She enjoyed a sigh of relief as she stepped under the massive steel Arch. There were Spellwards all about, some standing guard, paced evenly through the deep passage, while others ran to carry out whatever orders their captains had given them. She thought of Captain Gottfred, and turned without thinking, to look over Fourstaile’s head to where Spellwards were carting him and Lyskilde away. She had been afraid to look back, afraid that doubt would seize her heart to keep her from stepping forward, but it was important to remember those who had fought for her.

“Do not forget the Spellwards,” Lyrua said, to no one in particular. Ove voiced a questioning squawk, and she could see Fourstaile staring up at her. Athen was watching her with his big eyes, as blue as the sky. “Do not forget the Spellwards,” she repeated, to Athen this time. He nodded to her.

Tension left her as they stepped out of the city, but it was quickly replaced by the return of exhaustion. Metal gave way to stone, cracked and flat, dashed with colourful tufts of grass. She forced her tired legs to move. All around them were rocky outcrops, and where there were no rocks, dry earth was speckled with long grass and yellow woundworts. She felt the soft earth beneath her boot as she led Athen off the path. She pulled her face cloth down and let it hang around her neck. They enjoyed the chilled breeze wafting over the cliffs from the sea, unsullied by dust or the tang of steel. The morning sun warmed her skin like a soft blanket.

Ove fluttered over to perch on a large stone sticking up like the finger of some buried hand. Lyrua accepted the invitation of the comforting nature before her. Even the wildflowers were a wonder of beauty after a night of blood and dust.

Spellwards were still running about, so Lyrua felt secure as she approached the jutting rocks of the cliff edge. She could see the winding flatstone trail of the Solitary Sydway sliding down the cliffs through jagged stone and patches of autumn blossoms. Its head rested at the coastal town of West Eddy, obscured by the shifting colours of the Eddying Woods. Only the tower of the Puppet Masters’ Guild poked up above the trees; a needle against the sprawling sea that wrapped around the coast mirroring the cloudless sky.

“That is Cyan,” Athen said excitedly, tugging her arm.

“That is correct,” she smiled, “the sky and the sea are both a lovely cyan this morning.” She looked at him, but Athen was not gazing into the sky or the sea. She followed his gaze to the eastern cliff face, where a small nook just out of sight was carved into the stone.

A woman’s face stared back at her, disembodied against the rocks. As Lyrua stared, she caught glimpses of the woman’s grey cloak shifting in the wind, but it vanished again as the air settled. Only the sky blue hood that covered her forehead and a few strands of silver hair were visible besides her face. The woman’s empyreal blue stare swallowed Lyrua and pushed the world away, until only she, Athen, and the woman’s hovering gaze remained in a churning blue abyss.

Lyrua’s heart pounded. She had heard tales told of this woman, but she would sooner believe she had fallen asleep, and that what she was seeing was a trick of her dreams, than believe that she stood in the presence of a living myth. But why would she be dreaming of Cyan?

“You are not dreaming,” Cyan said. Her mouth did not move, her words simply were. It was all as Tith the Decayed had written, even the way the writhing blue abyss rippled with the sound of her silver tongue. “Your boy is very perceptive. I was beginning to doubt you would see me here.”

“You are Cyan the Provident,” Lyrua said. She realised she was not breathing, but when she tried, she could not. There was no breath here. But without breath, how did she speak?

“That is not my name, but some have called me that.” A ripple beneath the woman’s face revealed her shrug.

This time, as Lyrua spoke, she focused on how she did. “Then what is your name?” she asked. Her mouth moved, but her words came plucked from her thoughts. She shivered.

“That would be against the rules,” Cyan smiled.

“What rules?” Lyrua tried to look away, thinking it might let her back to the cliffs, but everywhere she looked, it was at Cyan. She could not look at Athen, but she felt his arms hugging her waist with one hand protectively on her stomach, and his shoulder in her hand.

“Never mind the rules. They are not for you to follow,” the woman frowned. A curl of her bangs came loose and dangled before her nose.

