The healing of my hand—not once, but twice—was undeniable. I may question what happened the day of the wedding, whether the dagger truly pierced my heart, whether I clawed my way back to Vale from death itself—but I can safely admit that I am changed. I heal the way they do. Faster, even, as Vale has told me.
Still, I feel uncertain. Did the tree move? Or did I move it? If I could just coax this infernal bud to open, perhaps I would finally understand.
Defeated, I stop trying. It is too beautiful an evening to waste on such fruitless effort. This time, instead of huffing, I release my breath slow and steady. I take note of the rich fragrance carried on the summer breeze—fresh lilac, sweet and bright. The distinct aroma of petrichor lingers from the brief shower that passed while Vale and I were reading.
I close my eyes and focus on the songbirds, their trilling weaving through rustling branches.
The song of Caerhollan.
It is not merely sound. It is a feeling. It is life itself.
“Mira—gods, did you do that?”
Soria must have arrived without my noticing. Even relieved of duty, she moves with the quiet stealth that so often fades into the background.
Her face is as white as linen. I follow her gaze and see it—the shrub before me in full bloom, petals still unfurling in visible motion.
“I… I…” I cannot answer. I do not even know the answer. Did I do that? Oh gods—what did she see?
Gathering her skirts, she rushes to my side and sits beside me on thebench. “Mira, I haven’t—I didn’t—oh gods.” At least she seems as stunned as I am.
Staring at the blossoms as if inspecting a miracle, she collects herself. I sit in uneasy silence as she speaks.
“I never saw it firsthand, but I heard the tales enough. That had to be… magic.”
I fold inward, wishing I could be smaller. Wishing I could vanish as completely as that young princess once believed at Ace’s teasing.
“Mira,” Soria says, her keen gaze cutting through every facade, “why do you not seem surprised?”
Unable to answer, I silently pray for rescue. I cannot lie to her—she would sense it without question.
Her attention shifts, and I exhale the breath I have been holding. Following her line of sight, I see Ace approaching.
“Vale would like to speak with us. He wouldn’t tell me what for, but it seemed pressing.” His tone is solemn—perhaps not the rescue I hoped for, but I will take it over the question still hanging between us… and the look on Soria’s face when she asked it.
Ace leads us into the formal office near the front of the manor. Papers are strewn across the desk—matters requiring the king’s attention even in his absence.
“There’s been news from the Hold, and it’s best you hear it from me directly.” The weight of formality in his voice unsettles me more than I expected. I sit across from him at the desk, Ace and Soria standing nearby.
“The prisoner,” he pauses, the words tasting like poison, “the one who attacked Mira, has paid for his crimes.”
My heart sinks.
I had not thought of the man who meant me such harm amid all that has unfolded since we left.
“With further descent into madness, no insight could be gained into his motives. Earlier this morning, a formal execution for attempted regicide was carried out.”
Frozen. I am utterly frozen.
Attempted regicide.
I shake my head. I am here. I am fine. And yet… I remember the way it felt when the knife was plunged.
I close my eyes.
A man is dead. It was almost me.
When I open them again, I realize they are all looking at me—Vale with concern, Ace somber, Soria conflicted.
