She sighed, looking toward the dark stone of the ceiling. “We do not know. We believe he surrendered himself to the elements long ago. Some souls find the weight of the world too heavy to carry.”
I frowned, the thought of such a loss heavy in the air. To change the subject, I gestured to a jar of dried, pale caps. “I know these. I harvested them for a friend who fell ill.”
Leona lit up, her eyes dancing. “Indeed! They are remarkably helpful for the fevers of mortals. How is she? Is the treatment working?”
I looked away, the image of my home flickering in my mind like a dying candle.
“I am not sure. I have not seen her since…” I trailed off.
She offered me a sympathetic smile and reached for a bundle of glowing green herbs on her workbench.
“Come here,” she commanded softly.
I approached, my curiosity warring with a prickling caution.
She took a single, shimmering leaf and held it against a silver-backed mirror on the wall before holding out her other hand. “Give me your hand.”
Before I could ask why, she took a small silver pin and pricked the tip of my finger. I gasped as a single bead of crimson bloomed. She pressed my finger to the center of the mirror, the blood smearing against the cold glass.
“Watch,” she whispered.
The herb began to glow with a fierce, emerald intensity, feeding off the heat of my blood. The mirror’s surface rippled like water as a portal opened—not a doorway, but a window seen through the eyes of the earth itself.
My eyes widened and the urge to reach out and touch the shimmering surface was almost overwhelming. “How?”
“It is the sight of the Veythar,” she murmured, her hand settling on my elbow. “We follow the veins of the world. They see all that climbs, all that breathes upon the soil. Now… guide me.”
I closed my eyes, summoning the scent of salt air and the sound of the Isvale markets. My eyes flew open as a phantom current whipped through the room, causing my hair to lasharound my face. The vision in the mirror blurred, a dizzying blur of green and gray as we flew across the landscape at a terrifying speed, until it slammed to a halt.
A blue door with a raven carved into the wood.
The eye of the vine climbed the weathered stone of the house, creeping up to a window on the second floor. On the windowsill sat a sleek raven, its feathers iridescent in the moonlight. And there, tucked into the window seat, was Hera.
She was reading, her face no longer the translucent, sickly white of the dying. There was a flush of health in her cheeks, a steadiness to her hands that brought a rush of relief so powerful it felt like a sob.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my eyes stinging with tears as the mirror faded back to cold silver.
“You are welcome, child,” she smiled and reached beneath her counter to pull out a small leather satchel. “Now, I recall you saying you are a forager. I do not get many helpful hands when it comes to scavenging around here. Would you like to assist me?”
A rush of excitement coursed through me as I took the bag from her hands. I peeked inside, noting the clean shears and vials. “Absolutely.”
Her eyes squinted due to the height of her smile. “What a dear. I will be looking for you at sunrise, Kaelia.”
I offered her a small dip. “I look forward to it, Lady Leona. Thank you for allowing me in your space.”
She waved me off with a smile. “Go get some rest.”
I nodded and left the chamber with the satchel strap slung over my shoulder. I was much too wired to sleep. The relief of seeing Hera healthy had set a wildfire of energy in my veins.
I did not head for my bed, instead I walked for the exit, drawn by the distant flow of the glowing river.
When I stepped into the wide courtyard, I found a space polished into an expanse of mirror-dark stone that reflected thebioluminescent glow from the river. I slowed as I caught sight of a small gathering at its center.
Eladaria stood at the heart of the circle, tall and impossibly poised. Her silhouette was etched sharply against the gloom, defined by a single strand of living shadow that spiraled from her fingertips with effortless obedience.
Surrounding her, a dozen young Veythar struggled to mimic her grace, their small hands tugging at wisps of darkness that frayed and dissolved before any true shape could take hold.
As if sensing my gaze, Eladaria turned her head before I had even stilled at the courtyard’s edge. Her eyes locked onto mine, and a gentle smile curved her lips.