“Then tell me where we are. Where has the world gone?” Lyrua looked down, still hoping to see her son, but again found only Cyan before her.

“The world has not gone and neither have we. These are the cliffs at the tail end of the Solitary Sydway. Your mind simply does not have the capacity to perceive us both.”

“… What?” Lyrua spun to look behind her, but only the woman in her sky blue hood was there. Instead she shut her eyes, and turned again. When she opened them, she was staring down the flatstone path of the Sydway.

Ove stood beside her. “My Lady?”

When she looked at Athen, he was still locked on that corner of the cliffs. Lyrua looked back to find the woman’s face still staring at her, and the world disappeared into blue mist. How was that possible?

Cyan smiled. “You are a woman who enjoys reading,” she stated. “You will enjoy reading what I have brought for you.” Her hand appeared, offering a thin tome.

Lyrua’s lip curled at the book. “You gave a book to Tith Ae-Haru, and its secrets taught him how to revive the extinct Sunflowers, ending the Moonflower’s Night,” Lyrua explained.

“Yes,” her voice rippled.

“That path led to his death.” She squeezed Athen closer.

“There is no path that does not.” Her face was still, her unblinking gaze intense as an ocean maelstrom, and Lyrua hesitated. “If Tith did not want to be killed by the Moonflower King, then he should not have fought him before he was ready.”

“I would prefer not to be led along by a stranger who will not even tell me her name,” said Lyrua.

“You are less trusting than most,” she smiled again. “The book is The Fall of Eftermid. It holds no secrets, only truths.”

“I already know of the Fall of Eftermid. The entire continent was ravaged by plague until not even grass remained. Only the dead sprout from Eftermidan soil now.”

She smiled. “You will take the book, because you believe there is more to the tale than what the bards tell, and you know you will need more to occupy your mind on your long journey.” Cyan stood, disturbing her cloak enough to reveal a flash of bare legs and an edge of blue cloth beneath. “It is because of the path you have chosen that you should heed the warnings in the tome.” When her body vanished again Lyrua looked up to her face and only the grey cliffs were there, but the woman’s smile persisted for a moment in her mind.

The book sat alone in the nook where Cyan the Provident had been. Athen ran forward, but she grabbed him by the arm before he could reach it and pulled him back.

“Will we not read it?” He looked at her sadly.

“Wait,” Lyrua told him sternly. “Do not touch things left behind by strangers. More so when the strangers are mysterious.” She turned to Ove, who was standing with her head tilted at Lyrua. “Check that book please, Ove.”

Ove looked to where she was pointing, and fluttered over to look at it. “Will you tell me how this got here?” She prodded it with her finger, then looked at Lyrua. “You had quite the talk with these rocks, and now there’s a book.” Ove picked up the book and turned it over in her hands. She opened the cover and flipped through the pages. “Might as well let him keep it,” she finally said. “It’s his anyway.”

Lyrua took the book from Ove and looked at the cover. It was plain leather, and stitched with the words The Fall of Eftermid. No author was listed. “What do you mean this is his?”

“See inside. The first pages are stained,” Ove said. Lyrua flicked the cover open, and Ove tapped the bottom of the first page where it had an oily stain that made the spot look wet. “He asked me to read this to him when he was four. I thought it was a bit too mature for him at the time. He proved me right by getting butter on it.”

Athen grabbed for the book. “I always clean my hands before touching books now.” He grinned.

Lyrua tapped his hand away, and gave the book back to Ove. She slipped it into her cloak. Athen seemed satisfied that they were bringing it along. Now she was left wondering what Cyan was doing with one of her son’s books. Had she taken it from his chamber and brought it here? That did seem to be within her power. She would have to read Tith the Decayed’s writings again in case they offered any insights she had not picked up on before.

