45. Willow
Chapter 45
Willow
W e join other Radiants, their Shadows, Alfie, and the Earl at Heliodor’s gates. While we wait for them to open, I scan the camp one last time. Plenty of campfires flicker in the darkness, but no sign of Nightmares. The Gentle Interlude seems genuine. Was this all just an elaborate vacation?
As guards direct us through three sets of gates, my breath catches. The city spirals up a mountain in dizzying terraces. In the distance, the palace’s crystal spires pierce the sky.
Only the waiting carriage reminds me of Avorlorna. It glides on fey lines, propelled by swirling, luminous giant wisps. As we settle in, I brave the silence beside Legion’s brooding presence.
“Legion, did you?—”
His razor-sharp glare silences me. “Know your place, Shadow.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I look away, acutely aware of the other passengers. Dahlia sits ramrod-straight beside Lord Ignarius, the picture of Shadow decorum. The hawkish Radiant dismisses me with a glance before resuming his chat with the Earl.
I know Dahlia and Ignarius are having an affair, forbidden or not. But he maintains a professional fa?ade in public. Occasionally, when no other Radiants are watching, he’ll treat her with flowery delicacy. Still, it’s not enough to violate the Old Code’s strictures on Folk-mortal liaisons.
The carriage lurches into motion, bearing us deeper into Heliodor’s stony heart. We jolt over a polished granite bridge, and Legion’s hand grazes my thigh. It lingers—a heartbeat too long—before he snatches it back, fixating on the approaching palace beyond the window.
If only I could blame his coldness on social rules. But he’s just as distant in private. Except for that raw moment when I knelt before him, his memories flooded back, and he gazed upon me as if I were the center of his universe.
We approach a colossal geode palace, its crystalline heart exposed to the moonlight. Cascading gardens adorn the palace walls, rare crystal flowers and bioluminescent vines pulsing with otherworldly light—the sight tugs at memories of Elphyne, a bittersweet ache in my chest.
Lady Nivene’s reverent whisper to her Shadow Irisa catches my ear. “Dagda himself shaped the Adamant Palace from the mountain’s core. His divine hammer struck the stone, and with each blow, the palace grew.”
I lean in, careful not to draw Legion’s attention.
“The Baleful Hunt’s power echoes through every crystal, every stone,” she continues. “On nights when it flies, they say the entire palace sings with Dagda’s strength, a melody that fortifies the soul. Without the Hunt . . .” She pauses, her voice dropping lower. “Some fear the palace might crumble, taking all of Heliodor with it.”
Her words stir something deep within me. Beyond the ache for the Earl’s loss of the Baleful Hunt to Puck, there’s a profound sense of wrongness. The Hunt belongs here, with the House of Stone. It’s an elemental dragon, needing to feed on stone as the others feed on their respective elements.
I glance at Legion, wondering if similar thoughts plague him. His face remains an impassive mask, betraying nothing. No wonder the Six kept their secrets in Elphyne for so long. He’s unreadable.
A shiver runs down my spine as the faintest whisper of crystal song reaches my ears. But as the carriage rolls to a stop and we alight, I realize the sound comes from the wisps powering the line, echoing Lady Nivene’s story.
I flush, remembering too late that our words in the carriage can be repeated. Legion, of course, never forgot. That’s why he told me to be quiet. Somehow, this knowledge draws me closer to him while we walk toward the palace entrance.
The night presses close as the palace staff greets us at the door, their smiles professional yet warm. Their simple, gray attire reminds me painfully of Sylvanar, and I push the thought aside.
Earl Larkspur addresses us. “Our steward will show you to your chambers. Any requests should go through him.” His gaze lingers on Legion. “You’re welcome to explore, but please join us for breakfast in the grand hall at dawn.”
As he walks away with his Shadow, the Earl’s shoulders slump, their footsteps the only sound in the hushed palace. The absence of Dagda’s stone melody hangs in the air like an unspoken lament.
I search Legion’s face for any reaction to the Earl’s distress. His features remain stoic, but there’s a new tightness around his eyes, a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The steward clears his throat as he addresses the remaining group. “If you follow me, I’ll direct you to our finest accommodations.”
Our group dwindles as we move deeper into the palace. Alfie is the first to go, shooting me a dark, unreadable look as he closes his apartment door. What have I done now?
The crystal walls pulse with faint light as if alive and watchful. I force myself to play the dutiful Shadow, letting Legion handle all communication. Even when Dahlia enters Ignarius’s room while other Radiants take separate quarters from their Shadows, I bite back my questions.
Finally, only Legion and I remain. The steward directs us down a winding hall and then stops beside a small, unassuming door, his lips pursed with concern. “Are you quite certain, Knight Commander, you want this room?”
Legion’s eyes narrow. “It is vexing to explain myself.”
He dismisses the steward with a flick of his wrist, then places a palm on the door.
The steward gives me a nervous glance. “If you require anything?—”
“Yes, yes,” Legion cuts him off. “Pull the bell rope in the absence of the resonance network.”
An awkward beat passes before the steward retreats. Legion’s exhale is somewhere between relief and exasperation.
“Don’t dawdle, Willow,” he murmurs, pushing open the door.
I step inside, only to freeze after a few paces. My eyebrows shoot up as I take in our accommodations. Gone is the luxury of the palace. Instead, the room is small and simple, with a single window overlooking rugged cliffs and a vast ocean.
But it’s not the view that has me rooted to the spot. No, it’s the singular piece of furniture dominating the space . . .
There’s only one bed.