The smooth stone floor of the sick ward below our home darkens as my tears slip through my fingers, pooling between them before falling. Talen lies motionless before me, his breath too shallow, his skin too pale. The bed around him is adorned with lilies and roses, a stark contrast to the painted grey walls of the room he lies in—Saren’s attempt to bring comfort where words have failed. She had gathered them from the garden while I sat nearby, too drained to move and too lost in my own helplessness.
His wounds have been cleaned, stitched, and re-bandaged so many times that there is nothing left of the blood that soaked his clothes. But even in sleep, his face is tight with pain, as if he still aches. The physical wound is healing—a small row of stitches at the base of his neck, the only thing left of the injury that nearly took him. But Talen is still asleep. Unmoved. Unchanged.
It has been three days since we brought him home. Three days of trying. Of failing. I’ve used vervain, prunella, and roseroot—each alone, then in careful combinations. I’ve tried milder herbs, stronger ones, different methods, desperate for anything that might wake him from this sleep. But nothing works.
Since that day in the clearing, where Corvin and I laid him in the wheelbarrow we had used to move the strange earth, nothing has changed. We ran him home as fast as we could, my hands pressing a lamb’s ear bandage against the wound, whispering desperate prayers to the Guardians. Begging. I had let the doctors take over after that, though I had watched enough surgeries to stitch him myself if I had to.
But I don’t want to. I shouldn’t have to.
I just want him to wake up.
A light tap at the door barely registers before it creaks open, and Corvin steps inside. In one hand, he carries a light blanket, in the other, a plate with something balanced carefully on top.
“Your dad let me in. Said you’d be up here,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. He crosses the room and sets the blanket on the end table behind me before pulling a chair up beside mine. Without a word, he slides the plate before me—a delicate white dish with blue-painted edges. In the center sits a small slice of sableberry pie, its rich, dark filling still gleaming under the dim light.
I recognize it instantly. The slice he had saved for me before we left for the clearing. Before everything changed.
“It’s fresh,” Corvin says, as if that might make a difference. “Mom wouldn’t dare let you eat three-day-old pie.”
He holds the plate a moment longer, watching me, then shrugs when I don’t reach for it. With a small sigh, he sets it aside next to the blanket.
“You’ve tried Roseroot, right?” he asks gently, his gaze shifting to Talen.
I tense. “Of course I’ve tried Roseroot. And Prunella, and vervain, and feverfew—” The words snap out before I can stop them. I take a sharp breath, forcing myself to calm down. Corvin didn’t hurt Talen. There’s no reason to take my frustrations out on him.
I exhale slowly, my voice quieter when I speak again. “I’ve tried everything I can think of. It’s only been a few days, and I still have time to figure something else out, but... I don’t know what else to try.”
My mind circles through the same thoughts over and over. I’ve exhausted every local remedy, every plant I could possibly get my hands on. We hadn’t even finished setting up the clearings to test growing anything from outside the region. Not that it would help. No one has successfully brought anything back in years.
Anyone who leaves Briarholt either returns injured or doesn’t return at all, and I was now unlucky enough to have a brother in both categories.
“We’ll think of something,” he says, wrapping an arm around me and gently stroking my arm in a way that feels soft—loving. “I’ll talk to my dad, see if he has any books or knows of anything else in the area that we might have overlooked.”
Of course. His dad. The Harvest-binder would be the first person in Briarholt to know of any plants that could help. I mentally kick myself for being too overwhelmed by my own emotions to use even a shred of common sense. I turn to Corvin, my eyes pleading.
“Do you think there’s something else?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, it sounds like you’ve already gone through everything I would have checked myself, and I trust your judgment. Honestly, you could be the Harvest-binder’s kid.” He glances away as he says it.
I ignore the comment, irritation flickering at the edges of my mind, and refocus on Talen. “Maybe he knows of something nearby. Or something in the woods I’ve never heard of. There has to be something.”
“He’ll be okay, Leora.” Corvin stands, turning to face me before extending a hand. “You, however, won’t be if you don’t get out of this room. You need fresh air, food—and, honestly, a shower wouldn’t hurt.”
I glare up at him, heat rushing to my face. Instantly embarrassed.
“I knew that, and I don’t need your reminder. Thank you.” My words come sharper than intended, but I don’t correct them. Instead, I push myself up from the chair I’ve been trapped in for hours, my muscles aching from disuse. I’ve only left this room to eat once or twice, to gather more herbs, or to send Saren for fresh bandages.