She enjoyed the Sydway’s view of the reflected sky for one final moment before turning back to the path. Fourstaile stood up from where she had been sitting, nearly giving Lyrua a start as she separated from the foliage. Ove walked with Athen’s hand while Lander dragged his feet unevenly behind. She answered the questions that her handmaid and Fourstaile had about the book, telling them about Cyan’s unusual presence. Ove seemed to take it as something of an omen, bearing neither good nor bad portent. Just a sign that other powers had taken notice. She was not sure she enjoyed having that thought dangling in the back of her mind.

Fourstaile was only concerned with whether Cyan was a threat. She did not seem to be. Scholars had argued over Cyan’s nature for centuries, and most believed she did not truly exist, or was not nearly as… provident… as the tales claimed. Tith the Decayed was not even the first to write about her, but his account was the best described. The only agreed upon detail was that she liked to dip her fingers in other folks’ business. Lyrua still could not believe they had seen her.

They followed the stoney path through all its twists, sometimes passing Spellwards in tidy uniforms interrogating travellers. There were a few campsites along the way, where the ground stretched out wide beyond the path. Folk were set up to enjoy the view, cooking their breakfasts over low fires. She began to crave something roasted, like ham. She was hungry enough to eat an entire ham to herself, manners be damned.

Ove was watching her. “I don’t have any thing roasted in my cloak,” she said.

Lyrua sighed. In the Citadel, she would have whatever she wished to eat hot for her at the table by the time she sat down. Now if she even wanted to sit, it would have to be on filthy stones, and there was no table or hot meal. She tried not to think about it.

They finally reached the base of the cliffs, where the path continued on into the sprawling Eddying Woods. Although still rocky, more of the ground was long grass, and Lyrua enjoyed the stalks of wild lavender that grew here.

An old cabin squatted off the path in the shade of an ash tree, overgrown with vines and partly obscured by untamed grass. The crooked little shack was surrounded by folk in patchy clothes, but she recognized Captain Spilde by his long brown hair and thin, angular face. He saluted them as they approached.

Spilde bowed slightly to Lyrua. “We have prepared this… cottage for you, my Queen. Forgive the modest accommodations, but you need to rest before taking on the Eddying Woods. I’m sure you don’t fear the rabbits or the deer, but the walk is longer than a winter’s night, and this time of year it’s almost as cold.”

“I know it’s close to the city, but there are enough Spellwards on guard to repel every dragon in the Miragewood,” Fourstaile said confidently. “Let alone the Eddying Woods. Nothing will get near the Daughter’s Arch without our approval, and the Woods are as quiet as Athen’s abandoned crib.”

“If we sleep now, we will be awake all night,” Lyrua said. Not that she could resist sleeping if she so much as blinked too slowly.

Fourstaile pursed her lips, giving Lyrua that look she had when she was about to tell her what to do. “You will sleep here, and you will remain here to sleep again tonight. Whether you sleep well tonight or not, you will depart early tomorrow morning. That only changes if a new threat bares its fangs, but we will see that it doesn’t.”

“We’re out of uniform to avoid drawing attention.” Spilde brushed his hair back over his shoulder. “Any threats looking for you will either look elsewhere, or will not live long enough to wish they had.”

Lyrua gave him a nod, but there was something else that had been on her mind since they spoke to Isadora. “What of the rockslide? Has anyone investigated it yet?”

“No,” Spilde answered, “it didn’t seem important. I had two Wards attuned to Earth verify the slide won’t worsen, but that’s it.”

“I see,” Lyrua rubbed her chin with her thumb. “I suppose it is no longer important, but it occurred to me that the dracolisk may have caused it. They must have been keeping him out here somewhere, until they were ready to take him into the city.”

Spilde chewed his lip as he thought for a moment. “Then we’ll see what it is about that spot that might suit it to concealing things, and make certain there aren’t others like it around the city.”

“Good,” Lyrua said.

