“Our school is here,” Misha says, leading me through the pavilion to a line of buildings on the other side of the square. They’re made of stone and look very old. “And the infirmary is there. That’s also where we do intake for the new residents, since so many of them need to see the healer.”
“Is that where the children are reunited with their parents?” I ask.
Something like sadness flashes across Misha’s face. “Only when we’re very lucky.”
“This settlement is one of many throughout our lands,” Amira explains behind me. Turning, I see that a line of children has formed in front of her, and she’s crouched down and hugging them one by one. The sight reminds me of my first schoolteacher in Elora, back before the fire, when our family was still whole. Mrs. Bennett was warm and kind, and anytime my friends and I spotted her outside of school, we raced to be the first to receive one of her hugs.
I wanted to use this visit to judge how much I could trust this couple, and if Amira had known that and planned accordingly, she couldn’t have set a better scene. But this wasn’t planned. These children aren’t pretending. I can see that the Wild Fae queen spends a lot of time here, and the children are truly happy to see her. She doesn’t rush them, but gives each one the moment they were waiting for.
Misha steps to my side. “When we open the portals to bring the refugees here, our goal is to remove them from the Seelie lands,” he says. “Only once they’re safe do we begin the task of reuniting families. It takes time, though, and often the children are too sick to travel right away.”
“Why not keep the refugees in one settlement?”
Misha shakes his head. “Foolish.”
Amira hugs the last child, then gives me a smile, as if she’s trying to soften her husband’s harsh response. “It would be easier in many ways,” she says, standing and joining us, “but it would make it too easy for the golden queen to attack. We have members of our guard assigned to organize communications between the settlements and keep logs of the residents within them. Reunion is always the goal, but it’s not always possible.”
A little boy whom I’d seen getting a hug from Amira moments ago paces back and forth between us and the pavilion, a scowl twisting his face.
“Some of their parents didn’t make it,” Misha explains softly. “And many of the adults give us fake names. Their years under Mordeus’s rule have made it too hard for them to trust anyone. The challenges are endless.”
I swallow hard, imagining all the orphans wondering if their parents are alive. I know what that’s like.
“There’s a market over there,” Misha says, pointing to a row of stalls in the distance. “It opens every morning and closes at high sun. The trade is healthy, and the stall rent helps us pay a portion of the costs to keep the settlement running smoothly.”
“You should come back for market sometime,” Amira says. “Whether you appreciate fine arts and crafts or just enjoy good food—there’s something for everyone.”
A female with golden skin and short-cropped white hair approaches us and drops into a low curtsy at the sight of Misha and Amira. “Your Majesties.”
“Leta, this is our guest, Abriella,” Misha says. “Abriella, I’d like you to meet Leta.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Leta says, bowing her head.
“The pleasure is mine,” I say, shifting awkwardly. I’ve lived most of my life in the shadows, avoiding notice. The deference of the maids at the Golden Palace always made me uncomfortable, and this is no different.
“Leta runs the infirmary here,” Amira explains. “Many arrive from Arya’s camps wounded, and Leta nurses them to health. We are lucky to have her.”
Leta’s cheeks flare red. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m honored to serve.” She swallows. “I’m sorry to interrupt Lady Abriella’s tour, but if you have a moment, there’s something you should see.”
Misha and his wife exchange a look, and then he nods. “After you.”
Leta leads the way to the infirmary, and we follow into the stone building and to a room in the back, where a row of beds is filled with sleeping children.
Misha frowns as he surveys them. “Have so many younglings taken ill?” he asks.
Leta shakes her head. “We don’t know what it is. It’s like they’re sleeping, but . . .”
He looks at her, waiting, and she turns up her palms. “They don’t wake up. Their breathing is shallow, their body temperature low, like they’ve entered some sort of odd hibernation.”