The road to Astai was silent.
The world unwound before them in long, grey stretches, bordered by frostbitten grass and stone that had seen too many wars to care for another.
Nyla's hands rested on the reins, her back straight, hands steady, as though posture alone might keep the rest of her from coming apart. Anya moved at a measured pace that felt almost respectful, as if she could sense that to stop would mean violence.
The Hollow was behind them now.
Nyla's mind kept returning there in fragments she could not quiet. Flashes of blackened timbers, the bitter scent of smoke clinging to her clothes, the sound of stone cracking under heat and the echoes of screams.
She saw Maris board a carriage as she had left her, seated beside Ewan's body, the newborn tucked against her chest, small and warm and breathing. Tears pricked her swollen eyes, and she bowed her head to avoid anyone noticing. She hadn't been able to stop them since they'd left.
She could still feel the warmth of the infant as she helped Maris give birth as Ewan lay feet away. Her fingers curled tighter around the reins, leather creasing beneath her grip. She had healed hundreds of people in her life. She had lost some.
It had never felt like this.
Anya slowed without warning, planting her hooves as if the road itself had offended her. The cart rocked gently as it came to a stop. The riders moved ahead, snickering Androsi jests about eating Anya for lunch if she stopped again.
Nyla glared at them but did not scold her. She leaned forward instead, lowering her voice, pressing calm into the sound of her breathing until Anya relented and stepped on again, ears flicking back in reluctant obedience.
Ahead of them, the Imperial procession moved in silence.
Banners flapping in the wind, armour rattling with every movement.
At its center rode the Emperor, every inch of him composed, as though destruction were simply another administrative task neatly completed.
Barius rode beside him.
Nyla did not mean to look. She told herself she would not. And yet her gaze found him all the same, drawn by habit, by memory, by the weight of what had been left unsaid.
He did not turn.
Not once.
He rode straight-backed and distant, already wearing the shape of the man his father demanded he be. The man who had woken in her cottage, confused and afraid and sweet, felt impossibly far away now, as though he had belonged to another life entirely.
Auron rode easily beside him. "You look better," his father said to him at last, eyes forward. "How are you feeling?"
Barius did not answer at once. Every step shuddered through him and his wounds. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, the way he'd been taught. "Fine. I had capable care."
Auron smiled faintly. "Your nursemaid, you mean. You didn't tell me she was a pretty one."
His word sat bitter and wrong in Barius's chest. "That was the least of my concerns, Father. She saved my life," adjusting himself he winced carefully. "That is all."
"Many would have, given the incentive," Auron glanced at him, amused. "You always did inspire a certain devotion among the fairer sex."
"Is that why you forced her here?"
"On the contrary, a Yesir Healer is rare these days thanks to your brother, and their training is second to none." Auron continued, unbothered. "You frightened me, you know. Four days without word. For a moment I wondered if I should be preparing a funeral."
The thought of Emrys roared through his mind like snarling jaws, "Where is Emrys?"
"He returns from the Coast in a week. Be sure you are there to greet him."
Barius's jaw tightened. "I was told word was sent."
"If so I heard nothing of it," he said, eyes forward, "You said you had an issue with your memory. Are there things you cannot remember? We can have the Sisters look over your mind- "
"Ugh, that won't be necessary," Barius said grimacing, despite the fact his heart jumped slightly at the absence of understanding of who the Sisters were. He kept his breathing even, scrambling to put together a sentence, "I'd rather have my brain picked at by crows."
Auron laughed, an amused rumble, satisfied with his answer. "Very well. We shall have no trouble at court then."
The conversation ended there.
Barius did not turn to look back at the cart. He could not trust himself to survive what he might see. Guilt sat heavy inside him - not just at what had occurred, but at the flashes of who he was before this - of what he was.
The cart creaked softly as it followed.
Nyla felt the space between them stretch, measured in horse-lengths and silence, and wondered when it had begun to feel so deliberate.
