Page 38 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

I can see glimpses of the palace in question now. It’s like a two-tiered cake, one layer stacked on top of the other with towers from the bottom portion stretching up to surround the top. I thought it was where we were headed, but then we take a left and start moving away from it. Eventually, we come to a tall wall with an intricately wrought gate set into the brick.

Leon holds his hand up to a thick lock at its center. There’s a click, and the gate—apparently bespelled to recognize his magic—groans open.

A huge expanse of gardens lies beyond it. It looks almost like a park, lined with trees but open in the middle, where broad stretches of grass slope gently down to a lake so big there’s an island in the middle of it. The palace is visible in the distance. This must be an extension of its grounds.

We ride down across the manicured lawns toward the lake edge.

“Are we going straight to your brother?” I ask Leon.

“Yes,” Leon says. “He’s this way.” His voice sounds low and tight. He’s anxious, and I am too. It’s one thing to tell Leon back in Vastamae that I’ll help his brother, but now we’re approaching the moment of truth. If I’m honest, I’m afraid what state we’re going find Fairon in. What if he’s already past the point of saving?

When we get closer to the lake, I can make out more of the island. There’s a structure on it—a round building with stone pillars and an impressive dome. It looks like a temple, or maybe one of the sanctuary buildings back home. I remember then what Leon told me about Fairon.

“This is the place you talked about?” I ask. “The one with the blood magic?”

We dismount as Leon answers. “Yes. The Sanctuary is very old, older than the palace even. Come.”

He leads us to the water’s edge, where a small fleet of rowboats are moored. He helps me into one, along with Tira, Alastor, and Phaia. The others take another boat as Leon begins to row us across to the island.

I watch his powerful arms pull us through the water with ease and notice that our party is unusually quiet. I think the fear of what we might find here is getting to all of us. Leon starts talking, his voice rising a little above the swish of the moving water.

“The legend goes that thousands of years ago, a terrible plague ran through the city. The rulers—my ancestors—could easily have fled Lavail to keep themselves safe. They stayed, however, to find a way to put a stop to the sickness. Supposedly, Viscalis blessed this spot as a reward for their selflessness.”

“Viscalis?” Tira pipes up. “But I thought she was just the dryads’ goddess?”

I’m relieved to hear her talking. It’s a good sign that she can summon up some curiosity.

“She is the deity of viatic magic, of course,” says Leon. “But she’s been known to help fae and humans from time to time. Of course, it’s just a legend. It might not be true. Maybe we just had very good dryad allies back then, and they helped build this place for us. Either way, this site has healing properties for members of the royal line. My brother has only managed to stay alive this long by remaining permanently inside.”

We all fall silent again after that, reminded of the reason we’re here.

Our boat slows, gently running aground on the sandy bank. There’s a strange atmosphere. Even though Tira and I have never been here before, it’s like we can sense the sacredness of the place. A hush hangs around us. As I step closer to the Sanctuary, I recognize the shape of old Agathyrian carved into the base of the pillars—words I doubt any of us, even the fae, can read.

My stomach twists again. I’m no healer, and I’m certainly not a dryad. Have we all gone insane, thinking I might be able to do some good here?

Leon’s hand lightly touches my elbow.

“We’ll just go to see him first,” he murmurs. “One step at a time.”

I release a breath and nod, then notice the others hanging back.

“They’re not coming?” I ask.

“It’s better not to crowd him,” Leon says.

My gaze falls on Tira. “I’ll stay here too,” she says, stepping forward to squeeze my hand. “But good luck.”

The Sanctuary is cooler than outside. Darker too, a low light creating an immediate sense of calm. The air tastes fresh, almost like peppermint, thanks to the burning bowls of herbs that line the entry chamber.

A pair of dryad attendants approach us. It’s been a while since I’ve seen any who look so healthy. It’s a reminder of just how vibrantly green Etusca’s hair and skin used to be. I brieflywonder if she has reached the Miravow yet, but I refocus my attention when both dryads bow and one begins to speak.

“Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you.”

“Healer Yanda,” Leon addresses her. “I apologize for the surprise, but it’s proven necessary to keep my movements to myself lately.” He bows respectfully, and she nods in return.

“I hear he’s worse,” Leon says. You’d only be able to hear the strain in his voice if you really listened, but to me it’s clearly there. The dryads exchange a look.

“We haven’t been able to keep his weight up, Your Highness, despite all our efforts. It’s like the sickness is just swallowing up everything we feed him.” Yanda twists her hands in distress.

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