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“The Elders are unlikely to grant permission.” The captain’s expression shutters. “Over the years, Thorn Valley has become a hostile ally at best. While the threat of the Iron Mountains binds us together, we must be vigilant against all threats.”

As Dian’s eyes bore into mine, I ignore her to ask, “What happens if someone leaves without the Elders’ permission?”

“The Elders will determine their punishment,” he says slowly like it doesn’t happen often. “Fortunately, our people respect the rules that keep us safe.”

I think of Mistress Henglan locking me up in the storeroom, her beatings, the way she withheld food until obedience became the answer to survival. I’ve borne my share of “punishments,” with no desire for more.

But when Jin summons me, I will go—I will keep my word. And I bury the lift in my heart at the thought, the inconvenient and reckless desire to see him again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

WEEKS FLY BY LIKE DAYS. IT IS LATE AUTUMN, CLOSER TO winter—yet it’s warmer here than in the Iron Mountains. The magic still churns uneasily within, almost forgotten when my days are filled. At home, I spend much of my time in the garden, cultivating my own plants, learning their different properties. Dian takes Ruilin and me around the island, introducing us to her favorite places: the cliffs for an endless view of the ocean, a tiny stretch of beach from where the seagrasses glow like jade, the meadows that always smell like spring.

Today, she brings me to a forest shaded by Radiant Sky Trees, one of the rare times we are alone. When I touch their bark, a thrum ripples through my ring, formed with the flowers and roots of these trees.

“I remember what you told me of the dragons that lived here. It was the first time I felt like coming back with you,” I say to her.

“If only you could’ve seen how happy they were then.” Her smile falters as she picks up a fallen leaf, the edges curled. More are scattered across the ground, a common sight in the Iron Mountains, yet here it jars with the perfection of the island.

“Is something wrong, Dian? Do these trees not usually shed their leaves?”

“Not this many. The Elders are concerned.”

“Shenming said they are studying the skies every night, searching for the waterfall,” I reassure her.

“I hope they find it soon,” she replies gravely.

Later that day, Dian, Ruilin, and I head to the nearby town to visit our seamstress. This town is one of the larger ones among the dozens scattered across the island, with artisans and merchants selling clothes, paintings, wooden fans, alongside jeweled pins and combs.

Madam Ling ushers us into her shop, a spacious two-tiered building. Today will be our final fitting, after several visits to design our clothes. The aroma of camphor suffuses the air, repelling the moths that threaten her precious wares of silk and brocade. While devoid of the patterns or embroidery that are common in the Iron Mountains or Amber Forest, the cloth here is finely woven, possessing a lustrous sheen.

“Are you excited for your naming ceremony next week?” Madam Ling asks, wrapping the newly sewn inner robe around me, the coral silk contrasting with the dark blue outer robe.

“I am,” I reply honestly. This event feels different from the palace banquets I’d dreaded. Father and Dian have been preparing for weeks. The ceremony bears great significance to them, which makes it even more meaningful to me. At least fifty guests will be attending, even after I asked to keep the gathering small.

“I hope it will go well, that I don’t do anything to embarrass my family,” I admit, alone with the seamstress.

“Silly girl,” she says with a warm smile. “Your father and sister only want you to be happy. They are holding this ceremony not for themselves, but to celebrate your return.”

“You’re right, Madam Ling,” I say with relief.

When she taps my arms, I stretch them wide as she slips the midnight-blue robe over me, crossing the left collar over the right. “A perfect fit,” she says with satisfaction.

Dian and Ruilin enter the room, my sister nodding in approval of my outfit. “Which flower do you prefer for the ornamentation of your clothes?” she asks, handing me a book with paintings of blossoms.

“Will they be sewn on?” Ruilin asks.

She shakes her head. “For the ceremony, we should consider something more elaborate. Flowers dipped in the resin of our trees to preserve them.”

“Like those the Elders wear on their circlets?” I ask.

“Yes. They are considered a precious form of ornamentation here, reserved for the most important occasions.”

My hand stills over the page with flowers shaped like fans, recalling those at the Little Dragon’s pond—then the pear blossoms, from my courtyard in the Palace of Nine Hills. “What flowers did Mother like?” I ask, wishing I knew. When I think of her, the fragments of memories that surface are our last moments together: flashes of her arms tightening around me, the brief illusion of safety before the soldiers tore us apart.

A wistful look creeps into Dian’s eyes. “Magnolias.”

“Like the tree that grows beside your home,” Ruilin says, squeezing Dian’s hand.