Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Following Arion through the halls felt like walking through a mirror world.
The architecture was similar to Eliam's court with its high ceilings, carved archways, and that sense of age that made human buildings seem temporary.
But where Eliam's domain had pressed down with weight and watchfulness, Arion’s felt open and light.
As they turned a corner, a fae woman with pale green skin passed them, carrying an armful of linens.
Delicate wings like pressed leaves trailed behind her, translucent and veined with gold that caught the sunlight.
She nodded to Arion, smiled at Briar, and continued on.
No cowering. No scurrying. Just someone doing their job without fear of random punishment.
"Morning, my lord," a man with antlers called out, not even slowing as he headed the opposite direction. The antlers curved back from his temples, polished and dark, with small bells tied to the tips that chimed softly as he walked. "Council meeting's been pushed to tomorrow."
"Thank you, Garrett." Arion nodded back, easy and comfortable.
Children darted across their path, small with pointed ears and human faces, chasing what looked like a ball of light. They laughed as they played, the sound bright and comforting. One crashed into Arion's legs, bounced off, giggled an apology, and kept running.
No one flinched or cowered. No one waited for retribution that didn't come.
Gardens sprawled beyond tall windows, but these grew wild and joyous. Flowers climbed where they wanted, trees stretched how they pleased. It was beautiful chaos instead of the rigid perfection Eliam demanded.
A young fae carrying too many books stumbled on the stairs ahead of them. Arion caught his elbow, steadied him, and helped gather the scattered volumes.
"Careful, Tam. That's quite a load."
"Sorry, my lord, I thought I could manage."
"No harm done. Though next time, perhaps two trips?"
The youth blushed, nodded, and hurried off with better grip on the books. No threats or punishment, just gentle correction and continued trust.
As the footsteps faded away, leaving them in comfortable silence, her stomach chose that moment to growl.
Warmth flooded Briar's cheeks as she averted her gaze. "I'm sorry, I—"
Arion paused, and when she glanced up, she caught the corner of his mouth curving into a smile of genuine amusement.
"I should be the one apologizing," he said.
"You nearly drowned last night and here I am, dragging you through corridors without even thinking to ask if you needed something to eat.
" He tilted his head, considering. "Would you like to eat before we head to the library?
Searching for answers is more productive on a full stomach. "
Briar hesitated. While she was hungry, the time they had to find answers was limited.
He gestured down a different staircase where warm air rose carrying the scent of baking bread and something sweet that made her stomach clench with want. "Marta would never forgive me if I let you starve."
The casual kindness of it, asking rather than commanding, thinking of her comfort, had become so foreign she didn't know how to respond. Finally she nodded and followed after him.
The kitchen, when they entered, was beautiful chaos.
Great iron pots bubbled on massive stoves. Flour seemed to dust every surface. Herbs hung from the rafters in fragrant bundles. Everywhere, fae of all types worked in what looked like barely controlled mayhem but was probably a careful dance.
"Arion Dawnbringer!" A voice emerged, rough but somehow fond. "What you doing in my kitchen?"
A brownie emerged from behind a counter, ancient, aproned, and wielding a wooden spoon with the authority of a general directing his army. Her face was all wrinkles and disapproval until she saw Briar.
"Blessed roots and branches, what you done to this girl?" The spoon pointed accusingly at Arion. "She looks terrible! Sit! Sit!"
"Marta—" Arion started.
"Don't you 'Marta' me, lordling. Bring me a half-drowned marked human and expect what?
Tea and talk?" She was already bustling, pulling Briar to a worn wooden table.
Briar looked towards Arion who offered a helpless shrug.
"Skin and bones! Marked humans always skin and bones. He forgets to feed them proper."
Marta disappeared into the kitchen's chaos, her voice carrying over the clatter of pots and sizzle of cooking. "Hain! Get me a bowl of the vegetable soup. The one from the back pot, not that thin stuff up front. And bread! The round loaf that just came out!"
Other kitchen staff scrambled at her commands.
Within moments, Marta returned, setting a wooden tray before Briar with practiced care.
She placed each item deliberately: the bowl of soup releasing fragrant steam, the bread on a small plate with a generous pat of butter beside it, and a cup of cool water.
