Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Winterfest festivities were over by the time Calya returned to the Valley of Sylveren, though the decorations were still up.
The zenith of the holiday had occurred the day they set sail, and Froley had given them a grand sendoff at the Pelf.
Some kind of celebration was also held on the ship as the final days of the ten-day holiday passed, though Calya missed whatever they were.
Without a big, gruff… attentive ranger to keep her engaged during the trip, Calya saw no reason to decline Eunny’s potent anti-nausea brew. The ship made good time without any storms to slow it down, arriving just as the sleepiness worked its way out of Calya’s system.
She spent a week in Renstown, meeting with the Order of Sylveren and ranking members of the Sentinels to provide an initial report of all that had transpired in Desmond’s Landing.
They outlined the next steps in their plan to bring charges of treason against the Coalition, and Calya left the whirlwind of meetings feeling cautiously optimistic.
The trade organization had always loomed so large in her world—a world so narrowly confined to Graelynd, she would admit, that she’d never given the protectors of the Valley much credit.
The Valley tended to keep to itself, and she’d foolishly viewed that reluctance to get involved in petty dramas as a bent toward pacifism and weakness.
And maybe some of that was true, but clearly, the Valley didn’t fuck around when it came to Eylle’s poison.
The Coalition would soon find that out, much to their detriment.
When Calya wasn’t up at the university, the rest of her time was spent on penning a lengthy report to her father.
But at least she had the Helm Naval office all to herself.
Wembly had somehow gotten wind of her exploits and run before she returned.
He’d had enough morals to not involve himself fully in Brint’s treason, as it turned out.
But to stymie Calya in ways that suited Brint’s needs?
No problem. Calya didn’t know which angered her more, his betrayal or that all it had cost was a few thousand gold crowns and a promise of Coalition favor.
After spending several days drafting letters and catching up on all she’d missed, she was ready for a break. When the chance to escape to Sylveren for a reason other than meetings was offered, Calya jumped on it.
The block of poison was positively light in the Valley. If anything, the glazed, ice-like substance encasing the blob had shrunk, no longer an even rectangle but misshapen as though it had begun to thaw.
Whatever remained of the Child, aspect of the Valley of Sylveren, it was not pleased by Calya’s return.
It had never liked her, and her bringing a physical manifestation of Eylle’s hate went over poorly.
The spirit of the Valley vented its displeasure, sending freezing rain into Calya’s face as she disembarked in the small town of Sylvan.
She pulled her cloak’s hood farther over her head, giving her sister an exasperated look as they met on the dock. “I’m doing this place a favor. Could you please convince it to calm down?”
Anadae put her arm around Calya’s shoulders. “I’ve got a carriage waiting.”
They were dropped off outside of the Grove, the giant maple tree that served as home to the Sylveren earth mages.
The foliage maintained its autumnal coloration year-round, though a single crimson leaf drifted down as Calya walked beneath its canopy.
She caught it in her hand, admiring the fine veins and how they glimmered even on a dreary, gray day.
She gasped softly as the leaf disintegrated and turned into a handful of golden motes of light that floated up to join the others always drifting around the tree.
“This gets my vote as nicest place in the Valley,” Calya said.
Anadae laughed. “We’ll make a believer of you yet.”
They continued on to the greenhouse complex, where a small audience awaited them.
The greenhouse was one of the larger structures, with a long wall broken up into multiple workstations comprising the front half of the room.
The back half was compartmentalized into half a dozen antechambers, which Calya presumed were reserved for higher-level mages.
Everything was clean and fancy, the gardening equipment neatly organized, with handles and blades polished.
Not new, but clearly well maintained and of quality.
A blooming vine climbed throughout the building, present but never in the way.
Its oblong leaves were a glossy green, and white flowers filled the air with a delicate citrus scent.
Ollas and Eunny stood near the vine’s anchor pot, chatting quietly with a tall, older Hanyeok man Calya vaguely remembered as one of the department heads.
Zhenya stood at a counter, grinding pigment, a few dried plant stems with blade-shaped leaves next to her.
Occasional gold sparks flew up as she worked.
Inside one of the antechambers, Ezzyn was putting finishing touches on the wards surrounding a large tub of corrupted soil with a glass row cover over the top.
Even at Calya’s distance, the oiliness of the poisoned bits was visible through the clear panes, at odds with the crumbly, dull gray of the dirt.
Movement at the far end of the greenhouse caught her eye. Lowe came forward. Her first time seeing him since they’d left the Landing.
Calya dumped the leather bag on the counter, not hearing whatever her sister said as she went to meet him. “You’re here.”
“I promised I would be,” he replied. “Are you sure you’re ready for this so soon? Your ship—”
“Slept most of the way. Alone,” she added with a smirk. “Nothing worth staying awake for.”
“Careful. You’re beginning to sound sentimental.”
“I meant wares from House Oleander. None aboard.”
Lowe’s mouth formed a wry smile. “Were you looking?”
Eunny interrupted before Calya could reply. “Hey, lovebirds, big stakes here. Caly, come unbind yourself from the evil rock. Nev and I are due in Talihn.”