She wondered if anyone would remember the ash. The bodies wrapped and carried away. The way people had stopped meeting her eyes, unsure whether to thank her or blame her for still being alive.
Alva did not speak once. Not to Nyla's gentle questions, not to the stories she offered, not even when Nyla pressed a warm cup into her hands and coaxed softly, patiently, as she always had. The girl listened, watched, breathed, but no words came.
Only hours had passed when the road changed.
Not abruptly, but enough for a ripple of quiet remarks to pass between the riders ahead. The wide imperial track narrowed, curving gently east where the land dipped between low stone ridges and into the forest. Nyla felt the shift before she saw it, the way Anya's pace altered, ears flicking back as if the ground itself had grown uncertain beneath her hooves.
A few minutes down a darkening, tree-crowded path, the banners ahead slowed. The Emperor raised a gloved hand, and the procession adjusted without comment, angling toward a path Nyla had not known was there.
She followed.
She did not ask where they were going.
The air felt different as they descended, thicker, as though it pressed back when she breathed. The road ended in a wide clearing cut cleanly from the rock, its edges worn smooth by repeated passage.
At its centre stood the archway - two pillars of pale stone curved upward and inward, meeting in a high, vaulted arc carved with Imperial script she did not bother trying to read. There was nothing in the doorway, no shimmer, no light, just empty space framed too deliberately to be natural.
A portal gate.
Her stomach tightened.
She had not been through one since she was a child, when she'd been small enough for the older clerics to lift her afterward as she retched helplessly onto the stone. She remembered the way the world had folded, the cold that had bitten straight through bone, the sense of being poured through somewhere she had not agreed to go.
She kept her face still but swallowed hard down the lump in her throat.
"We're going through a portal gate, Alva. Close your eyes, and remember to breathe, okay? Think only happy thoughts."
Alva clutched onto her.
A portal guard stood at the arch's edge, armour different from the soldiers escorting them, less ceremonial, more worn. He straightened as the Emperor approached, hand coming to his chest in salute. "Your Majesty."
"We'll take the gate," Auron said lightly, looking down at the man from atop his horse. "No sense in wasting days."
The guard nodded and moved at once, stepping to the side of the arch. Pulling a heavy weighted level, he raised a hand, murmured something low and practiced, and the space within the doorway began to shift.
The air bent.
Nyla felt it pull, a subtle pressure at first, like standing too close to a long drop.
Her fingers tightened on the reins.
Behind her, Alva drew closer without speaking. Nyla felt the brush of her presence and resisted the instinct to turn, to reassure her aloud. There were too many eyes. Too much listening silence.
She glanced back at the cart instead.
The wheels were aligned. The chest was secure. The glass wrapped and wedged the way she always did before travel, muscle memory working even as unease crept up her spine. She could not tell whether it would be enough.
Anya stamped once, a low huff leaving her chest.
"I know," Nyla murmured, barely moving her lips.
The Emperor turned his horse towards the portal and only then did Barius turn his head, eyes catching hers with a look that said everything.
Nyla's heart jolted and she schooled her expression into calm she did not feel.
She clicked her tongue softly. Anya stepped forward and just when she thought Barius might turn away again, he gently tugged the reins and angled his body towards her. He brushed up beside the cart, back straight, hands resting crossed in front of him, "My Lady." He tilted his head, greeted softly.
"My Prince." She bowed her head.
He visibly winced, "Please – if anyone may call me by my name, it is you." A moment of silence passed between them, just the bite of the breeze and hooves against dirt. "Nyla," he said softly, "I owe you more than an apology."
"Please don't," she lowered her gaze, tears burning at her eyes. "Not now."
His jaw tightened. "You should hear it."
"I already know it." Her voice gentled. "And I don't blame you. That doesn't make it easy but…it's all I have."
A hesitant pause, Barius' expression was torn between truth and lie. "I will find a way to make this right."
The portal shuddered and let loose a low, resonant pulse, the sound of tension giving way, like a wire drawn too tight suddenly freed.
