Bonnie found me near the herb garden just off the northern wing, where the old stone arches gave a view of the sun setting behind the training yard walls. I was sitting on the ledge, arms wrapped around my knees. My sword leaned forgotten against the wall.
She didn’t ask to sit. She just did.
For a long moment, we listened to the birds.
Finally, she said softly, “When I was eleven, I watched a healer mend a boy’s lungs after they collapsed in a duel. It nearly killed her to do it.”
I turned to her.
Bonnie’s eyes didn’t leave the horizon. “You didn’t even look winded.”
“…Is that bad?”
“No,” she said. “But it’s not normal either.”
We sat there in silence again.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” I admitted. “It wasn’t like a spell. It just—happened.”
Bonnie nodded. “Healing like that… it comes from blood. Or the gods. Or both.”
I looked at my palms. They weren’t glowing anymore. Just hands again. But I could still feel that hum beneath my skin, like a thread that hadn’t gone slack yet.
“My mother’s side,” I murmured. “They’ve always been close to the temple. Her sister—”
Bonnie nodded. “The High Priestess of the Eternal Flame. I know.”
I hesitated. “You think I should talk to her?”
Bonnie didn’t answer right away. She studied me the way she studied old maps—carefully, quietly, like the parchment might reveal something if she listened long enough.
“No,” she said. “I think you should speak with your mother first.”
That startled me.
“She’ll want to know before her sister does,” Bonnie added. “And she’ll know what to do. She’s not just a queen. She’s a mother who’s seen what happens when power blooms too fast.”
I nodded slowly.
“And what if…” I hesitated. “What if it’s not a blessing?”
Bonnie smiled faintly. “You didn’t hurt him, Kira. You healed him.”
“But what if it gets stronger?”
She stood, “Then you learn to wield it. The same way you learned to wield a sword. With purpose. With care. And not alone.”
Her voice softened, almost fond. “You’re not alone.”
I breathed in deep. The air still smelled faintly of steel and sun-warmed stone, but the sharp edge of fear had dulled.
I looked toward the palace in the distance—toward the wing where my mother would be, probably halfway through a council meeting.
“I’ll talk to her,” I said quietly. “Tonight.”
Bonnie touched my shoulder once, gently. “Good.”
The Queen’s wing was always quieter than the rest of the palace — all silk-draped halls and warm hearthlight, like it had its own private rhythm.
Bonnie waited behind me as I reached the carved doors, her presence like a shadow of comfort. She gave me a small nod, as if she already knew I needed to go in alone.
I knocked once.
“Come in.”
My mother’s voice was smooth as ever, calm but alert.
I stepped inside. The scent of vanilla and rosewater curled through the air — subtle, familiar. Queen Lyssara sat in a high-backed chair near the fire, letters folded neatly beside her. When her eyes lifted to meet mine, the lines around them softened.
“Kira.”
She always said my name like it mattered.
“Mother,” I said, closing the door behind me.
Queen Lyssara rose from her seat, setting aside her correspondence. Her silver-stitched gown swept across the stone like water. She didn’t rush to embrace me, but she didn’t need to. Her presence filled the room — graceful, distant, deliberate.
But her brow furrowed as she looked at me again. “You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“Which means you’re not.”
I hesitated, then slowly stepped closer. “Something happened.”
The Queen’s posture changed only slightly. But I felt it — like the whole room focused.
“I was with Cassian. He got hurt. Badly.”
Her lips tightened. “Is he all right?”
“Yes,” I said. “I—I healed him.”
A pause.
“I didn’t mean to. It just… happened. I panicked. I touched him, and then it felt like warmth. Like the pain melted. And he was fine. Better than fine.”
I looked at my hands, flexing my fingers like I still expected something to glow.
She reached for my hands.
She examined them quietly, tracing her thumb over the skin of my palm like she was trying to feel something only she could sense.
She reached out, brushing my cheek lightly, her fingertips cool from holding parchment.
“You’ve always been sensitive to things,” she murmured. “The way you read people. The way you carry other people’s weight like it’s your own.”
I blinked, unsure what to say.
She gave a soft hum, something close to a sigh. “Your aunt might be able to help you understand it better.”
I frowned. “The High Priestess?”
“She knows more than most,” the Queen said. “She guides the sacred orders. And she’s family.”
“But this isn’t—this isn’t anything divine, is it? It felt…”
I paused.
“Like a mistake. Or a trick of the blood. I don’t know.”
The Queen didn’t answer that. Instead, she stepped toward the hearth and stirred the embers gently with the wrought-iron poker.
After a long moment, she said, “Sometimes, gifts come before their purpose does.”
Her voice was calm. Measured. But something flickered beneath it — something fragile, carefully buried.
“You don’t think it’s dangerous?”
“I think it’s yours,” she said, looking back at me. “And that’s what makes it powerful.”