I changed clothes when we first got home—while the doctors stitched Talen up—but I wouldn’t call myself clean. My hair is a tangled mess, the bun on my head resembling a weaver bird’s nest. My face is blotched with dried tears, my eyes swollen from too many days of frustration and sorrow.
Corvin isn’t wrong, but his I-know-better-than-you attitude is what irks me the most. Even when he’s right, he’s still wrong. I walk past him, abandoning the pie and blanket, but his hand closes lightly around my wrist, stopping me.
I sigh, turning to face him. “What? I’m doing what you told me to do.” If only to get away from your nagging.
“You still don’t want the pie? I brought it for you,” he says, his brows furrowing.
“I’m not hungry. Thanks, though. Can you have Saren put it in the icebox? I’ll try to eat later.” I try to pull my arm free, but his grip tightens slightly. Our eyes lock as he steps closer.
“Don’t do this to me, Leora. I’m just trying to help.” His voice is more frustrated than caring, but I know—somewhere in there—he means well. It’s not that he doesn’t care about me. It’s just that he cares about himself more.
“I know, Corvin. Thank you.” My voice softens, though I don’t let him see the full extent of my exhaustion. “I’ll find you when I’m ready.”
I turn toward the door, but before I can reach for the handle, it swings open.
My mother steps into the doorway. Her wavy auburn hair and dark eyes mirror Talen’s, but her skin is lighter. She hasn’t left the house much since my oldest brother disappeared, and the shadows beneath her eyes show just how little sleep she’s gotten. The woman who once knelt beside me in the garden, breaking tough earth with her bare hands, now carries the weight of a warrior—cold, detached, unreadable.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to have company,” she says, eyes flicking to Corvin. “Hello. Good to see you.”
“It’s no trouble; I was just leaving.” Corvin’s voice is polite, but his glance toward me lingers before he gestures toward the door.
“Me too. I’m going to shower,” I add quickly, slipping past my mother.
“Leora, can I speak with you for a moment?”
I freeze. Shit. Here we go.
“I’ll leave you two alone. See you later, Leora.” Corvin offers me one last half-smile, half-grimace—almost as if he’s wishing me luck—before disappearing down the hall.
The door shuts behind him, and my mother turns back to me, scanning my wrinkled clothes, my tangled hair.
“You look tired,” she says.
I exhale sharply. That’s all she has to say? Talen lies unconscious in a cold, white room with nothing but a flickering light and a bed tray, and she comments on me?
“I did say I was going to clean up, didn’t I?” My voice is dry.
She doesn’t react to my tone. “I wasn’t criticizing. I was merely pointing out that you haven’t left Talen’s side since you returned. Have you tended to your garden? Done anything to ease your mind?”
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Her words aren’t cruel, but they strike me as patronizing.
“No,” I admit. “Saren does an excellent job taking care of my plants. And as I said, I was on my way to take care of myself.” I keep my voice even. Talen doesn’t need me losing my temper in here.
“There’s no need for shortness.”
She hesitates, glancing at Talen. For a moment, her face softens, a flicker of worry crossing her features—then, just as quickly, it’s gone.
“I came here to tell you that your father will be conducting a council meeting in the morning.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “He wasn’t going to inform you, but I knew you’d want to know. He won’t allow you to attend, so you must pretend you know nothing.”
I blink, thrown by the secrecy in her tone.
She barely speaks anymore—let alone to warn me about something.
She studies me again, but this time, it’s not with the same detached indifference. There’s sadness in her face.
“I’ve done all I can to keep this from reaching you.” She exhales, the weight of something unspoken lingering between us. “I love you, Leora.”
Then, just as quickly, she turns and leaves.
The warmth in her voice vanishes the moment she steps into the hallway, her mask slipping back into place.
I stand there, frozen.
What was that?
Secrets. From Mom.
I turn toward Talen’s bedside, pressing my hand over his and squeezing his fingers gently. “I’ll be back soon,” I whisper. “I promise.”
Taking a breath, I finally step away, heading toward the stairs that lead to my room and bath.
The lights in my room are already on, casting a soft glow over the space. On the end table beside my bed, a green stained-glass vase overflows with vibrant yellow tulips—undoubtedly Saren’s doing. I’ll have to find her once I regain my sanity and thank her for all the little things she does. She doesn’t have to be here; she chooses to be.
