“Three dragons? Are you serious?” Elissa asked in disbelief, poking the circlet on Alyx’s palms like it was worthless. “We could have bought a team of horses for that. Or a boat.”

  Alyx took the circlet away and walked behind Robin, slipping it into the hidden pocket of his heavy rucksack. “If you just knew the weight of it, Elissa, you wouldn’t be talking of horses.”

  Robin adjusted the straps of the pack. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost back there, My Lady,” he said. “Or become one.”

  Alyx smiled faintly. “Neither. I think.”

  Elissa clicked her tongue. “You and your weird antics… just when does it end?”

  “Where the light meets hollow, if life finds her way.” Alyx looked up, gazing at the stars that mark the night like the Mother’s promise. “Say, Elissa, why are you so afraid of learning what Daleria and I already know?” You have never been a lover of the Seven. She lowered her gaze to face her. “What is it that you are clinging to, truly?”

  A moment passed between them, and Elissa already frowned. Before she could snap back a retort, a voice drifted over from the Silver Light Flagon.

  "Heey! We have a problem over here!" A blonde girl in green silk showed herself from the door of the tavern in front of them, waving her arm.

  “Don't go falling into the harbor while I'm gone." Elissa groaned and turned, marching toward the tavern.

  Everything was quieter then. The world was blessing them with easy silence.

  Alyx led the way down to a small stone pier that jutted out into the Whispering Sound. The stars were reflecting on the dark water beautifully. There was only the sound of the tide licking the stones. Far across the bay, the beacon of the Hightower pulsed with a steady, watchful light. Watching them still.

  She sat on the edge of the pier, letting her boots dangle over the water. Robin hesitated for a moment before setting the heavy packs down and seating himself a respectful distance away.

  "You're very quiet today, Robin," Alyx said, looking at him sideways.

  "I was just thinking of the road. I wonder if we will be rid of this labor as that woman claims.” Robin frowned when he mentioned her. “Why do they call her ‘my lady’ anyway? She is not a lady.”

  Alyx giggled, covering her mouth. “Are you seriously talking of another woman in this romantic moment with a Lady such as me?”

  Robin paused, blinking. Then, color rushed to his cheeks.

  He looked down. “I-I meant no such—I already—

  “I know,” Alyx laughed, then smiled gently. “I am teasing.”

  He relaxed a little, exhaling a breath of relief. The night breeze tugged at his cloak falling from his red and brown tunic, carrying the briny scent of the Sound.

  “Daleria is not a lady, either.” Alyx mused, making Robin tense.

  “B-but she deserves to be called so! She… she is different!”

  Alyx laughed cheerfully, eyes closed, the side of her hamd pressing her lips.

  When she finally straightened, she smiled at him, who was looking at the either direction. “Well, seemingly other people think the dame about Vanea. So they call her the lantern’s lady. I presume it’s a naming coming from there. It sounds much distasteful for the nobles, but she seems already established on so many grounds.”

  “They are not trustworthy.” Robin blurted out, tensing and straing angrily at the water for some reason. “Neither Vanea nor that man called Harlon... She has a leash on him. Do not fall for his tricks, My Lady.” He exhaled from his nose. “I am glad that prick left us for tonight at least.”

  Alyx was baffled for a moment, then she chuckled. “You are a gentle boy, but your tongue certainly has this sharp edge.” She looked at him with softened eyes. “Always speaking so plainly might bring harm. Especially with dangerous people.”

  “I know,” he said quietly, gazing at the black water as if inspecting his silhouette. "But I dislike dishonesty.”

  The next moment was quiet as Alyx studied him. “You see the teeth in people. And you have teeth yourself.”

  She studied him a tad more before smiling.

  “You’d make a good knight,” Alyx said, indeed thinking so even if he was shyly avoiding her gaze all this time. “It makes sense that Daleria and your relationship resemble such a sort.”

  “I… I hope so.”

  Alyx chuckled and leaned back on her palms, gazing at the sky as she thought of them. She smiled softly, and even a blush climbed up her cheeks thinking all the sweetness between them. She was sure Robin was blushing at the thought of her, too. He was always so lovely with her in such an irresistible way that even Daleria lowered her walls a little. Yes, Daleria, the tough woman who held the life in her gaze and hid the earth in her heart, was favoring a man such handsomely.

  Alyx was certainly surprised at this turn of events. It felt a bit lonely, but perhaps a bit happy, too. No girls in her group would restrain each other from a man.

  “Speaking of knights and plain speech…” Alyx grinned as she poked Robin with another topic. “You called her a goddess when you first saw her, right?”

  She couldn’t hold a laughter, then. Straightening as she covers her mouth. “Before all those men, too.”

  Robin could only risk a glance before looking straight again, a blush visible on his face.

  “That was the most reckless you had ever been,” said Alyx. “It is such a great heresy against the Seven. Let alone people of faith, weren’t you yourself tiniest bit afraid of the Andal gods?”

  “I care little for the seven, My Lady,” Robin muttered. “They do not make sense.”

  “But… you pray them?”