She allowed Fourstaile to guide her inside the cabin. It was dark inside, and only one room. She could not see any place for a fire, just three cots laid out on the ground and a lopsided table with no chairs. There was a sour smell in the air that curled her nose, and she could not identify it. There were gaps between the boards of the roof as though they were pulled apart as the building began to sag on one side. She did not want to sleep here, and certainly did not want her son to.

The floorboards dipped and creaked as she approached the boarded up window on the back side of the room and peered through the cracks. There were remnants of other structures all around, ruined protrusions like tombstones marking the graves of the cabins they used to be. The distant crash of waves echoed over the cliffs, sending a salty breeze up to tickle her nose and reprieve her from the pungent stench.

Lander came around the back of the cabin and dropped into the grass. He leaned back against the cabin wall, and pulled his hat down over his face. The entire structure groaned under his weight. Ove cawed at the entrance, and Lyrua turned to see her hiding her face behind her wing.

“It reeks of mould in here.”

“Mould?” Lyrua asked. She was sure she had heard of that, but could not remember where, or what it was.

Ove stared at her for a moment before answering. “A fungus that grows on food, or moisture. Very rare in the Citadel. Not so rare any where else.”

“That is disgusting. Fungus that grows on food? How have I not seen this?”

“Why do you think?” Fourtstaile said, poking her tangled head into the cabin. “Imagine the High Queen sitting down for dinner and servants put something on her plate that smelled like this?”

Lyrua did not know how to respond. Now she had to wonder if there were other things that she did not know about because it was proper to keep them from her as Queen.

“Sleep,” Fourstaile said, “and don’t let me hear any complaints. Right, Athen?” The Highward touched him gently on the head, and although Lyrua did not have the Dream attunement to see the spell she knew what it was. A spell to restrict his dreams, so when he finally faced the things he had seen and heard in the dark, they would be less clear. It was an impermanent solution, but at least he would sleep in peace. Fourstaile did not offer the spell to her.

Athen nodded shyly to the Highward and she disappeared outside. Someone picked up the broken door from beside the cabin and leaned it in front of the entrance.

Lyrua aided her son in getting settled on one of the cots. They were soft and clean, and gave off the faint scent of lavender. As she unfastened Athen’s cloak, Ove placed a small incense jar on the table and lit it. Lyrua folded Athen’s cloak with her own, and Ove took them and replaced them with warm blankets.

Lyrua draped the thick blanket over her son before laying down and pulling the edge over herself. She kissed Athen’s forehead, but he was already asleep. The last thing she saw before drifting off, was Ove stiffly laying down.

***

Lyrua bolted awake, tormented by images of blood and broken steel. She saw her son, cowering in the shadow of six sinister white wings, and remembered being lost in an unfathomable ocean of sand as if she had been there only a moment before.

But she was not in a desert that defied imagination. She was in a crooked shack off the Solitary Sydway that reeked of mould so thickly that even the flowery scent of Ove’s incense spoiled in the air.

She looked down at the cot next to hers, and Athen was not there. She could sense that he was outside, behind the cabin. Ove was gone as well, so she was not terribly worried. Standing was more difficult than she was used to, her body ached, but she made it to her feet and stepped out through the open doorway. The fresh air was soothing to her lungs.

Spilde was leaning by the door, trying to look inconspicuous. He nodded to her as she passed him to round the side of the cabin. She found the succulent aroma of meat and fire, and followed it to where Lander was lounging in full armour against the ash tree. Behind the tree, an area of grass had been cleared, and a fire pit dug into the earth. A large steaming pot was hung over the fire, and Athen was swinging a wooden sword skillfully at Ove. Skillfully for a seven year old. Ove hopped out the way of his blows, without bending her knees.

He heard her approaching and dropped his sword to leap into her arms. She kissed both his cheeks before setting him down.

“I was about to wake you,” he said. “Ove said you should be tired enough to sleep all day.”

“I am still tired,” Lyrua told him, “but I think it is better to sleep at night.” Thinking of sleep made her yawn. She missed her fat pillows.

