Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Morning arrived with a gentle knock and the scent of fresh bread. A young fae with dragonfly wings set a tray on the side table, offering a shy smile.
"Lord Arion sends his apologies," she said. "The council meeting is running longer than expected. He asks if you would meet him in the eastern garden when you're ready."
Briar thanked her and surveyed the breakfast, honey cakes that actually looked like honey cakes, berries that weren't trying to test her, tea that smelled of mint and nothing else. She ate slowly, savoring flavors that didn't hide threats.
Another knock came as she finished. When she opened the door, she found dresses laid carefully across a bench in the hallway. Her breath caught at the one on top.
The gown seemed spun from seafoam and morning mist. The bodice was palest sage green, wrapped and twisted in a way that would hug her torso before flowing into a skirt of gradually deepening blues and greens.
Delicate gold embroidery traced along the edges where the colors met, and the long sleeves would drape elegantly past her wrists, hiding the marks that had spread during her time here.
She dressed carefully, still marveling at fabric that didn't require help to fasten, that didn't squeeze the breath from her lungs. The dress flowed around her as she walked, fabric sliding over fabric with each step.
The eastern garden was awash in morning light when she arrived. Flowering vines climbed trellises in organized chaos, and a fountain sang softly in the center. She settled on a stone bench to wait, face turned toward the sun she'd thought she might never feel again.
"Enjoying your last day of pretend freedom?"
Briar's eyes snapped open. Ferria stood beside the fountain, though she hadn't heard her approach.
Today the fae woman looked different, harder somehow.
Her dark hair fell in careful waves past her shoulders, threaded with small silver bells that made no sound.
The morning light played across her amber skin, making it seem to shift between warm and cold.
"Where's Arion?" Briar asked.
"Still arguing in council about what to do with you." Ferria moved closer, her dark eyes holding secrets like a miser hoarding gold. "They're split between those who think harboring you further risks war and those who think sending you back is unconscionable."
"And you?"
"I think you're going to cause catastrophe either way." Ferria stopped just out of reach. "But perhaps you could be useful first."
"Useful how?"
"You want to understand the golden flowers, don't you? Why they bloom for you when they shouldn't exist outside royal command?"
The warmth in Briar's chest pulsed with interest. "You know something."
"I know many things. Including that there's someone who could teach you." Ferria plucked a leaf from a nearby vine, twirling it between her fingers. "Someone Eliam keeps buried so deep even the roots fear to grow there."
"The oubliette—"
"Deeper. Older. A place where he puts things he wants forgotten." The leaf spun faster. "There was once a human who grew golden flowers. Like you."
Briar's attention sharpened. "What?"
"They say he could make them bloom at will. Turn Eliam's own magic against him." Ferria's eyes glittered with something unreadable. "Beautiful, terrible things. Shields of petals. Weapons of root and thorn."
"That's why Eliam imprisoned him?"
"Eliam tried to kill him. Multiple times. But the flowers..." A meaningful pause. "They protected him. Turned blade to petals, poison to nectar. Every death Eliam sent returned as blooms."
"So he locked him away instead."
"Buried him so deep even the stories died. But I remember." Ferria stepped closer. "I was there the day they dragged him down. Still bleeding gold from where the flowers burst from his skin to save him."
Hope flared in Briar's chest, painful in its intensity. Someone like her. Someone who understood. "But even when I'm back, how would I find him? I don't know where these deep places are, and Eliam watches everything in his domain."
Ferria smiled, cold and calculating. "That's where this comes in." She held out the leaf she'd been spinning. It looked ordinary, green with silver veins that caught the light.
"What is it?"
"A gift. Or a curse, depending on how you use it.
" Ferria turned the leaf over, revealing a shimmer across its surface.
"Two hours at a time, that's all it gives you.
It shows observers what they expect to see while you do whatever you need to do.
One use per day. Enough time to search for the deep places without Eliam knowing you've left your room. "
Briar reached for it, but Ferria pulled it back. "There's a price.”
There always was.
"Tomorrow morning, you leave quietly. No dramatics. No escape attempts. No letting Arion risk his entire court with some misguided rescue mission." Ferria's expression hardened. "He would, you know. Try to protect you. And Eliam would burn this entire sanctuary to ash for the insult."
