Chapter Forty-Three
I lace before the intricate iron gates of the House of Healing. The vine-covered iron stretches beyond my sight on either side; even the metal cannot seem to contain the deadly botany of the Healing gardens.
A screech whines through the air, the gates scraping outward. I walk into the mist and chill and the smell of vegetation, and plod under an arched, ivy-covered tunnel. The haze rolls out before me, obscuring my boots. The temperature drops. Somewhere overhead, a bird caws.
The murkiness deepens, the ivy above weaving together tighter, thicker, blocking out the sun entirely. The dark unfolds its cold embrace, but I press forward.
Something snags the toe of my boot. I fly forward, arms outstretched into the moist undergrowth. When I scramble for purchase, I sink lower into the dying vegetation.
A scream claws up my throat, but the more I thrash, the deeper I sink. So I stop. I cease moving, the control one of the hardest instincts to fight. It takes a moment once I swallow down enough terror to register.
I have stopped sinking.
Panic dissipates, my mind clearing. I call on my genius, a hesitant request. The little moth inside me flutters awake, beating its wings—and energy surges through my limbs. As my fingers brush against petals and leaves, they zap with energy, minuscule sparks of power like little gasping breaths.
I think of my mother, whispering to fruits and vegetables as the Base faeries brought them into the kitchens, the tender way she’d hold each one. The phrase she’d utter before eating, quick and gentle like a ladybug.
“Thank you,” I breathe. “Thank you for giving your life so that I may live mine.”
Pressure sloughs from the plane. The ground rises to meet my body, solid as rock. I lie against the sturdy surface, panting.
A test, I think, staggering to my feet. One I seem to have passed.
At last, the air brightens to a dove gray until the mist is once again colorless and thin. Sunlight spills toward me from the far end of the archway until I am stumbling into its warmth.
The herbal aromas flood me first, revitalizing my mind, soothing my nerves.
Soft and smoky lavender, cool mint, floral chamomile, and bright garlic.
A circular courtyard materializes around me, surrounded by thick trees and bushes.
Gravel pathways divide the space into four wedges, exploding with herbs, and converge in the center, surrounding an enormous, foggy-glass greenhouse.
Birds chirp nearby, a breeze slipping through the leaves.
While the Illusion courtyards echo a maze with trickery at every turn, the Healing gardens feel like an emerald oasis, a spot of serenity amid the labyrinth of Versara.
I approach the greenhouse and lift the latch on the door with ease. The tremendous room bursts with a rainbow of plants, brighter and more vivid than any I have ever seen. In its center is a curving banister that disappears into the floor.
I descend. A gasp flies from my mouth when I discern a figure standing in the stony corridor. I grip the iron railing and breathe, waiting.
“Lord Eli?” I ask.
“Hello, Avery,” Eli says. “Welcome to the House of Healing.”
After treading down the tunnels, we ascend into a grand gallery with leather-bound titles crammed into shelves that reach the soaring ceilings. Iron staircases coil up to a mezzanine, where the occasional fae walks along, stack of books in hand. It is silent, save for the sound of footsteps.
I did not know so many books existed. My fingers itch to snag a volume, tuck it under my shirt, and later examine it by firelight. House of Healing has plenty of knowledge—they wouldn’t notice one small piece of it missing. Yet as I gaze at the soaring shelves, a new thought blooms.
Ahead of me, the Head of Healing slows, rubbing the back of his head. “Do you have a question?”
“No, my lord.”
“I swear I can feel your confusion nudging me.”
“Apologies, my lord.”
“Never apologize for curiosity.”
“Where are all the sick patients?” I ask.
“In their homes,” he says. “But rest assured, Lila is in the royal ward.”
I scowl. Typical fae, thinking I would be satisfied with this because my own are cared for. “What of those without a home?”
“There are Healing programs they can go to in the Peri.”
We take a right at the end of the hall, lined with tapestries and portraits of Healing lineage.
“Would the plants in the tunnel have killed me?” I ask.
“Could we call ourselves House of Healing if that were the consequence for failing our entrance test?”
“It would seem fitting. In nature, we are either growing or dying.”
Eli pauses, chuckling. “You wouldn’t have died. There is another state we can occupy with the help of magic—stagnation.”
I think of the chestnut tree, forced into a frozen state by Reign magic.
“And how would that look?” I ask.
“If you had not answered properly, you would’ve fallen asleep, and we would have delivered you back to your rooms. You would have to attempt the oath another day. But you passed, and now the oath is around you.”
They let the plants decide, I discern. But isn’t that similar to an Unesse belief?
I dare not mention it. Interesting, how every fae and faerie born in Amyria must be delivered by House of Healing—for a price—and yet only a few are deemed worthy of salvation.
“How does the oath work?”
“You physically may speak of what you see here—but we will learn of it and put you on trial.”
What an odd system of enforcement, one that starts on the back end. We head down another corridor lined with doors, until Eli stops before one.
“Here we are.” He knocks, and after a moment the door swings open.
Deep olive-green walls embrace me in a moody, intimate bedroom with exposed beams, brass sconces, and a red brick fireplace opposite a full bed. Propped up against cream pillows is my friend, gazing out the one arched window to a private garden.
“Lila,” I breathe, stepping forward.
Those rich brown eyes remain on the garden beyond, her shoulders caved inward. Eli perches on the end of the bed, and the gesture feels so familiar, I bite down on my cheek to keep from hissing.
“Lila, if you’ve changed your mind about Avery visiting, that’s okay,” he says.