“Ove said that too, you know. And I helped her with dinner and the washing so she would have time to play with me.” He radiated pride, and she could not help but pick him up again. She knew there came a time for every mother, when she would carry her child in her arms for the last time. They grew big so fast… but Lyrua was not ready for that day, and would hold Athen as long as she could.

She sat down on a flat stone with him, and turned to Lander, who was pretending to sleep with his tricorn pulled over his eyes. His eyes were unlit grey, but she knew he was awake because his hands were jammed behind his head. They would fall limp at his sides if he were asleep.

“How is your leg?” she asked him.

The soft orange glow returned to his eyes. “You mean that scratch the shrill gave me, that was hardly more than a stain? I polished it out. It took two seconds, and still somehow wasn’t worth the time. Probably could have rinsed it off.”

Ove squawked a laugh. “That big dent had you limping all morning. I’m sur-prised you didn’t need to amputate.”

“Oh shut up, feather-ball.” Lander tossed a stone at her, but it went wide. “That ‘dent’ would have split you in half.”

Ove puffed up until she looked like a hatchling. “You watch it!” She bounced closer to him. “I’ll fill your hat with sand!” The outstretched tip of her wing rustled against the edge of his hat.

Lander howled deeply with laughter. He hated sand; it made his joints grind, but he was clearly much more amused by her fluffing and puffing than he was worried about her having sand.

Ove turned her back to Lander, letting her feathers and his mirth settle, and began pulling out bowls. She ladled chunky stew from the pot into one, and gave it to Athen with a spoon. It looked like beef, potatoes, and carrots, in a thick gravy. It smelled divine, and she could not wait to get her own bowl. As Ove brought her lunch, she moved Athen off her lap and accepted the bowl gratefully. Then Ove set two soft buns on a cloth between them.

Athen pulled the edge of his bun off, and dug out the inside, dipping it in broth before eating it. Then he spooned the steaming stew into the bun. Lyrua considered doing the same, but it seemed a bit childish. She watched him happily eating his stuffed bun, with broth already dripping down his hands and chin. Ove was scooping out more stew and running the bowls to the Spellwards. She pursed her lips. Lyrua was the only one present who cared if she ate childishly.

“Athen? Can you show me how?” She held out her bun to him. He pushed the last of his into his mouth, and nodded enthusiastically with stuffed cheeks. He showed her how to take the end off and scoop out the soft centre. She used to do the same thing when she was young, but she had always been scolded for not eating properly and lacking manners. Athen grinned with pride as she accepted the hollow bun back from him.

She put the end of the bun in her mouth with a chunk of beef. It was just a little sweet and salty, with a strong pepper flavour. The beef was tender and juicy, and she could taste a hint of Ove’s oat flour in the gravy. She dabbed the dribble on her chin with the soft centre of the bun and ate it. Even the bread on its own would have been a satisfying meal after last night. She wondered how this meal compared to what the Spellwards were used to eating. They should be able to afford similar food, but were probably used to eating something simpler when on guard.

She filled her bun with stew and took a large bite. As she chewed, staring towards the dying fire pit, she caught a glimpse of Fourstaile hidden in the grass. She was still sleeping, just a leafy mound in the earth. Lyrua only recognized her by her three chrysanths. Fourstaile would need more rest than all of them. It could take months for her flowers to grow back, and they were a major component of her power.

The rest of them would only need a few days of rest. Sleeping would recover their energy, but it was that vitality that was drained to replenish their mana. If she were not tired, but she spent mana, she would become tired as her mana returned. It meant their mana could not even begin to return until they had rested. At least they should be tired enough to sleep again tonight. It was only around two or three in the afternoon, by the sun, so they still had hours until nightfall.

Lyrua finished her meal, after taking a second helping, and tried to think of ways to pass the time that did not involve falling asleep. She tried not to think about The Fall of Eftermid, or Cyan the Provident.

Athen decided to help Ove wash up all the bowls from lunch, even though Ove had a way of pulling everything out clean from her cloak. It was good for him to learn those things, and he was eager to help if it meant more play time, so Lyrua thought to practise her lyre while they were busy

“Do you have my lyre?” She asked Ove.