He shifted his reins to one hand and stepped his horse closer to the cart, closing the space between them until his knee nearly brushed the wheel.
"Stay beside me when we cross." he said.
She nodded, though her gaze lingered on him a heartbeat too long.
The wind lifted a strand of her hair. His eyes followed it, then returned to her face. He forced his gaze away, his attention fixed ahead, jaw set, one hand steady on the reins while the other hovered near the hilt at his side.
Anya's forelegs braced, a sharp, panicked snort tearing from her throat. The cart jerked behind her, wood creaking, metal groaning in protest.
The pull strengthened. It caught at the cart first, a sudden, wrenching tug that made the wheels skid and the harness snap taut. Glass chimed sharply behind her, vials clattering despite their wrappings.
Alva cried out, burying herself into Nyla's cloak.
Nyla opened her mouth to answer, to reassure, but the portal enveloped them and cold slammed into her bones. It was a pressure that crushed inward from every direction at once. The world narrowed violently, sound dropping away, light stretching into thin, blinding strands.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing beneath them.
A frightened sound tore free of Anya and vanished, swallowed whole.
Nyla's breath ripped from her lungs as the sensation of falling overtook everything else, not down, but through, as though her body were being dragged through a space too small for it.
Her vision went white. Her stomach lurched. She tasted iron. Then, stone.
The cart slammed down against the ground, wheels shuddering as they contacted land. The impact rattled straight through her spine, knocking the breath back into her in a painful gasp. Nyla was thrown forward, barely keeping her seat as a strong hand held her firm. He glanced sideways at Barius' hand around hers.
Anya staggered, legs shaking, sides heaving violently as she fought to stay upright.
The world around her spun. Barius was pale, the colour drawn from his face by the crossing, but he remained upright in the saddle, steady despite it and released her hand the moment he oriented himself. His gaze moved over them both in a single, measured sweep, first Nyla, then Alva, searching, checking, as if assuring himself they were whole and truly there. He asked again, "Are you all right?"
"We're fine," Nyla said, reaching around Alva and pulling her in, "It's over. It's over."
The air steadied and the pressure eased. Nyla lifted her head and looked out beyond the thinning line of trees.
Astai rose in the horizon.
From the forest's edge the city looked impossibly large, its pale outer walls stretching wide enough to swallow the distance between them. Beyond those walls spread a dense sweep of rooftops, hundreds, thousands, slate and stone layered tightly together, climbing toward the centre in ordered tiers.
Towers lifted through it, and above them faint crystalline spheres hovered, catching light in slow turns.
At the heart of it all, the Citadel stood higher than the rest, vast and pale against the winter sky.
Light washed the road ahead without warming them. Frost lingered between stones. Breath misted from Anya's nostrils as settled into a walk.
It wasn't long before they reached the city gates and rode into the Market Square. The crowd split before them, pressing back against the slate-fronted buildings, voices rising as they called out for their prince.
Beside her, Barius did not acknowledge them. He sat tall in the saddle, gaze fixed ahead, hands steady on the reins, his expression carved into something distant and unreadable. The cheers washed over him and broke without effect, as if they struck stone rather than flesh.
Nyla had never felt more exposed…or more out of place.
At the top of the road opened another set of gates into the citadel courtyard where stable hands were the Emperor was already dismounting and trailing the horses away to the pens.
The cart rolled to a stop and a stable-hand paused near Anya, when Anya flicked her head to the side and whinnied loud enough to draw eyes. Nyla flushed with embarrassment, "Don't mind her. She's really a sweetheart."
The young stable-hand hesitated, misunderstanding crossing their features, "Aos?"
A string of Androsi left Barius' lips, as fluent as common tongue, and the stable hand understood in an instance placing a fist against their chest, bowing curtly and hastily walking away.
"What did you say to them?"
Barius watched the stable hand's retreating back a moment before answering. "I told them we didn't require assistance."
Nyla tilted her head. "That's all?"
A pause. "Mostly."
