breathing. Oh, fates, she’s breathing easy.”
An advisor with a scarred face stepped closer, peering into the cradle, and her face softened. “It worked. Just like that.”
Adele straightened. “It’s science and magic combined.But yes, it helps. We’ll need to renew the ward. They don’t last long.”
Another advisor rubbed his jaw. “Can we teach this to all the families?”
“Of course,” Adele said. “It’s simple enough for anyone with basic magic.”
Trevare clapped Adele on the shoulder, his grin wide. “You’re a miracle.”
Adele caught my eye across the room, and the look we shared held pure heat. My dragon rumbled in approval.
From there, it accelerated. Adele spent some time demonstrating the ward in two more nurseries, showing parents and advisors alike. By the time we left the last one, the skepticism had vanished. Babies who’d been wheezing for weeks now slept peacefully, their little faces full of relief.
Word spread through Goldwing. As we walked through the palace, people lined the corridors, cheering, some reaching out to touch Adele in thanks. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone.
Back in the council chamber, Trevare turned to us. “What’s next? How do we end this for good?”
“We need to accelerate the sublimation and contain the particles,” Adele said. “I’ll need your best guides, people who know the slopes better than any others, to help me identify the ancient ice.”
“I’m your guide,” the scarred advisor said. “I’ve been flying those ridges since I was a fledgling. If there’s something new out there, I’ll notice.”
Adele nodded. “Perfect. We’ll start at dawn.”
The rest of the day was spent with preparations. We mapped routes and packed gear. Adele quizzed the guides about wind patterns. I stayed close, making sure she ate and suggesting she rest whenher energy flagged.
