“So it may not be Goldwing,” one advisor said quietly. “We accused them of poisoning our children, and it could just be melting ice.”
“Ice no one knew was there,” Adele said gently. “How could you have known? This isn’t anyone’s fault.”
“Except we made it worse by threatening war instead of working together to find answers.” Mortiven’s jaw remained tight. “If you’re correct, I’ll send my apologies to King Trevare. My court acted rashly.”
“Goldwing’s court made similar accusations,” I said. “Both sides escalated out of fear for their children. That’s understandable, even if it wasn’t helpful.”
The stern advisor leaned forward, studying Adele’s notes. “You said you have a solution?”
“Yes.” Adele’s confidence never wavered. “We’ll need to accelerate the sublimation process in a controlled way, preventing particle dispersal to populated areas. I can use my weather magic to create thermal barriers that direct the particles upward, where they’ll float away harmlessly.”
“That sounds complicated,” a lord at the end of the table said.
“It is. But it’ll work.” Adele met each person’s eyes in turn. “I’ve manipulated larger weather systems. This is just more focused.”
“How long will it take?” Mortiven asked.
“To locate all the formations and complete the process? A day or two. But I can set up temporary measures immediately that should reduce symptoms while we work on the permanent solution, like humidity wards in the nurseries. Moisture in the air will capture the particles before they reach the babies’ airways, significantly reducing irritation.” Adele pulled out another diagram. “It’s not a cure, but it’ll make them more comfortable while we eliminate the source.”
Everyone exchanged glances.
Mortiven nodded. “Show us.”
Within a short time, we stood in a nursery in Silvervale’s mid-levels, surrounded by exhausted parents and fussy babies, including the same family we’d visited before, their tiny daughter still sneezing and coughing.
Adele knelt beside the cradle, speaking over her shoulder. “I’m going to cast a humidity ward. You’ll feel the air change. It’ll get slightly heavier. That’s normal.”
The mother nodded, clutching her husband’s hand.
I watched Adele work, fascinated as always by the way her magic manifested. She didn’t need grand gestures or dramatic incantations. Just deep focus and an innate understanding of atmospheric systems that most weather witches spent lifetimes trying to achieve.
The air in the nursery shifted enough to notice, and I felt a subtle dampness, like we were standing near a waterfall on a summer day.
A baby sneezed, then…nothing.
Time passed. The parents held their breath, afraid to hope.
The babies’ breathing evened out, the rattling wheezes fading. The little girl’s tiny face relaxed, no longer scrunched in discomfort, and she fell asleep.
“Oh,” the mother whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, she’s breathing better.”
“The ward I crafted will capture airborne particles before they reach her,” Adele said, rising to her feet. “It’s not permanent, and you’ll need to refresh it periodically until we eliminate the source. But it should help.”
“How do we do that?” the father asked.
Adele spent some time teaching them the spell, a humidity charm that the parents could manage with practice. She was patient and thorough, making sure they understood every step.
By the time we left that nursery, the babies were sleeping peacefully for the first time in months.
We visited six more nurseries and all the homes with hatchlings that morning, setting up wards and teaching the spell. At each, the pattern repeated, skepticism giving way to hope, hope turning into tears of happiness as babies found relief.
At the last home, a small dwelling in the lower levels where a single mother struggled to care for twins, both babies stopped sneezing within minutes of the ward activation. The mother broke down, sobbing so hard she could barely speak.
Adele held her while she cried.
Watching her, my chest cracked open. This compassionate woman had crashed into my carefully orderly life and rearranged everything. She’d challenged me, supported me, and made me want to be better than I’d ever thought possible.
And I loved her.