Her breath fogged faintly in front of her as she climbed down from the cart, hands still unsteady from the crossing. Nyla felt it immediately, the cold seeping through her boots, up her legs, settling into her bones.
Anya stood rigid, flanks trembling, eyes too bright. Nyla pressed a hand to her neck, fed her a treat, grounding herself through the familiar warmth there before turning back toward the city.
The Citadel was beautiful. In the way imposing things were. Tall, narrow towers pierced the grey sky, its windows stared down like watchful eyes. Banners hung stiff in the cold air, Imperial sigils heavy against stone. This was a place built to endure, and to be obeyed.
Alva lingered close behind Nyla, small fingers knotted in the fabric of her cloak. Nyla kept one hand back, not quite touching, but near enough that Alva would feel her presence if she reached.
The riders dismounted ahead.
Beside her, Barius swung down from his horse with practiced ease, landing lightly despite the stiffness still evident in his movements.
Without ceremony, he shrugged his cloak from his shoulders and draped it around Nyla's, the heavy wool settling warm and solid against her chilled skin.
She startled, breath catching. "Thank you," she murmured automatically.
Barius leaned in just enough that only she could hear him, his voice low beneath the noise of settling troops.
"We will speak soon, but not here," he said. "I promise." The words were quiet, but they were not empty.
Nyla nodded once, throat too tight to answer properly and also aware of the many eyes glancing her way. He stepped back at once, composure snapping back into place like armour reforged.
The distance that returned between them was precise and necessary because from across the courtyard, the Emperor cool gaze watched.
Auron's expression remained pleasant and unreadable, but his gaze lingered longer than it had any need to. He noted the cloak. The way it had been offered without prompting. The way Nyla had accepted it without hesitation. It wasn't suspicious nor was it improper. After all, the woman had saved his son's life. Still. It was…soft and Auron filed the observation away as he turned toward the Citadel doors, already issuing quiet commands.
The doors opened and warm air rushed outward, carrying the scent of stone, incense, and something faintly delicious beneath it all. Nyla drew the cloak tighter around herself and followed, one step behind the world that had claimed her.
The moment the gates closed behind them with a heavy groan, the Imperial order of things resumed with practiced efficiency. Commands were issued as riders dispersed. Servants appeared as if summoned by the stone itself.
"Healer Nyla."
Nyla's head pivoted.
The Emperor stood a few paces away, his expression mild, composed, as though they were concluding a perfectly ordinary visit. "You and Alva will be taken to the Healers' Quarter," he said. "You will find it well-appointed. Warm. You will have staff to command as you please so do not hesitate to ask them for their services."
Nyla inclined her head. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
His gaze flicked briefly to the cart behind her. "The cart will remain here," Auron continued. "It will be inventoried and delivered once suitable space is prepared."
Nyla's spine stiffened. "With respect," she said carefully, "it contains volatile compounds. Glass. Extracts that cannot be jostled or exposed to cold. I must insist-"
Auron studied her for a long moment, assessing, then he nodded once.
"I must counter then," he said smoothly. "You will supervise. I can't have my Head Healer been seen dealing with menial tasks. See that it's handled with care." The words were directed past her.
Two attendants stepped forward at once, dressed in straight cut robes and mouth pieces that covered half their face. Nyla directed them as best she could under Auron's presence.
Nyla watched them secure the cart, fingers lingering on the harness, eyes tracking every lift and adjustment. Only when she was satisfied did she step back.
Alva stayed close at her side, silent but present, her hand slipping into Nyla's sleeve as though anchoring herself.
Auron's attention returned to her.
"You have done very well," he said, as if offering a courtesy rather than praise. "Saved lives and preserved order. Do not mistake this transition for punishment."
Nyla met his gaze. "I don't," she said.
Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes, a warning, a threat and truth wrapped in one tightly manage bundle. "Good," he replied. "Because Astai rewards loyalty and you will find that life here has its benefits."
He stepped aside then, the conversation concluded as cleanly as it had begun. "Rest," he added lightly. "You'll be expected at court soon enough."