Page 27 of Bonds of Blood
And it wasn’t the true name of this place, but it was how we came to think of it. A nexus, a conflux, where the opposing forces of the elements could grapple each other for dominance. I considered raising the question of how, exactly, we were meant to find the nexus, except that Ember was already buzzing straight ahead of us. Somehow I’d forgotten that we had a living elemental compass on our side.
He flitted around our heads, tinkling and chattering excitedly, very enthusiastic in comparing the positioning of the nexus to the center of a perfectly sliced piece of apple pie. It was sweet to hear him speak of such lightness, a way to distract his mind from ailing over Satchel and his fate. I would have liked for Ember to go on about apple pie forever.
Bruna kindly took the initiative to inform the headmasters, who very well might have come to the same conclusion themselves. She produced a slender phial of pale pink liquid, whispering against the glass before snapping it in half. A wisp of something ethereal swirled in the air for a moment, lingering long enough to gather her words before shooting off into the distance.
In the end, we didn’t truly need Ember to show us the way after all. It was clear enough to see that we were approaching the collective heart of the oriels, the trees growing taller and thicker as we penetrated deeper, the beasts of the land larger, stronger. Most telling of all, however, was the ever-present blight of the Withering.
“This is terrible,” I muttered, studying the wilted, desiccated brown of the vegetation surrounding us. “Nothing in the Court of Autumn has ever looked as dry.”
“Or as flammable,” Ember said, the flames adorning his hair and wings dying down, as if turned low on purpose. “Oh, this is awful.”
Bruna shook her head. “But I thought that the Withering was gone. Vanquished. Where is this even coming from?”
Namirah pressed her hand against the grass, rubbing a bit of dirt between her fingers. “Baylor may not even realize it himself, but it’s entirely possible that the Withering has taken root in his heart in a quiet, subtle way. His corruption is leaking, even mere traces of it causing a widespread wilting. His very presence here is disrupting the natural order of things.”
My muscles stiffened. Contrary to what humans believed, not all fae knew everything there was to know about plant life. We had a rudimentary, general understanding, yes, but I left the specifics to those wiser than myself, like the palace gardeners, the alchemists, the humble farmers. Yet even I knew that rot needed to be cut out at the source.
At the nexus of the oriels, we would find the source. And then we could cut out the rot. Permanently.
The sun of the dimension was unrelenting, gradually sapping what little strength we had left. But we had to persevere. Lochlann would do the same for me, no matter the cost. Even little Satchel would fight ferociously to claw one of us back, had the tables been turned.
Bruna handed out little phials partway through our journey. The glass was cool to the touch, the contents as clear and liquid as water. But the potions tasted sweeter and were far more refreshing. Ember’s eyes widened as he gulped on his share, poured into a bottle cap nearly as big as his head. He guzzled more of it down, tipping the bottle cap back like an oversized drinking bowl.
“Drink it all up,” Bruna said. “One of my own recipes. It’s meant to keep up our stamina. I brought a few in case this exact situation came up.”
“Very good of you to anticipate Baylor and his bullshit.” Namirah burped, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and handed back the empty phial, nodding in thanks.
I returned mine as well, knowing how useful different sorts of phials could be to alchemists. It was good to have someone like Bruna on our side, her preparedness and wealth of knowledge invaluable. It was especially good to know that she’d taken to labeling her potions more judiciously. I didn’t much like the idea of accidentally drinking one of her freezing potions instead.
More sun, more stretches of grass and meadow, and quite a few more rifts, but Namirah insisted that we plow on ahead. It must have been hours before we finally glimpsed it, a strange sight in an already strange land. Even the converging seasons at the Grand Cross of the Verdance couldn’t compare.
Here the earth met with flowing water to form great, bubbling pits of mud. Steam hissed where the waters touched boiling lava. Boulders spun in the air, tossed in dark, massive whirlwinds filled with debris and dirt. And everywhere, gleaming in emerald crisscrosses and tangles, were the familiar chains of the rogue grand summoner.
Here the elements struggled for dominance, even as Baylor Wilde chained them and claimed their power for himself. And there, on a rare plot of land safe from fire and lightning, a grassy oasis amid the chaos, stood the grand summoner. And on the ground, on his knees, wrists in shackles, chains like a collar around his neck —
“Lochlann,” I shouted, already racing for the oasis like a lovesick fool. Bruna and the others shouted for me to fall back. It was stupid. It was brash. And yet this was who I was, someone who couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering the corruption and cruelty of his father. What did Baylor have planned for him? I didn’t want to find out.
Approaching fast, I could finally see the dull green light in Lochlann’s eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks. My heart hurt to see him gaze upon me without recognition, without love. Where once he might have broken into a smile at the sight of me, there was only nothing. What had Baylor done to his mind?
The grand summoner pulled on his leash, hardly noticing when Lochlann stumbled closer, wincing. I ran harder. Faster. How I longed to punch Baylor’s head off his shoulders.
“Ah, Prince Sylvain. So kind of you to join us. Tired and sweaty from your journey, I see. A softer target. Excellent.”
I stopped only several feet away, panting as I assessed our surroundings. Not enough leaves here to make a difference, but I could make do.
“Test my strength for yourself if you believe me weak. I cannot fathom you would do something so horrific to your own son. I knew your relationship was contentious, Baylor, but Lochlann was too kind. I see now that you are a monster. Let Lochlann go immediately, or I’ll — ”
“Enough.”
Baylor Wilde thrust his hand forward, threads of emerald light emanating from the tips of his fingers. Like sentient tendrils, like cursed vines, they inched toward me. The grand summoner grinned, eyes and teeth tinged sickly green by his magic.
“Sylvain, Prince of the Court of Autumn. Kneel before your master.”
15
SYLVAIN
Out in thedeepest reaches of the Verdance, where fae magic was wildest, most sinister, there grew the strangest of flora. Plants that boggled the senses, weirder still than the blooms of the botanical gardens at the Wispwood, than the rare monstrosities of the Oriel of Earth.