Rolling her eyes, Calya turned back to her friends, willing her blush away. “What do you need me to do?”
Ezzyn stuck his head out of the antechamber. “Would you bring it in here, please?”
At his instruction, Calya withdrew the brick, the poison source within looking particularly sad and withered. She set it in the center of the corrupted-dirt-filled tub, in between a pair of grassy clumps similar to those she’d seen inside the sphere in the cave.
Ezzyn closed the glass cover, and Zhenya painted fresh ink onto the lines engraved in the heads of each ward. Then she gently took Calya’s palm, her inkbrush poised above it.
“Ready?”
“Will it hurt?” Calya asked, her fingers tense with anticipation. “Last time hurt.”
“I… don’t think so?” Zhenya frowned in thought. “Though I’m still pretty new to working with Eyllic imprinting spells.”
“Great,” Calya muttered.
Eunny gave her a small prod in the back. “You’ll be fine. They only hurt going in.”
Lowe didn’t say anything, but he stood beside her, his arm brushing against her in silent support. Uncaring of who saw, Calya leaned into him.
Finally, she nodded at Zhenya. “Do it.”
The ink was cold to the touch as it spread across the jagged line on Calya’s palm. When Zhenya followed it up with a drop of her own magic, the wet line instantly turned warm. Not burning, but the swift change made Calya startle. She closed her hand by reflex, only to have it pushed open again.
The scar seemed to peel itself off as if it had never been a part of her skin to begin with, leaving her hand unmarked. It curled inward and became a molten ball of light.
Gold flared at the corner of Calya’s eye, as Anadae transformed the glowing scar-turned-mote into a shard of ice. She snapped her fingers, and it blew apart, raining tiny flakes of ice onto the ground, where they melted into plain, unmagicked water.
Within the warded tub, the source poison reacted the same.
Instead of a flat white, it morphed more into a glowing gold color.
The ice brick protecting it dissolved, letting the golden ball of former poison fall onto the blighted ground.
It flowed apart, thin veins seeping through the desiccated dirt as the roots of the two clumps of grass wicked it up.
Their long, flat leaves swayed, orbs of gold-tinged dew gathering at the tips.
They struggled more than the plants in the glass sphere in the Landing, managing to shed only a few dewdrops no larger than pinheads.
But the droplets drew in and landed in a small circle.
Where they touched the ground, those small dots of light flared, and the crumbs of dirt they’d landed upon swelled up, turning a healthy deep brown.
Slowly, a single blade of new, green grass poked through the spot of rejuvenated soil.
Ezzyn lifted the lid, touching a glowing fingertip to the ground at the base of the baby plant. The dirt illuminated as his magic coursed through it. He looked up, taking in all of the faces intent upon him.
His mouth opened, but in the end all he could do was form a small smile, shaking his head as a weak laugh came out. “It… worked.”
The room erupted with cheers and exclamations of delight.
Calya felt a strange disconnect, as if she observed the others’ jubilation from the outside.
Motion flurried around her as Zhenya and her mentor, Professor Rai, immediately began preparing the tub for transport to Rhell.
Anadae and Ezzyn were busy refreshing their protective wards on the container; Eunny and Ollas dashed off to another greenhouse for…
something. Calya watched as if in slow motion, unsure of her part, if she had one at all.
A tug at her elbow pulled her back to the present. Lowe guided her outside.
“I told them we’d alert the harbormaster to have the fastest ship cleared for Rhell,” he said.
“Good thinking.”
The carriage ride passed in a blur, and they were mostly quiet for the duration. Once on the dock, with a fresh spray of icy rain to the face, Calya’s thoughts evened themselves out.
“It’s strange,” she said when Lowe rejoined her. “My head knows that this is momentous. Historic, even. But it’s strange to witness it and feel so… apart.”
“You were instrumental,” he said.
“I suppose. But it’s their victory, not mine. Not that I’m not happy for them. I guess I just thought I’d feel different.” Perhaps she was as heartless as she joked she was. Still struggling to find joy in the little things, much less something as significant as a potential cure for Eylle’s poison.
“I imagine the king of Rhell will want a word with you,” Lowe said. “And I come with a message from Captain Malek’ko on behalf of the Sentinels. We are in your debt.”
Calya perked up, her gloom blown away like a puff of smoke. “Avenor Guard, the Sentinels, and a king.” She ticked the names off on her fingers, grinning at Lowe. “I love being owed favors. They’re worth so much more than money.”
Lowe laughed quietly, but his eyes remained serious. Slowly, he reached up, brushing her cheek. “Powerful men on your dance card. The Coalition brought to their knees. There are no barriers left—Helm Naval will be yours,” he said. “What more could a woman ask for?”
Calya’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. His words, and the unspoken question hidden between them, rang loud in her mind.
She tore her gaze away, blinking rapidly as she tried to collect her thoughts, any thoughts, something beyond the dull roar in her head and the ache in her chest.
“I—” She faltered, her gaze picking out a familiar figure approaching her on the dock. The Sylvan side of the lake. “Father?”
Andrin Helm nodded stiffly at her. “Come, Calya. We have business to discuss.”