"That’s all you want?"
"That's the bargain." Ferria extended the leaf.
Briar didn't take it yet. "How do I know it even works? How do I know this isn't some elaborate trick?"
"You don't." Ferria's smile was sharp. "But what choice do you have? Tomorrow you return to Eliam either way. This at least offers you a chance at answers."
"Why help me at all? You don’t even like me."
"Help you?" Ferria laughed, the sound bitter.
"I'm not helping you. I'm protecting my home and the people in it.
Arion would throw away everything we've built here on some noble gesture to save you.
He'd challenge Eliam, attempt some foolish rescue, and get everyone killed in the process.
" Her eyes hardened. "I'll do whatever it takes to prevent that.
If giving you this leaf ensures you leave quietly, without his interference, then it's a small price. "
"So I'm just damage control."
"You're a threat to be managed." Ferria's honesty was brutal. "Take the leaf or don't. But remember, when Arion offers to help tomorrow, when he suggests some last-minute plan, their lives hang on your refusal."
The weight of her words settled on Briar like a shroud, heavy and unwanted. She thought of the children playing in the halls, of Marta's kindness, of all the refugees who'd found safety here. Happiness.
She took the leaf. It felt heavier than it should, warm against her palm. "I promise to leave quietly. No dramatics."
"Good." Ferria stepped back. "Remember—their safety depends on your silence about this conversation. About the leaf. About everything I've told you."
She melted into the garden shadows just as footsteps sounded on the path.
"Briar!" Arion appeared around the hedge, slightly out of breath. "I'm so sorry. The council ran impossibly long, and then Garrett needed..." He paused, taking in her appearance. The morning light caught the seafoam dress, making it shimmer. "You look lovely."
Heat touched her cheeks. "Thank you. How was the council?"
"Tedious. Circular. The same arguments we've been having for two days." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that made him look younger. "Would you like to head to the library? We could continue researching."
"No." The word came out sharper than intended. She softened her tone. "I mean, I don't think the answers we're looking for are in old books. And it's my last day here. I'd rather... I'd rather see your court as it really is. If that's alright."
At first he looked surprised, before understanding blossomed into something warmer. "Of course. There's actually something I'd like to show you, if you're interested."
She tucked the leaf carefully into a hidden pocket of the dress. "Lead the way."
They walked in comfortable silence through the gardens and beyond, past the cultivated areas into wilder growth. The path narrowed, winding upward through trees that seemed older, less touched by fae manipulation. Birds called overhead, real birds making real sounds.
"Almost there," Arion said as they crested a small hill.
The trees opened to reveal a simple wooden bench positioned at the valley's edge.
Nothing ornate or magical about it, just weathered wood that had seen seasons pass.
But the view stretched for miles. The entire valley spread below them, Arion's court nestled among the trees, the river winding through it all in silver ribbons.
Mountains rose in the distance, their peaks already touched with snow.
"This is where I come to think," he said quietly. "When the council argues in circles, or when the weight of other people's expectations gets too heavy." He gestured to the bench. "It's nothing special, but—"
"It's perfect," Briar said, and meant it.
They sat together, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel his warmth. The morning sun painted everything gold, and for a moment she could pretend this was her life, sitting in peaceful places with someone who didn't see her as property.
"What do you think about?" she asked.
"Who I might have been. Where I came from. Why I woke in that grove with golden flowers and no memories." He leaned back, eyes on the horizon. "Sometimes I think not knowing is a mercy. Other times it feels like drowning in reverse—too much air and no idea how to breathe it."
"That's a lonely way to live."
"Sometimes." He turned to look at her. "Less so lately."
Heat touched her cheeks and she looked away, focusing on the valley below. "There's something happening tonight, isn't there? I heard music when I woke up."
"The Harvest Festival. Three days of celebration before winter." He paused. "You'll only see the first night, but—"
"But I'll see it," she said. "That's what matters."
A comfortable silence settled between them. The warmth in her chest pulsed gently, contentedly, as if it too appreciated this moment of peace.
"Thank you," she said finally. "For sharing this with me."