“Never, Keeper Erania.” My voice stays firm. “But you must understand. Amara is not as she was. Her power has changed. Grown. It is… something new. Something beyond anything the Sundered Kingdom has ever seen.”
Her eyes narrow. “Explain.”
“She still heals,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But that gift, her healing, it’s twisted now, bound to another force. She wields green fire. It burns from her very skin, devouring everything in its path. It spares her only because she can command it, because she heals herself through it. But this time, her rune was damaged in battle. She couldn’t control it. The fire consumed her.”
Erania shakes her head. “The Sisters cannot heal themselves. They can only heal others.”
I draw a slow breath. “Amara can. But only by inflicting pain on herself first.”
Erania laughs then. A brittle, broken sound that scrapes the air raw. My chest tightens at the sound.
“Of course,” she says, her voice trembling with fury and grief. “Since the day she left the Grove, since she met you, her life has been nothing but pain. What choice did she have but to make something of it? Turn suffering into salvation, as only our Jewel could.” Her hands shake. The runes along the staff blaze so brightly now they nearly blind me. “You never should have had her.”
“I agree,” I say quickly, and the admission startles her. “I tell myself that every day. I wish I had never laid eyes on Amara Tyne. Never heard her voice. Never breathed her in. Never felt her touch.” The words scrape my throat. “Even though she made me a better creature than I ever deserved to be. If it meant she could have stayed here, with her people, untouched by the horrors beyond these trees, I would take it all back. I would have gladly drowned in my own darkness, lived a thousand years in despair if it stopped her from boarding that ship. Before I could love her. Before I could ruin her. Before our fates were tangled, only to be sundered to ash.”
I meet her burning gaze. “So yes, Keeper Erania. I never should have had her. Does that ease your ire?”
Her jaw tightens. The runes on her staff blaze bright. “No. It does not, Prince of Lies.”
Smoke stirs under my skin, shadows whispering for release, but I hold them back.
She is owed her anger.
Slowly, her fury cools. The runes etched into her staff dim, fading to nothing. “But you brought her home,” she says at last. “To her people. To the Souls and the earth, so she might once more feel the sunlight on her face and the soil between her toes. That is the everlasting wish of all Tenders before the end.”
I stiffen. “This is not the end.” My voice is low, hard. “Mirael said the earth will heal her.”
Erania lifts her gaze to the treetops. I follow, finding Mirael high among the branches, staring toward the bruised sky and the pale moon rising between the leaves. Even from here, I can feel her sorrow, the shimmer of her tears, the heaviness of her thoughts.
“The Souls give the earth power,” Erania says softly. “But Mirael knows, as do I, it is not guaranteed.”
I bow my head. “She told me. About her sisters.”
“Lira and Saren fought bravely,” Erania replies, her voice threaded with strength and woe. A tapestry she weaves like no other. “Their sacrifice saved many lives. We laid them in the soil quickly, and we waited. But after a time, we knew they would not rise.”
The question catches in my throat, barely a whisper. “When did you know?”
Her expression softens, the first trace of sympathy she’s shown me. “When the flowers wilted, we knew they were gone.”
Relief surges through me, fierce and bright. I remember the lavender blooms that blanket the earth where Amara lies. The blossoms are still sweet, still vibrant. Still alive.
My wife is not lost.
I clear my throat, masking the swell of solace in my chest. “Thank you, Keeper Erania, for allowing my people to remain here in the Grove.”
Her frown deepens. “We weren’t given much of a choice.”
For a moment, I brace for the runes on her staff to flare again, but they stay dim. “Still,” she concedes, “your people are proving useful. The Grove suffered greatly under the Legion’s attacks, so we welcome your warriors’ aid as we rebuild.”
Her gaze drifts past me, toward Solena, who appears to be lecturing a group of villagers on theproperway to stack firewood. Erania sighs. “Even if that one is a little… overzealous.”
I almost smile. “Do I need to post my Blades along the forest border?” I ask, straightening. “To intercept any further Legion strikes?”
Erania tilts her head, considering. “With our numbers so few, we would not refuse some scouts, especially ones with wings. The Souls do their best to protect us.” A faint, wry smile tugs at her lips. “Those who dare venture too deep into the woods soon find themselves devoured by the forest. Swallowed by sinkholes, mauled by bears, gored by stags.”
Her words shouldn’t unsettle me, but the pleasant curve of her smile makes them far more chilling than they should be.
“Still,” she continues, “enough have survived to leave their mark, but it’s been quiet lately. We’ve neither seen nor heard anything from the Legion since your arrival.” Her tone turns thoughtful. “Perhaps your presence keeps them away?”