She rested a hand briefly on my cheek. Warm. Steady.
“But the world doesn’t always agree with that truth,” she added.
Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to me.
“I will send for her tonight. No one else will know.”
“Not even Father?”
She hesitated — just a flicker.
“I will tell him. In time.”
Then she took a breath, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear like I was still small.
“I don’t know exactly what gift stirs in you, Kira. But it comes from something old. And that kind of power is never a mistake.”
I leaned into her touch before I could think better of it.
And for the first time in days, I felt like the storm inside me had somewhere to go.
The sun had set and with it, the fire lowered now, shadows flickering against the stone walls. My mother had returned to her desk, quill scratching faintly across parchment while I curled on the long velvet settee by the hearth, arms wrapped around a cushion like it might steady me.
A knock echoed softly against the stone of my mother’s sitting room door — not loud, but certain.
Mother, reclined on the velvet couch near the hearth, didn’t seem surprised.
“Enter,” she said, folding her letter closed with care.
The door opened, and in stepped a woman draped in silver and moon-colored silk, her golden hair shimmering like it had been spun from starlight. Her eyes, though—
They were violet. Not like Bonnie’s pale shades or court-precious amethysts. These were deep, piercing, alive. And they flicked instantly to me.
I straightened from where I sat curled near the fire.
“Aunt Lysandra,” I said softly.
She smiled — calm, almost playful. “Waterlilly,” she replied.
My face warmed. Only she and my mother called me that. Somehow, it always sounded like love in their voices.
She closed the door behind her and crossed the room, pausing to press a kiss to my mother’s cheek. “You never told me she’d grown so tall.”
“She stands taller every time I blink,” my mother said, smiling faintly.
I watched them, struck again by how alike they looked. Same bone structure, same voice timbre. But where my mother’s presence was ice and steel beneath velvet, Lysandra was warmth wrapped in mystery — and a quiet strength I could never quite define.
Lysandra turned to me, sitting gracefully beside me on the chaise. “I was told you’ve had quite a day.”
“I… I suppose,” I said, unsure how much she already knew.
The Queen didn’t speak. She just watched, her expression unreadable.
Lysandra reached forward, slowly, like she might touch a spooked bird.
“May I?” she asked, hands palm-up between us.
I hesitated. Then nodded.
Her fingers closed gently around mine — cool, light, like a breeze off a midnight lake. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then her eyes fluttered shut.
A silence fell across the room. Not tense. Sacred.
She didn’t breathe too deeply. She didn’t tremble. But I felt something — a thrum beneath my skin, like a harp string being tested.
Her brows furrowed slightly.
Not in worry. In recognition.
Then she let go, and the moment passed.
Her eyes opened — still glowing faintly with candlelight, violet and unreadable.
“Your magic is strong,” she said softly. “Untamed. But not dangerous.”
“Magic?” I echoed. “It didn’t feel like magic.”
Lysandra tilted her head. “Some things aren’t meant to feel like anything. They simply are.”
She looked to my mother. “It’s not divine. Not entirely. But it responds to the same channels.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means you’re not broken,” Lysandra said gently. “And you’re not cursed.”
I hadn’t said either of those things.
But the words hit something deep in me anyway.
Lysandra leaned back, hands folded in her lap now. “You’ll need time. And guidance. And perhaps… a few visits to The Temple of Valis.”
I blinked. “The Temple of Valis? I thought that was for acolytes.”
“And for those who don’t yet know what they’re becoming.”
My mother finally spoke. “Your aunt is offering help, not confinement.”
“I know,” I said quickly.
Lysandra’s expression softened again. “You’ve always had a quiet force to you, Kira. Even when you were small. I remember when you carried a bird with a broken wing across the courtyard and sat with it until it flew again.”
“I was five,” I said, embarrassed.
“You were five, and already refusing to let go of something fragile.”
My cheeks flushed.
She stood, graceful as ever. “I’ll stay a few nights in the palace. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Wait—” I said before I could stop myself. “Did you feel anything else? When you held my hands?”
She smiled.
Not answering the question.
Instead, she brushed a lock of hair behind my ear — the same way my mother did when she thought no one was watching.
“Sleep well, little falcon. You’ve nothing to fear from yourself.”
And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving the scent of frankincense and silver in her wake.
I looked back to my mother. She hadn't moved.
But her eyes had grown distant again. Like she was already calculating what came next.
“Do you trust her?” I asked softly.
“With my life,” she said.
And then, after a pause: “And yours.”
Two months.
It had been two months since I left the palace — two months of sunrise bells, whispered prayers, and the cool stillness of the Temple of Valis.
I’d grown used to the marble floors beneath my feet, the scent of crushed herbs clinging to my fingers, and the quiet hum of divine energy that lived in the stone walls. The sanctuary wasn’t like home. It didn’t pretend softness. But it welcomed me like I belonged here.
