As we enter the main market area, the path widens, and the crowd grows dense. Dayton pulls me protectively against his side. A huge flower fountain spouts crystal-clear water.
Stalls are adorned with a stunning array of wares, showcasing the talents and artisanship. There are weapons, clothes, and quite a bit of jewelry, along with potent herbs and colorful spices. The bottles of fragrant potions and elixirs are embellished with gemstones and jewels, their facets reflecting the sunlight and casting dazzling rainbows upon the cobblestones.
The vibrant chatter of the fae fills my ears. But I notice more than a few glances in our direction. “They must recognize you as High Princes,” I whisper.
Dayton’s eyes darken. “Some, but use that fae hearing you’ve got now, Rosie. Listen.”
Most changes have come naturally, like the new vibrancy of the colors I see or clearer vision. But Farron said my body may repress some changes that could be too overstimulating.
Stilling my breath, I try to reach out my senses, focusing on a conversation between two women, both in pale green dresses with armored spiked shoulder plates.
“It’s the High Prince of Autumn all right,” one of them says. “Every time I’ve ever seen him here, he’s with the Summer Prince.”
“And the girl? Do you think it’s her?”
“Gorgeous, isn’t she? Whispers have come from Autumn. The Golden Ro—”
A fae child sprints across the path, trailing a kite in the shape of a bird, laughing loudly. The sound splits into my sharpened hearing and a ringing fills my ears. I grit my teeth, hissing in pain.
“It’s all right. Takes practice,” Dayton says softly. He leans down, as if to kiss my ear, before he straightens.
“Interesting.” Farron narrows his eyes at the crowd. “That name has traveled here as well. Come along. There’s something I want to show you.”
We retreat from the bustle of the market, passing a troupe of musicians playing an upbeat tune. Outcroppings of gardens pop up along these streets. Most are filled with unique flowers or plants, but some are vegetable and fruit patches, all snuggled in the rock.
“We’re almost there.” Farron smiles. “Spring is a wonderful realm, isn’t it? They’ve mastered the harmony between stone, nature, and themselves.”
“It’s amazing,” I say.
“The Queen herself blessed this place,” Farron continues. “As she did all the realms. And she left a gift for the people of Spring. I told you last night, you’re the only one who can create roses. But then I remembered she built an archway leading to the Draconhold Forge. An archway that would forever be in bloom.”
My hands gently touch the pendant around my neck. Two gems dangle from it: a golden leaf gifted to me by Farron’s father, and a moonstone rose. Keldarion had said it was the symbol of the Queen. Papa told me this was a trinket my mother had found at an archeological dig site …
Something pricks at the edge of my mind.
My mother was fae. Perhaps she had some connection to the Queen.
“Hey, Fare,” Dayton says. “How sure are you about that ‘always in bloom’ part?”
Ahead of us sprawls an archway, a tangle of magnificent briars covered in red roses. But an earthy and too-sweet smell fills my nose. The roses on the briars … They’re wilting. A dusting of dark petals lines the walkway like a trail of blood.
Farron bends down to scoop up a handful of petals. “It’s like at Castletree,” he says softly. “The Queen’s magic … It’s fading from the Enchanted Vale.”
26
Rosalina
“It’s like another world,” I whisper, gazing at the Draconhold Forge.
A narrow passage has led us deep within the heart of the mountain. Smoldering embers dance on thick smoky air. The forge is a mesmerizing sight to behold. The cavernous chamber is bathed in the warm glow of molten metal, casting flickering shadows upon the stone walls. The rhythmic pounding of hammers on anvils reverberates through the space, a symphony of creation in progress.
“Come on,” Dayton growls, ears twitching. “Let’s find the person in charge.”
Hundreds of fae artisans move with fluid grace, despite their bulky protective coverings. Tools of various sizes and shapes are meticulously arranged near glowing anvils, which seem to pulse with their own sort of magic. Glimmering ores and precious gemstones lie in stone containers, waiting to be transformed.
“Hail Above! The light must not be with me today to find two princelings disturbing my forge?”