"There now," Marta said, hands on her hips as she surveyed her offering. "Proper food for a proper person."
At the sight of such simple, perfect food Briar almost cried. She held the bread carefully as though it might bite her before she had a chance to bite it. "It's not going to turn into flowers? Or test me? Or change?"
"Child," Marta said, gentler now, "sometimes bread is just bread. Sometimes soup is just soup. Not everything has to be a trick."
Briar took a bite. Butter melted on her tongue, salt and warmth and the simple pleasure of actual food. Her eyes burned with sudden tears.
"Slowly," Arion murmured, sliding a cup of water across the table. "You have time."
She didn't, not really, they both knew she didn't, but she ate slowly anyway, letting each bite be what it was. Just bread and soup and the kindness of strangers who didn't want anything from her except to see her fed.
Other kitchen staff peeked in as she ate, curious faces lurking in doorways, whispers about "the marked girl" and "golden flowers." But no hunger in their looks. No calculation. Just curiosity and something that might have been pity.
She burned her tongue on the soup, too eager for the warmth. Arion wordlessly handed her cold water, no mockery in his expression. Just understanding.
"Thank you," she said when the bowl was empty, the bread demolished. Her stomach felt full for the first time in memory.
"Don't thank me," Marta said, clearing the dishes. "Thank him for remembering humans need more than fear to live on. Now go. Do whatever you need. But you come back before you leave, yes? Pack you proper food for traveling."
Traveling. Back to Eliam. Back to punishment.
The bread turned heavy in her stomach, but she managed to nod.
"Better," Marta pronounced. "Still too thin, but better. Go on now. And you—" The spoon pointed at Arion again. "You take better care. Marked or not, she's under your roof now."
"Yes, Marta," Arion said, and Briar realized he meant it. This ancient brownie could scold the lord of the court, and he'd take it with grace.
Another difference. Another kindness.
Another reason returning would hurt more than staying ever had.
"We should research the flowers while you have energy," Arion said as they left the kitchen.
Briar nodded, though the warm food had filled her stomach to bursting and left her limbs feeling heavy. She could do this, she had no choice. She had only two days left to understand why she'd grown a golden path from nothing.
They'd made it halfway up the staircase when the world tilted and her legs threatened to give way beneath her. Her hand curled tightly around the banister even as she stumbled forward and nearly fell.
Arion was quick to her side, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. "Maybe you should get some more rest.”
"No, I'm fine." The lie came easy leaving Briar to wonder how many times she had said those same words since arriving in Eliam's court.
She felt the weight of Arion’s gaze as he studied her.
It was as though he could see through her to the truth hidden underneath.
She wasn’t okay, she hadn’t been okay since the moment Allegra had gotten sick.
It seemed a lifetime ago now, and for all she knew it had been.
After what felt like an eternity, Arion seemed to make a decision.
"The library's just through here. You can rest while we read."
She wanted to protest, two would work faster than one, but the words refused to come and so she nodded, allowing him to help as they resumed climbing.
When they entered the library, her breath caught.
Not because it was grand, but because it was so alive.
Where Eliam's library had been all dark wood and forbidding silence, this was warm chaos.
Books lay open on tables, notes scribbled in margins.
Chairs clustered in discussion circles rather than solitary rows.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
"Sit," Arion said, guiding her to a chair that looked well-loved by readers. "I'll find what we need."
Briar sank into worn leather that rose up around her, embracing without trapping, and watched him move between shelves with easy familiarity, selecting volumes with careful hands. There were no dramatics or tests, just a man who knew his books.
He returned with an armful, setting them on the table beside her. Then disappeared again, leaving Briar to wonder where he had gone before returning moments later with a tea service.
Her shoulders tensed, wariness creeping over her. "What will this do?"
Arion paused mid-pour, looking genuinely confused before understanding dawned. "It's brewed from the silverbell flower and honey, good for clearing the lungs and restoring strength. Nothing more, no enchantments."
Despite his reassurances, she took the cup carefully and sniffed. It smelled faintly of mint and flowers with the sweetness of honey. The first sip confirmed it was just as Arion promised—tea that cleared her head rather than clouding it, helping her breathe easier.