Chapter 16
Rafe
Talia’s sister left the Fifth Wing carrying nothing but a troubled expression.
She entered with a basket. I knew because I had spent twenty minutes trying to convince her that visitors traditionally paid tribute to every heir, not only the one they were related to.
Camilla remained unmoved.
When she departed, the basket stayed behind.
That should have meant the visit went well. Talia had honey cakes. I had already stolen two.
Instead, she stood in the study doorway watching her sister walk down the corridor.
The outer door closed.
Talia remained there.
Sebastian sat inside the study with three open books and appeared not to notice.
He noticed everything, but pretending otherwise allowed him to avoid conversations involving feelings.
Leander had left for another meeting with the headmaster, while Torren was downstairs questioning the healers about Talia’s training restrictions.
That left me.
The obvious choice.
People mistook humor for an inability to recognize pain. Usually, that suited me. If they were busy expecting a joke, they rarely noticed how carefully I chose the moment to make one. Talia needed something easier to fight than whatever her sister had left behind.
“You look terrible,” I said.
Talia turned. “Thank you.”
“I don’t mean physically.”
“That did not improve it.”
“The scale is interesting.”
Her left hand moved over her wrapped wrist.
I had tried to see it three times that morning. The first attempt produced nothing. The second produced a flash of color so brief I thought I imagined it. On the third, Sebastian held the light while Talia adjusted her arm, and I finally saw the transparent edge.
I had never seen a scale without color.
I had also never seen someone look frightened by proof that she was exactly what she had spent years wishing to become.
“Your sister didn’t like it?” I asked.
“She was surprised.”
“She hid it well.”
“You were listening?”
“The room was quiet.”
“You were in the common room.”
“Yes.”
“We were in the study.”
“Also yes.”
The wall runes turned orange.
I smiled. “You’re starting to understand how this works.”
“I understand that you enjoy irritating me.”
“The room enjoys it too.”
“I’m going to the archive.”
I stepped in front of her.
“No.”
She stopped so abruptly that the crystal torc flashed against her throat. “Have you been taking lessons from Torren?”
“He’s very persuasive when he uses that word.”
“Move.”
“You’ve spent the morning being examined. You spent the afternoon telling your sister everything that happened. Now you want to spend the evening working.”
“I have work.”
“You always have work.”
“The First Trial record was altered. The Fifth Wing contains sealed cabinets. I manifested a scale no one can identify.”
“And all of those things will remain mysterious for an hour.”
What I wanted was one hour in which she did not have to be an anomaly, an heir, or a problem waiting to be solved. I had no intention of saying that aloud. She might have mistaken me for someone sensible.
“You don’t know that.”
“If one of them resolves itself while we’re gone, Sebastian will be ecstatic.”
Her gaze shifted past me toward the study.
Sebastian turned a page.
Traitor.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To show you something.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what it is.”
“If you found an unidentified object in the Fifth Wing and touched it without telling anyone—”
“I didn’t touch it.”
She stared at me.
“I can follow rules.”
“For how long?”
“Nearly an entire afternoon.”
The orange runes became gold.
Talia looked upward and sighed.
“Where is it?”
“Through the kitchen.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It’s perfectly safe.”
“You said that about the Trial.”
“No. I said the Trial probably wouldn’t kill us before dinner. We survived until after breakfast.”
She tried to remain serious.
The corner of her mouth betrayed her.
I moved aside and gestured toward the kitchen. “After you.”
“You are not walking behind me.”
“I’m wounded by the implication.”
“You’ll recover.”
She followed me anyway.
The Fifth Wing kitchen had become increasingly generous since Talia put on the crystal torc.
Food appeared in the cold-storage chest every morning.
The oven heated when anyone approached, though it responded fastest to Torren.
Cabinets that were empty the first day now contained dried herbs, flour, oil, and enough tea to keep Leander tolerable.
One wall remained bare.
I went to it and lifted the narrow wooden panel beside the pantry.
Talia leaned closer. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”
“It was. You were busy threatening me with the Chalice of Rhyne.”