“Of course I have your lyre.” She stuck an arm into her cloak. “Even though you never play it.”

She washed her hands with some of the soap and water they were using to clean bowls before accepting it. It was a beautiful instrument her mother handmade for her when she turned nine. She always wondered where her mother learned that, but at over a hundred years old she supposed there was plenty of time.

It was carved of pink coralwood to resemble a bow of flowers, with blossoms at each end. The pistils were small rubies.

“Stop staring at it and play,” Fourstaile complained. She was planted in the earth like a shrub near Lyrua’s stone, much closer than she had been before.

“I thought you said my playing would give you conniptions.” She plucked a string to tease her.

The Fourstaile shrub shivered with the string. “No, I said it’s a good thing Children of Flora aren’t picky when it comes to music.”

Lyrua frowned at the chrysanth bush. She only knew a few songs, and she was not good at any of them. She played carefully, focusing on accuracy rather than tempo, to play a simple children’s song used for learning. Fourstaile did not mind that she began anew every time she made a mistake; the Highward rustled blissfully at the notes even when they were wrong. The song was cheerful, and served well to lift her spirits.

Lander pushed himself up and crossed the small yard. “Don’t look,” he said. She stopped playing to stare, and he surprised her by opening his armour, peeling it back like a moult.

“Come now,” Fourstaile said, “don’t leave a poor old flower wilting.”

He stepped out of his suit, his uncovered body shining brightly in the late sun. His sinewy structure gave the impression of musculature, coiling in a spiral towards a circular plate on his chest. He quickly covered up with his cloak, pulling it closed with a sideways glare at her for watching.

Then he tossed his sword beside his armour, and his eyes burned hot. He reforged his expansions into a chair, with a violin leaning in the seat.

“What is this?” Lyrua asked, leaning forward.

“It’s called a violin,” he said dryly.

“You know what I meant.”

“You might kill Fourstaile with those strings you’re torturing. Play these five,” Lander leaned over and plucked five of her strings, “and only those five, in that order.” He dropped himself into his seat, posturing himself like a king on a throne, and tucked the violin under his chin. “Start by playing the strings, and I will show you the Shanty of Kraken’s Boundary.”

She played the strings he showed her, only plucking the wrong string once. She kept playing them, waiting for him to do something. It was quick and energetic, but repetitive. That was good for her.

“Faster,” he said.

She plucked faster, and he put his bow to the violin. As he played, a chill came over her skin. The music was rich, but it was soft and hopeful, like the sea wind welcoming sailors home. She could almost see the swashbucklers gripping rails and rigging, watching their friends and family on the shore.

Athen sat next to her to listen, and Fourstaile shivered jubilantly. She played until her fingers began to sting, and then decided it was best to put the lyre away.

“My fingers need a break,” she said. She brought the lyre to Ove who tucked it away quickly. “That is a lovely song, Lander. I did not know you could play an instrument.”

Lander stared at the ground shyly. “I went to Manataklos to become a bard,” he sang, “but due to my manners they made me a guard.”

“I am glad you are our friend instead of a bard,” Athen said. Lyrua patted her son’s head.

She stood up and put her arms around him, delivering the hug she had held the day before. “If there is any part of you that still wishes to be a minstrel, you can always be ours.”

Lander laughed. “I’ll remind you that I can’t leak salt water from my face like you fleshfolk.” He put one arm awkwardly around her shoulders before quietly turning around to fix his armour. “Else you might have me rusting,” he whispered, in a low voice she almost could not hear.

Before he could turn his armour back, Athen and Ove teamed up against him, catching him in their arms so he could not even hug them back.

“I’m only holding your arms so you don’t hurt the boy hugging him,” Ove explained.

“I know,” Lander replied, and through the shadow of his hat in the shine on his face, the blue reflection of the sky traced a solitary line down his cheek.