And apparently, I did.
I could mend bone now. Calm fevers with only a whisper of magic through my palms. Even Lysandra had started to nod with quiet approval, and Lysandra rarely nodded for anything less than miracles.
“Steady now,” Priestess Yelien murmured from behind me.
I exhaled, closing my eyes, letting my fingers hover over the young boy’s wrist. He flinched — more out of fear than pain — but I didn’t pull away.
My pulse slowed.
I felt it — that soft thrum under my skin, that heat like light breaking through fog.
And then I pressed my hand gently to the boy’s scraped arm.
The bruising faded. Not all at once, but slowly. Naturally. The skin stitched itself quiet. The boy’s eyes widened.
“There,” I said, and tried to smile. “Better?”
He nodded, mouth still open in awe.
“Very good, Princess,” Yelien said, though her tone remained measured — more duty than delight. “You may take a break.”
I rose, brushing my palms off on my robes. My sixth lesson. And already, whispers followed me through the temple halls. Not all of them kind.
“She learns quickly,” one priest had murmured earlier in the week. “Too quickly. It's almost unnatural.”
“She’s gifted,” another replied. “Unlike her half brother.”
Cassian.
They never said his name aloud, not around me — but I heard the shift in their voices when he was mentioned. If he was mentioned.
To them, Kai was the future. A boy born of fire and prophecy, as much a symbol as a son. Cassian… was a complication. One they didn’t want anywhere near a throne.
I knew better. But here, in the soft stone halls of old power, knowing didn’t change much.
I stepped out into the courtyard, the winter sun hanging low and pale above the temple spires. My hands still buzzed faintly with warmth. I rubbed them together, half to ease the hum, half out of habit.
A familiar voice broke the calm.
“Well, if it isn’t the temple’s star pupil.”
I turned, already half-smiling.
Adrian Lanovo stood near the outer gate, a small crate in his arms — filled with glass bottles and sealed parchment. Donations, if I had to guess. His tunic was dark green today, the sleeves rolled just enough to show the banded muscle of his forearms, and his hair was wind-tossed, copper catching the light like embers.
“Don’t tell me you’re here to convert,” I said.
He grinned. “If I believed anything could convert me, it’d be you.”
I rolled my eyes, but it was automatic now. Predictable. Comfortable, even.
This was his fourth visit.
He always brought something — goods for the high priestess, rare dried herbs, a book once. And somehow, he always found me.
“Delivering supplies?” I asked, stepping toward him as a pair of temple aides passed with bowed heads.
“And checking on my favorite Valaran exile,” he replied smoothly. “Though I’d hoped you’d be dressed in something less… sacred.”
I glanced down at the pale robes I still wasn’t used to. “You don’t like the priestess look?”
“I like you,” he said easily. “The robes are just in the way.”
My mouth opened. Closed. “You really have no filter, do you?”
He smiled wider. “It’s part of my charm.”
I shook my head but didn’t walk away. Adrian had a way of pulling people into his rhythm without them noticing. Even the temple initiates seemed to treat him as if he belonged — except for a few.
One priestess, old and sharp-eyed, passed by with a narrowed glance at me… then Adrian… then back again.
She didn’t say a word.
But I felt it all the same.
“I’ll be returning to the palace soon,” I said, gently.
“I know.” He said it like he’d been counting the days. “You’ll be missed.”
His green eyes were steady, sincere… and just a bit too intense.
I looked away first. A strange pressure lingered in the air — too warm, too focused.
“Well. I’ll be back in time for Mine and Kai's birthday banquet.”
“Then I’ll have to find something impressive to wear.”
I snorted. “Good luck. The court will be watching.”
“So will I,” he said, quietly now. “And I’ll be looking for you.”
Before I could respond, a temple acolyte called for me from the far garden steps. I turned, offering Adrian a nod.
“Try not to bring the stars down while I’m gone.”
He bowed low with a hand over his chest. “No promises.”
As I walked away, I felt his gaze follow me — like a line of silk stretched between us, unnoticed by everyone else.
The week went by like a breeze. I said my goodbyes to those at the temple before making my way on the carriage. The carriage rattled over familiar cobblestones, each bump stirring memories I hadn’t realized I missed. The walls of the palace loomed ahead, tall and stern, like the palace itself was waiting — watching.
My fingers traced the delicate embroidery along my sleeves, a gift from Lysandra before I left, now soft from use but still carrying the scent of crushed herbs and old stone. I drew a slow breath, steadying the fluttering in my chest.
The air was heavier here — thick with expectation, whispered rumors, and eyes that never truly looked away. I caught my reflection in the polished window: pale skin framed by black hair, blue eyes brighter than I remembered. Healed. Changed.
The carriage slowed at the palace gates. Guards in gleaming armor stood motionless, their gazes sharp and unreadable.