* * *
I try to get answers out of Taran—about what happened, what Aerona said—but he says nothing. After a while, I give up, and we spend the next several bells hiking in silence, my head throbbing from all my bottled-up tension. Taran eventually leads us down the hillside to a well-worn path at its base.
There’s not a fae in sight, but this is such a departure from how we’ve spent the last few days that my nerves spike. “I thought we were staying off the common paths?”
“We’re almost to White Spring. I’m hopeful we’ll look like any other pilgrims. Try to keep your distance from anyone we come across.”
“What kind of pilgrims?”
“You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, we round the base of the hill into a valley flooded with white.
My hand hitches halfway to my mouth, paralyzed by the sheer beauty. “What is this?”
Countless trees, as far as the eye can see, fill the valley. In place of leaves, delicate white flowers coat their branches.
Taran nudges me forward with a gentle smile. “White Spring is famous for its trees. Their flowers bloom every spring, drawing visitors from across the continent.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
His eyes meet mine. “We have some time to wander.”
The smile that stretches across my face almost brings me to tears. I pull him after me, running to the nearest trees.
Golden sunlight breaks through the white flowers that float above our heads, contrasted by the striking, crimson bark that I hadn’t noticed from a distance. Blood-red limbs twist and curl, presenting their delicate bouquets to the sky, as falling petals waft gently to the forest floor, speckling it like patches of melting snow. The beauty of it all calms the storm that’s been brewing within me.
I long for my paints—it’s impossible to capture the splendor of this place with charcoal alone. But even my oils wouldn’t convey the depth of color, the vitality flowing through with every heartbeat. The best I can do is cherish every sight, preserving the images in my memory.
As we wander, Taran occasionally guides us away from fellow sightseers whose eyes widen when they glimpse him for too long. Sometimes it’s a gentle nudge; other times, a brief tug on my hand. We walk until my neck aches from the strain of looking up so much.
I glance at Taran and find his gaze on me, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“What?” I ask.
He quickly averts his eyes, clearing his throat. “Just, the wonder on your face. Even with all the pilgrims flocking here, I’ve never seen someone so infatuated with my realm.”
His words sound familiar, but I can’t place where I’d heard them before. It’s a good thing he’s looking away and can’t see the blush warming my cheeks. “You speak almost as if it’s a part of you.”
“It is,” he says, turning back to me. “That’s what it means to be—to rule. She exists within me at an intrinsic level, deeper than anyone else in Aedys.”
He almost called himself King, but wavered.Why does he hesitate so much to claim his title?Could it be self-doubt? Fear of failing?
I can certainly relate to that, and my arms itch to wrap around him, to tell him not to worry so much—I would’ve appreciated someone doing that for me. But with how he’s responded to my questions in the past, I’ll have to tread carefully to get anything deeper out of him. If I succeed, maybe I can help him come to terms with all that.
“Can we sit for a while?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “You’ll have time tomorrow, but we should head to the meeting spot.”
“But no one’s supposed to arrive today.”
He turns toward the hillside, his brow furrowing. “I sense someone already there.”
With reluctant feet, I follow him toward the town of White Spring itself, but my spirits lift as we climb the slope and enjoy a wondrous view of the trees from above. The setting sun paints the blossoms in warm yellows and golds beneath the orange sky.
The trees, as majestic as they are, are too fragile to support structures in their branches like other fae villages. Instead, the fae have dug their dwellings into the goat-covered hills that line the valley. Each has a wooden door and a window or two, with a stone chimney poking out of the grass above.
Crowds of fae have gathered along the paths, enchanted by the golden light washing over the trees as their branches dance in the wind. Taran guides me past until he eventually turns to a door in the hillside, stopping to peek through the open window. A warm glow fills the interior, and someone sits in front of the hearth, their back to us.