We grew up together. Every Friday, her father brought her to our manor, where we’d run barefoot through the backyard near the treeline while he tended to the horses. We became friends, and in her teenage years, she began working around the house to earn extra money for her family. When her father fell ill, my father let her step in full-time, paying her handsomely for her work. She’s been grateful ever since, going above and beyond for our home—not out of duty, but because she cares. And despite being the best aide we’ve ever had, she carries no arrogance about it.
I inhale the scent of the tulips before my gaze drifts to the windowsill. Luma is nowhere to be seen—likely off chasing mice, unbothered by the human troubles weighing me down. Still, part of me wishes she were here, curled in my window, offering the comfort that only she can.
With a sigh, I rinse away the last few days of sweat, dirt, and exhaustion, letting the water cleanse me. My mother’s words burned in my mind. I’ve done everything I can to keep this from you. Keep what from me? I’ve attended plenty of council meetings before—why would my father hide this one from me? And why would my mother go behind his back to tell me?
For now, I’ll heed her warning. I’ll make myself invisible and attend that meeting in secret. Whatever’s happening in there, it must be important.
Once I’m clean, I head downstairs in search of Saren and food. It’s late and she may have already left for the day, but hunger gnaws at me. When I enter the dimly lit dining room, I find the table completely bare. Not so much as a water glass left out. Oh well. Looks like I’m fending for myself.
In the kitchen, the hunger pangs intensify as I spot a beautifully carved chicken still sitting on the counter, surely headed for the pigs tomorrow. Without hesitation, I tear into it with my hands, ripping off a generous slice and sinking my teeth into the tender meat.
"Can’t be bothered to grab a plate or a fork?" Saren’s amused voice drifts into the room. I glance up as she steps into the moonlight spilling through the kitchen window, her pale skin glowing in its silver hue.
I shrug, swallowing my bite. “It was left out, so I figured if it’s going to the pigs, a few fingerprints won’t matter. Getting silverware seems like way too much effort right now.”
Saren laughs, shaking her head as she moves past me toward the cupboards. “Not an issue, just marveling at your very… primitive behavior.” She kneels by the stove, pulling out a large metal bowl.
Before she can reach me, I stretch out my hand and tear off another chunk of chicken.
Saren snorts, rolling her eyes as she takes the remaining chicken and drops it into the bowl, wrapping it in cloth. She sets it on the counter beside her and leans against it, facing me. “How are you feeling?”
If there’s anyone on this planet I can talk to, it’s Saren. She and Maelis are the only two I trust anymore, the only ones who truly understand me. But still, I hesitate to unload all my frustrations on her now. I’m sure she has her own problems to deal with.
“I’m okay.” I shrug, as though my older brother’s condition doesn’t weigh heavily on me. “We’ll figure it out.” I pause, then add, “But I wanted to thank you for the flowers by Talen’s bed. They really bring some life to the awful gray walls. He’ll be so pleased when he wakes up.” I wink at her, offering a small smile as I shove another bite of turkey into my mouth. Table manners? Never been my strong suit, especially around friends.
“The ones by my bed were a nice surprise, too, by the way. Thank you, Saren.”
“Of course.” She gives me a soft, understanding look, but I can see the concern behind her eyes. She’s worried about me, and I don’t want that. This isn’t her burden.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. Is there anything else I can do to help?” Her voice is gentle and quiet.
“No, you’ve already done so much.” I give her a tired smile. “Tonight, I’m going to take a walk through my garden, check on the moonflower, and then I’ll stay with Talen in his room again. Don’t worry about anything—I'll grab my own pillows. You just head home and get dinner to your family.”
“Alright, then.” She exhales, nodding in agreement. “The pie Corvin left for you is on the counter. Mrs. Wylder might have a fit if you don’t eat it—he said you already turned down a slice the day you found Talen.” She gives me a pointed look, then smiles. “I’d eat it if I were you.”
With that, she steps around the counter, her arms opening wide as she pulls me into a tight hug.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, squeezing me once more before letting go. “Get some rest. I won’t pry, but don’t think I’ve forgotten—we have gossip to share.”
I laugh softly as I return her hug, then release her. She walks toward the entryway, the sound of her heels clicking softly on the hard wooden floor fading as she leaves.
Once I’ve finished eating the handful of chicken I’m still holding onto, I grab the plate of pie from off the counter and unwrap the paper that covers it. Mmmm.
I head out the back door of the house and into the garden, fork and plate in hand. The sun is beginning to set, casting a pink glow across the grass and into my personal garden beds. I walk through the rows of flowers and herbs, savoring each bite of pie until the next season, and trying to think of anything but my current situation. I wonder if I can pick enough sableberries on my own to dry and keep all year as well, just like Mrs. Wylder did? Then, I wouldn’t have to pay a small fortune for them as supplies run low. It’s one of the best berries we can get around Briarholt.
