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And all at once, it melts.

I take off at a run. The seasons loop around me, faster now, my every step threading me through spring to winter and back. The land is remembering itself. Or maybe it’s remembering me.

We’re home, I tell the roses. Tell myself. We’re home!

My wings stretch behind me, shivering with each different caress of wind. There’s a voice carried on the breeze…no, a hundred voices. A thousand. Echoes in the trees from times long ago. Some are singing, others laughing. Some murmur like old friends. I throw my head back and add my own voice to the chorus: “We’re home!”

These spinning seasons may be a labyrinth, but I’m not lost. The garden is guiding me.

A rush of shimmering light flows past. I stop, breath catching in my throat. The light twinkles, forming shapes: winged cats flying through the air, pegasuses leaping over the trees. And fae running through the grove. Running with me.

I plant my bare feet into the soil, grounding myself. The earth remembers.

And as if the earth has a voice of its own, the word appears in my mind. Ithilias. I know what it means now.

Roseheart.

Silence and stillness blanket the grove. Echoes drift into the distance, and the figures wink out like stars in the dawn. The seasons stop changing, and instead the ground shifts. The trees melt away, becoming something familiar and dear.

A briar.

It’s not golden like my roses or luminescent like Wrenley’s. Nor is it the deep purple of Caspian’s briar. The stems are dark brown, the roses red.

It reminds me of the first rosebush I crawled through. The one that connects my two homes.

I make my way through the rosebush, easily navigating past the thorns. Tangles unknot before me and weave away, revealing a path to the heart of the briar.

There’s a tugging on my ribs, a pushing on my spine. The roses in my satchel seem to beat, urging me on. I run, the briars crawling out of the way for me. Almost there. I know it now.

Then I emerge into a clearing, surrounded by briars on all sides. The golden light beams down upon a patch of soil in the very middle.

I drift toward it, slow and curious. “Is this where you’ll call home?” I pick up the satchel and lift it to my ear as if I’ll hear a response. There’s only that steady heartbeat of magic. I think that means yes.

Falling to my knees, I sink my hands into the dirt. Oh yes. This is good earth. It sings through my fingertips, setting my every nerve alight. There is something very ancient and very wise within the fabric of this isle. Something I don’t understand, and I don’t think even the first fae ever did.

My movements are steady as I reach into the satchel and pull out the first rose: the blush pink. The rose that bloomed for my love with Ezryn, the rose that gives the Spring Realm its powers of rejuvenation, its rebirth, its connection to the earth.

“For Ezryn, my mate and the love of my life,” I whisper as I tuck the dirt around its stem. “For the man who taught me the power of forgiveness, for ourselves and others, and that our hearts are forged by our compassion, not our malice.”

Tears drip down my face as I think of him, my shining knight, cloaked in darkness. He loved me before I could love myself.

Beside it, I dig a hole, then carefully place in the roots of the turquoise rose. May the Summer Realm once again feel the rush of the tide and the pull of the moon, as strong as my love for Dayton.

“This is for Daytonales, my mate and the love of my life. He taught me to face our past so we can learn from it. He spreads sunshine wherever he goes, and with him, I will never be afraid of the dark.”

I caress one of the petals. Dayton never saw my weaknesses; to him, I could be a gladiator, a siren, a queen.

Beside his rose, I plant the orange one, its petals as brilliant as a sunset. “This is for Farron, my mate and the love of my life,” I whisper. My voice is soft as I say, “He taught me to embrace who I am and that true bravery comes from what we’re willing to fight for, not who we fight against.”

A knot forms in my throat, and my vision is blurring now. I never understood what bravery was until I saw what Farron was willing to sacrifice for those he loved.

Finally, with gentle hands, I pull out the sapphire-blue rose and plant it beside Ezryn’s pink one. “This is for Keldarion, my mate and the love of my life.” What words could encapsulate what Kel has meant to me? All the thrown bread rolls, the screaming matches, the nights spent apart, desperate to be in his arms⁠—

And when we finally found each other, truly found each other, the sense of belonging I had was like none I’ve ever known.

“He gave me a home,” I whisper. “He is my home.” And that is everything.

I sit back on my heels, observing the four roses. I know I should be happy, relieved, to see them here in the gardens…but there’s a pain in my chest.