Page 27

“That’s part of the appeal.” His voice drops lower, intended only for me. “Sometimes it’s good to be unrecognizable.”

At his tone, a strange shiver dances over my skin.

“What about including some of the Fusion Root Vine?” Bastian gestures toward a section of the garden where we replanted the peculiar flowers we rescued from the dowager queen’s garden. The color gradient of their petals shifts from deep purple to ebony streaked with blood-red, and their velvety leaves dance in the faintest breeze. “It would be a fitting nod to past events.”

My mind flashes to Dowager Queen Alannah, and my chest squeezes. Sterling’s mother will be missed for a very long time. I can envision her tending to the sometimes-fractious flower, and I ponder how important it became to our success in merging elements. “Isn’t that a waste? They’re so useful for medicine. Fevers, dehydration, merging…seems frivolous to use them for decoration.”

“The flowers and the medicinal parts are different.” Bastian is the one who did all the research after my grandfather’s death, so he would know. “The blooms could be harvested without harming the rest of the plants.”

The thought of featuring the delicate flowers in the wedding brings a smile to my face. “That would be⁠—”

Muffled shouts echo from beyond the far side of the gardens.

Sterling tenses beside me, his relaxed demeanor vanishing in an instant. His hand drifts toward the dagger at his waist.

“What now?” Leesa sighs, and a wariness appears in her eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Without discussion, we head for the commotion, the royal guards closing ranks around us. Elijah’s hand rests on his sword hilt, his fingers flexing as if eager for trouble.

If I were trouble and Elijah had that gleam in his eye, I’d fucking run. Even though I know he’s on my side now, I’m still sometimes leery of the burly brown-haired guard.

Several guards fly ahead, but Sterling, Bastian, and I remain on foot with Leesa and Elijah.

On the far side of the gardens, just outside the walls, lies Viridian’s temple, a structure unlike any other in Tirene.

Verdant vines and flowering plants that shouldn’t thrive together drape the walls on all sides in a living blanket. Where most temples are built of stone and wood, Viridian’s sanctuaries grow, constantly shifting, renewing, dying, and being reborn in endless cycles that mirror the goddess’s domain.

Two massive drakewood trees frame the entrance, their trunks gnarled with age, the branches reaching upward before curving to intertwine above the doorway. Water trickles down the bark, feeding the moss and ferns that carpet the ground beneath.

On a normal day, this place emanates tranquility.

Today, it resembles the center of a brewing storm.

In front of the temple doors, the voices of a growing crowd rise in a jumble of concern and accusation.

A short man with more hair on his face than his head stands at the forefront, his finger jabbing at the vines. “They’re moving on their own! The patterns changed overnight. Tell me that’s normal.”

I nudge my way forward, the crowd parting when they recognize their queen and crown prince. Murmurs of “Your Majesty” ripple outward like stones dropped in still water.

Now I can see what’s caused the disturbance.

Across the temple’s moss-covered walls, water flows upward in weird, deliberate patterns. The paths seem to form words.

In a language I don’t understand.

A middle-aged priestess hurries out from inside, her robes dyed a vibrant green at the shoulders and a rich earthy brown at the hem. Her expression flickers with genuine alarm. “They’re just water stains. The goddess blessing her plants. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Then why are they changing?” An older man with the calloused hands of a craftsman leans closer. “And why do the vines move to cover them when too many people gather? Why are they forming messages⁠—”

“There are no messages!” The priestess steps back toward the open doorway. When her eyes dart to me, they widen in recognition. Before I can address her, she retreats inside, slamming the door shut with a finality that silences the crowd.

Briefly.

“Water?” Sterling kneels to examine the markings where they pulse between unfurling leaves. His fingers hover just above the surface, not quite touching, and I can sense the chill of his magic reaching out.

I crouch beside him. “What is it?”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t know. But it’s deliberate. This water is moving against gravity.”