As soon as we realized the goblins were wielding Spring steel, Dayton and I rushed back to Castletree and sent word to Farron and Kel. I got dressed quickly and packed a single bag. Then I grabbed Kel’s sheathed Sword of the Protector and met Dayton at the mirror.
“You aren’t thinking of heading to Florendel without a guide, are you, toots?” Marigold had chastised Dayton, digging a finger between his pecs before giving them an affectionate pat.
“I’ve been to Spring plenty of times,” Dayton had groaned, but Marigold had made up her mind.
“Things are different in Florendel. You’ll get eaten alive.”
“If Marigold’s going, I’m coming too!” Astrid had cried, snatching my hand.
Now, the four of us stand in a tight cluster, staring around at the capital city of Spring.
I take a deep breath; the air is humid, a lush, fresh dampness to it. But there’s something else—the tang of metal and wet stone.
“Ezryn will be staying at Keep Hammergarden,” Dayton says. “This way.”
“You mean this way,” Marigold says, brow raised. She waves her hand. “Follow me.”
Dayton rolls his eyes but obeys, while Astrid and I toddle behind. But I can barely walk in a straight line: there is so much to see, to hear, to take in.
A majestic cityscape sprawls around us, all overlooked by a towering mountain range that seems to scrape the very sky itself. The metropolis is infused with ornate buildings, wrought-iron balconies, and colorful pastel-hued facades. The streets, made of cobblestone, are adorned with lush gardens, where bubbling fountains and decorative tilework make them appear as serene oases. The buildings are all made of brilliant pink stone.
“This place is amazing,” I whisper as I stare upward, trying to glimpse the tallest peak.
“That’s Mount Lumidor,” Astrid says. “It’s one of the highest mountains in all the Enchanted Vale.”
Its sheer grandeur dominates the skyline. Cascading waterfalls and emerald patches of vegetation dot the slopes. It feels as if the city itself is cradled in the mountain’s embrace.
“Florendel is renowned as one of the most magnificent cities in all the Vale,” Astrid says, her red eyes darting around almost as much as mine. “Both a natural wonder and a place of industrial craftsmanship.”
I understand what she means. I turn in a circle, taking in the vibrant city. It’s the busiest place I’ve ever seen in the Vale, with fae bustling past us, pulling carts or running in and out of storefronts. No one even gives us a second glance, many with blank expressions focused on their intended task.
“Don’t be intimidated by the hustle and bustle, girlie,” Marigold calls from up ahead. “We Spring folk can be single-minded in our work. But that makes the place even more exciting, doesn’t it?” She nudges Dayton playfully in his side.
But Dayton gives no reaction back. A severity has taken over his expression, one that doesn’t seem to belong to him.
My heart aches. I truly thought, in the deepest depths of my soul, you belonged to me. How can there be someone else?
I take in a shaky breath to stop my thoughts from spiraling further. That’s it. It’s done. Dayton is not my mate—there’s someone else for him.
As foreboding as goblins wielding Spring steel is, perhaps it’s just what we need to refocus our attention.
Both delicate and massive flowers adorn every storefront, every walkway. We pass under a moss-covered archway that drips petals in a variety of colors. But it’s not the pastel meadow I’d once imagined when I thought of a faerie city of Spring: there are glimpses of mining and metalwork underneath the vibrant blooms. In the distance, I hear the clash of metal on metal and the hum of a machine.
“The stone is so beautiful,” I say to Marigold, looking around at all the rose-colored buildings.
“It’s made from volcanic rock mined in the Starweaver Mountains,” she says. “Is my city not magnificent?”
“Stay vigilant and mind your tempers,” Dayton says, his voice low and serious. “Ezryn’s father, Thalionor, is as straight-edged as a blade.”
“And not exactly your biggest fan, if I remember correctly,” Marigold says.
Astrid heaves up her skirt to hurry beside Dayton. “Didn’t you accidentally set his Royal Botanical Garden on fire one Spring Solstice?”
“It was a long time ago,” Dayton snaps. “That damned thorny prick thought it would be fun to make our own fireworks—”