I bristle. She doesn’t react.
My hand slips into my pocket, touching the parchment I brought.
I move forward. Lila doesn’t seem to notice, attention trained on a pair of bluebirds twittering around a birdbath in the center of the courtyard.
After learning that the plants listen, I am hesitant.
But anything that may bring my friend some relief is worth it.
“Would you like to sit out in the garden?” I ask.
Eli stiffens but says nothing. Finally, Lila turns her head. Her face appears gaunt, skin dull. Yet she gives a small smile, and it is the most soothing sight.
“I think I would like that,” she says.
The Healing fae directs us to a stone bench in the sun. After some fussing, some questions—Do you need water? More pain relief?—he finally departs.
Lila sits beside me in a cotton gown and a sweater, her left arm tucked into a pocket. We watch the chirping birds splash as they clean their feathers.
“I want to be angry with you,” Lila finally says. “But it doesn’t feel natural.”
“It would be understandable if you were.”
“I heard you almost bled to death.”
I swallow. “I heard your heart gave out.”
“Well, we’re a morbid pair, aren’t we?” The corner of her mouth upticks.
“We like to do everything together, it seems.”
Lila gasps a laugh this time.
“And how are you doing now, or is that a foolish thing to ask?” I venture.
“Eli is nice.” She has dropped his title, like I have with Kassandra. She takes a breath. “But there are some things he cannot understand.”
“Like what?”
“The king has released me from his service.”
A spike of loathing and loss plagues me, but I am not surprised. Maxian has not just taken her hand, but her current and future livelihoods.
Her eyes fill with tears. “Eli has offered me a place in his kitchens. It would be a Scarp position, but it’s something. I’m thankful, but…”
My friend will not look at me. I brush my shoulder against hers. It feels like the greatest of leaps when she leans against me.
“I was born in Reign, have never lived anywhere else. My mother walked those halls, my father fixed up those chambers, so what will become of them now? There are no markers to visit, no records save for debt I paid off years ago, as if I were ashamed of them. It was all I had left of my family, to exist where they did, and now that is gone.”
My arm wraps around her shoulder, and Lila cries. She cries and I pull her closer and cry with her.
“They cannot understand,” I say. “These spaces—they are our only inheritance.”
To the High Fae, we are a rotation of stuff they want to always keep current. Yet for us, our lives and livelihoods are ripped up and planted somewhere else at the whim of a cruel gardener, always cultivating an aesthetic, with little regard for the roots we attempt to put down.
“And the king…” Lila swallows. “The things he said!”
“I know.”
“I didn’t even know he thought like that.”
“I know.”
“And he kept…going. He kept going, but I didn’t break.”
Now my heart breaks again for my friend. “Oh, Lila…”
We sit in silence for a moment, hugging each other, before I dig into my pocket.
“Here.” I pull out a folded blank parchment paper and a small tin.
With the push of my thumb, the top springs open.
Inside, a small, thin paintbrush lies next to four spheres of clay, each with an indent at the top.
“It’s paint. You can take it wherever you go and just moisten the tops of it—the pigment will remain in the indent here. ”
“But…” Lila blinks. “Paint’s expensive!”
“I had the coin.” I pass the tin onto her lap and she grips it. Her severed arm emerges from the folds of her skirts, the end wrapped up in bandages. I force myself not to stare.
“Avery.” Lila looks at me. “You know you did not have to bring something for me to still want to be friends.”
“I know.”
“But I appreciate it.” Lila leans in once more, closer this time. “I grow tired, but you must visit me again. Tell me: How are you faring?”
“Better,” I say, and I mean it, hugging my friend once more. “So much better.”
“Have you returned to it? The…”
I scan the garden, quiet and yet not vacant. Shaking my head, I reply: “We should not speak of this.”
“Listen to me.”
“Lila, look what has happened! You have lost—I mean—”
“Do not use my injury for your narrative,” she seethes.
I close my mouth, blinking. Looking into her face, I do not find fear or even anger, just the hard lines of her conviction.
“Yes, look at what has happened. We have been burned, badly, and what does it mean? That we are closer to the fire than ever before. I don’t just mean the tapestry and its truth,” she whispers.
“It feels as if everything has unraveled around us. As if there’s a larger picture than just his… heritage.”
“The king is always the most powerful fae in the land.” I echo the old adage, and we swap a look.
Lila is not wrong. She is rarely wrong, and she’s brave enough to look it in the face.
Reign power corrupted that chestnut tree, kept it alive to co-opt its strength.
Is Maxian intrinsically the strongest in the land?
Or does his power come from something else?
And where do we faeries fit into this picture, if at all?
“We still didn’t make it to the very center,” she says.
The empty circle on the map. The odd curved walls of Reign that seem built around something.
The energy surging up from the drains, the voices wailing to be heard.
The strange magic that felt more right than anything ever before.
We uncovered the truth of Maxian that night, but that does not mean we learned the truth of Versara.
Hello again.
“You heard the screams, too, the first time we went into the salon,” I say. A shiver ripples down my back.
“Something is there,” Lila urges.
A thousand voices, screaming for help.
“Or someone.”
That afternoon, as Eli leads me out of the House of Healing, stuffed with our world’s knowledge, forever gatekept from faeries, I think that Lila and I are so close to the center of a labyrinth that keeps our kind wandering aimlessly in the dark.
But mazes must be built around something. For what is a game without a prize?
What do the High Fae play with the most?
Our freedom.