“I did not threaten you.”
“You let me believe a cup might remove my tongue.”
“For three seconds.”
“I’ve suffered longer for less.”
Behind the panel, a silver lever sat inside the wall.
Talia reached toward it, then stopped. “You said you didn’t touch anything.”
“I said I didn’t touch the thing I’m showing you.”
“You touched this.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“A door opened.”
She looked at the unbroken wall.
“It closed again.”
“That may be because you weren’t meant to open it.”
“Or because I didn’t possess the correct torc.”
“Your torc opened the Storm path.”
“It also tried to throw me from a platform.”
“Another reason to stop touching unknown mechanisms.”
“You’re here to supervise now.”
Before she could object, I pulled the lever.
A seam appeared in the bare wall. Stone slid aside, exposing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
Talia did not look impressed.
“You opened that alone?”
“I stopped at the bottom.”
“Why?”
“The next door wouldn’t admit me.”
“So you did touch the thing you’re showing me.”
“I touched the first thing. I didn’t touch the second.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
The gold runes in the kitchen brightened.
“You enjoy this,” she said.
“Very much.”
She removed a small lamp from the pantry shelf and activated it before entering the staircase.
I followed.
“You said I couldn’t walk behind you.”
“I reconsidered. If you trigger something, I want you in front of me.”
“Practical.”
The stairs descended farther than the tower should have allowed. The air grew warmer rather than colder, carrying the scent of damp soil.
At the bottom, a clear door blocked the passage.
Five circular marks had been cut around its frame. Storm responded when I approached, but the other four remained dark. The center held the same nearly invisible pattern as Talia’s torc.
“Did you try your power?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I may occasionally ignore instructions, but I’m not stupid.”
“The distinction remains unconfirmed.”
Her lamp lit the edges of the door. Beyond it, only darkness showed.
Talia stepped closer.
The center mark awakened.
Red, violet, silver, and blue moved around the frame even though the other men remained several floors above us. The colors reached the clear rune and disappeared.
The door opened inward.
Warm air passed over us.
I sent a thin current ahead before either of us crossed the threshold. It slipped between the paths and returned without the metallic taste of active traps. A second current circled Talia, testing the air around her, then settled against her back as if Storm itself meant to urge her inside.
Talia raised the lamp.
We stood at the edge of a garden.
Not an abandoned courtyard with a few surviving plants.
A complete garden extended beyond the door, enclosed by high crystal walls and a ceiling too dark to see.
Stone paths curved between trees, flowering vines, and beds of unfamiliar herbs.
A narrow stream crossed beneath three small bridges before disappearing among the foliage.
Soft light came from white blossoms growing along the walls.
Talia stepped through the doorway.
Every blossom brightened.
“How long has this been here?” she whispered.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
She turned slowly, examining the walls and the arch behind us. “The stonework matches the original tower foundation.”
“So centuries.”
“Possibly.”
“The plants don’t look dead.”
“I noticed.”
She crouched beside the nearest bed without touching anything. Small silver leaves grew in clusters around pale green stems.
“I don’t recognize these.”
“An admission of ignorance. I should have brought Sebastian.”
“Bring him next time.”
“Next time?”
Talia stood. “You said you discovered the door today.”
“Last night.”
“And the garden looked like this?”
“I never entered. The door stayed closed.”
“But you could see through it.”
“A little.”
“Were these flowers open?”
I looked toward the white blossoms.
“No.”
The entire wall now glowed.
Talia walked deeper into the garden.
I remained a few steps behind, watching the path change beneath her feet. The stones looked ordinary before she touched them. After she passed, fine clear lines appeared across their surface.
“Stop,” I said.
She froze.
“What?”
“Step backward.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
“That phrase has not worked well for me recently.”
“Once.”
“You led me into a sealed Trial.”
“Malcolm did that.”
“You supported entering.”
“Because staying outside sounded dull.”
She gave me a look but stepped backward.
The clear lines vanished from the stone.
“Forward again.”
She did.