As I approach my growing moonflower, I sigh with disappointment and set the fork down on my plate. It looks no different than it did the last time I checked on it. A tiny single green sprout with two tiny little leaves stands proud in the damp earth, barely three inches high. I had been patiently caring for this seedling for six months with so little pleasure in the process. It looks no different than any other seedling I’ve ever cared for, but its rarity intrigues me. Talen had brought home a flower after a smaller mission he was sent out on last year, not knowing that what he had found was a flower of myths and legends. I don’t believe in the magic that the legends claim, but I’ve cared for its seeds all the same, in hopes I can grow more and study them to see if they hold any medicinal properties. Only one, out of the handful of them I had collected, had sprouted.
I’m just about to step away from the moonflower when I hear my name from inside the manor.
“LEORA, HE’S AWAKE.”
It’s my mother. I drop the plate and fork where I stand – I’ll come back for it later – and sprint for the back door.
When I make it to Talen’s bedside, his eyes are still closed, but his expression is more pained than it was earlier. His mouth lay open, his breathing heavy.
“Are you sure he’s awake?” I turn to my mother and father, who is standing in the corner of the room, staring at me.
“Rude—” my brother’s voice says, quiet and raspy. I turn to face him and see just his right eye peaking open at me as though the light in the room causes him pain. He’s awake, and he’s speaking—not just speaking, making jokes. Maybe he had healed on his own; maybe something I had done had finally worked. Either way, I wasn’t going to question it. I stepped towards him, reaching out for his hand and choking back the tears that pooled in my eyes.
“I’ve been sitting by your bedside, waiting for you to wake up, and all you can do is call me rude?” I smile through the emotional whirlwind I’m experiencing, as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? Where is—”
I’m cut off of my ramble as my father steps forward, his brows furrowed and his lips forming a straight, flat line. He and my mother hadn’t said a word since I’d entered the room now that I think of it.
“I’m sorry, Talen, but I have to ask. What happened to you? Where is your crew? The search party has been out for 3 days and has found no one. Did you lose them all?” He says, all emotion shifting to that broody Keeper of Briarholt again. My mother stood behind him unmoved, her face cold and emotionless as always, but this time, her shoulders were a bit more relaxed, as though she felt relief over Talen’s waking. Talen closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath that left him coughing while he clutched the bandages on his left side.
“Is now seriously the time to do this, Dad? He just woke up. Can’t your questions wait until he’s recovered a bit?” I say, wiping the tears from my eyes and taking a small step closer to Talen, putting myself just between him and our father.
“It’s fine, Leora,” Talen says between short breaths. Just speaking appears to be painful for him. “We lost two… Zyra and Kian… in a battle just outside the Cindralis… when the emperor refused …our request for help and …forced us out of the land.” Talen pauses for length, catching his breath. “We made it through…Elymoria, alright… but we lost Merrill and Astrid… a few miles outside of… Briarholt.”
Shock floods the faces of every one of us but Talen. This close to home? It’s always been dangerous to travel near the divide, and more recently, you're lucky to escape places like Elymoria unscathed. But towns like Briarholt and Cindralis had been unaffected by the growing darkness until now. Does this mean it’s… getting stronger? My mother finally steps forward.
“Outside of Briarholt? This close? How?” she says, now standing next to my father at the foot of Talen’s bed.
“Some creature,” he says, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if trying to avoid looking at us. “Like a wolf or something… but… bigger”. A look of panic flashes across my father’s face, and his eyes widen, but he controls it quickly and nods his head in a manner of approval to Talen.
“I’m glad to see you made it home, son. Why don’t you get some more rest. We’ll worry about your next recovery steps another time.” He turns to me, nodding a second time, and exits the room, leaving my mother and I alone with Talen. My mother stands at the foot of his bed for a few moments longer, staring at Talen with concern and anger, as though he were a child and not her fully grown son. He hasn’t looked down at us again, seemingly lost in whatever terrifying memory he had to return to to answer our father’s questions. Mom takes a breath and says a phrase we haven’t heard in quite some time.
“I love you. Thank you for coming home.” I faintly think I can see moisture in her eyes, maybe the smallest hint of redness. But before I can look long enough to confirm my thoughts, she slips swiftly out the door and down the hall.