Light appeared beneath her boots and traveled toward the garden beds.
Plants moved.
Not from wind. The leaves turned toward her. Vines shifted along the walls, and closed buds rose from the soil beside the path.
Talia stared.
The buds opened.
Crystal petals unfolded from them, transparent at first. When the wall light passed through, color broke across the ground.
They matched her scale.
“Did that happen when you entered?” she asked.
“No.”
“Perhaps the garden responds to any heir.”
“Then it would have responded to me through the door.”
“You weren’t inside.”
I walked past her.
Nothing changed beneath my boots.
No new flowers opened.
I stepped from the path, approached the nearest tree, and placed one hand against its trunk.
Silver leaves rustled, but the crystal flowers remained turned toward Talia.
“The wing likes you better,” I said.
“That is not what this means.”
“It made you clothing, a bed, a torc, and now flowers.”
“It made all of us clothing and beds.”
“Mine didn’t glow when I touched it.”
“Perhaps because Storm light isn’t clear.”
“That explanation made less sense as you spoke.”
She ignored me and crouched beside the crystal blossoms. This time, she reached out.
Her fingers brushed one transparent petal.
Color raced through the entire bed.
Talia’s face changed.
The worry she carried from the study loosened. Wonder took its place, open enough that I could see the girl who must have spent years waiting for the first sign of her dragon.
I liked irritating her.
I liked this more.
Wonder softened every guarded line in her face. For once she was not measuring whether she had earned the right to stand among us. The hidden garden had opened for her, and she let herself be delighted by it.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For ignoring the rules?”
“For bringing me here.”
“They’re often the same thing.”
She ran one finger along the edge of the petal. “Camilla thinks I should be careful what I tell all of you.”
“Reasonable.”
Her hand stopped. “You agree?”
“We’re rivals.”
“That’s what she said.”
“She was passed over for you.”
Talia rose. “Camilla isn’t trying to hurt me.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You implied I shouldn’t trust her.”
“I implied everyone wants something.”
“What do you want?”
The direct question caught me before I could offer an entertaining answer.
I looked around the garden.
“Freedom,” I said.
“From what?”
“People who claim rules are sacred because the rules keep them in charge.”
Storm had been bred into my line as proof of obedience to the crown. Every tutor I ever had called that inheritance an honor. None appreciated being asked why an honor required so many locks.
“That sounds rehearsed.”
“I’ve had practice.”
“Is that why you want the crown?”
“It’s why I don’t want Leander to have it.”
She glanced back toward the path. “He abandoned an open gate for us.”
“I noticed.”
“Did it change your opinion?”
“I haven’t decided. I dislike changing my opinions before dinner.”
The crystal flowers brightened again.
Talia smiled.
I moved closer.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I wanted to become a relic scholar.”
“Past tense?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
“You don’t want the crown?”
“I don’t know what I would do with it.”
“That puts you ahead of most people who want one.”
She looked up at the dark crystal ceiling. “I wanted to shift.”
“Still past tense?”
Her fingers moved over the wrap around her wrist.
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
I followed her gaze upward.
The ceiling began to clear.
Darkness receded, revealing an opening high above the garden. Stars appeared through it, sharp and bright. The walls had not enclosed a buried courtyard at all. The Fifth Wing had created open sky where no opening should exist.
Talia stared.
“Have you ever flown?” I asked.
“On an air carriage.”
“That does not count.”
“It left the ground.”
“So does a thrown rock.”
“No one has offered to throw me.”
“Torren might if you call it training.”
She laughed.
The sound carried through the garden.
More crystal flowers opened.
I looked toward the clearing beneath the open sky.
It was large enough for a dragon to shift.
More than large enough to launch.
Dragons carried each other from battle when they had no choice. We did not offer our backs casually. A rider sat between the wings, above the vulnerable line of the spine, trusted with balance and direction while the dragon surrendered the sky beneath them both.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Talia followed my attention. “What happens tomorrow?”
“You fly.”
Her smile disappeared. “I don’t have wings.”
“I do.”
The garden runes turned gold.