  He just shrugged. “It sticks to the tongue.”

  “Oh,” Alyx stopped. “I see. Well, you should tread carefully with Daleria, then.” She smiled. “She might speak of things that you can never forget.”

  Robin said nothing to that. He only nodded once, slow and thoughtful.

  Then, after a quiet break, he risked a side glance at her.

  “Can I ask you a question… My Lady?” He murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “I heard from her already. That you are to discover Westeros. That you are to see the very heart of the world.” He finally turned to her fully, his eyes searching, asking. “Why? For what reason, do you labor yourself so hard? This is a dangerous road, My Lady. You might suffer. You might… suffer even death.”

  Alyx held his gaze the next moment, and a longer moment after that.

  Then, she turned straight. Taking in the sight of the Whispering Sound.

  “For it is a story that must be written.”

  She said nothing more.

  She just lowered her gaze, staring at the water’s surface.

  The more she stared, the more it pulled in. Something called her. An end. A start.

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  Somewhere else in the Reach, another woman was staring at the water.

  A star shot above, its color red.

  She knelt, her hand dipping into darkness.

  Reaching.

  The night was darkening into even later hours when they were only left three, with Elissa at the hem of their carriage. As she rode, the wide cobblestone street before the carriage was unfolding with an unhardy slope and curving toward pleasant and safer streets.

  “That Vanea woman has charming offers, though.” Elissa made conversation. “I admit I thought about spending a few coins.”

  Alyx smiled thoughtfully. Vanea made the same approach to Alyx, offering her services.

  “She has convincing methods, should I say.”

  “I bet Robin had already yielded.” Elissa looked at him with a grin.

  “Do not mistake me for yourself.” Robin retorted distantly.

  Elissa showed theeth the next moment, visibly annoyed. But then, her lips turned to a grin again, marking the derisive amusement she often had shown with him.

  “Is that so?” She mock-yawned. “Too bad, here I was thinking of offering Alyx a night’s relaxation with possibly having you around.”

  Robin, as expected, froze for a moment.

  “My lady would never allow that!” He turned his head the other way, flustered.

  “She would.” Alyx smiled, leaning forward to her hugged knees. “I think.”

  It was a moment’s silence, which stretched and stretched.

  Elissa shook her head. “He will learn respect first—

  “Halt!”

  The loud thudding of horse galloping on the cobblestone street was heard. Soon after, seven riders rode in front of the carriage and blocked the way.

  They were wearing armor that shone like silver, yet so pale in color. Grey cloaks flowed from their shoulders, and their lush-metaled helms were marked with plumes of horsehair atop.

  The one in the middle had orange fire symbols on his chestplate. And his cloak and horsehair atop his helm were orange as well, both whipping the air as he approached.

  “Alyx Vendavell.” He called. “We are certain you are in this wagon. Step out.”

  Alyx’s breath hitched with shock. She thought Vanea’s methods were more than enough for discreet movement!

  Without waiting, the riders started to walk their horses toward the carriage. In that moment, Alyx had lost all her cool, fear and worry spreading through her body. She trembled, not knowing what to do.

  Robin was alarmed, too, a drop of sweat rolled through his temple as he leaned to whisper. “Shit, this is not good. We might have to abide.”

  “I do not know a woman of that name, Ser,” Elissa spoke to them.

  “We shall see when we check inside,” said the captain. “Step down, woman.”

  A nervous beat passed, and instead of obeying, Elissa’s hands tightened on the leash. But Alyx could sense the hesitation; something the eagle has never shown before.

  Her own face contracted with horror. Time felt unmoving.

  Meanwhile, Robin crawled to the backside, drawing the silk white curtain up slightly and checking outside with very cautious movement.

  He crawled back quickly, nervous and agitated.

  “Okay, there is a narrow opening outside,” he said in a low voice, reaching for the rucksack placed against Alyx. “I will throw this to one of them as distraction. Then, we will make for it to slip away. Horses can’t reach us, and if we are smart, we can escape. Only…” He looked toward Elissa, who was now being closed in by the elite guard. “She needs to trust her instincts.”

  The instant he lifted the sack, Alyx rushed to him. “Wait!” Her trembling hand clung to his shoulder. “T-the crown! I need it!”

  “My Lady we can’t—

  The sound of a sword being drawn rang inside the wagon. It was directly pointed toward Elissa now, with Alyx and Robin dangerously close to the line of sight of the nearing soldiers.

  Then, something else was heard.

  “Open the way!” A boy in a robe appeared from the corner, carrying a noble-clad boy on his shoulders.

  Faces turned to him; meanwhile, Elissa reached discreetly behind toward her wrapped spear, holding, not moving.

  “Fuckin’ who now?” The man pointing the sword showed teeth, he seemed particularly aggressive. “Piss off, half-pint brat!”

  “I’m returning your words right back at you, Ser.” He knitted his white brows. “Who am I? I am a novice at the Citadel and I need to get Lord Hightower's grandson there in a hurry!”

  Silence reigned for the next few seconds; soldiers’ expressions were a blend of confusion and shock. Alyx pulled the crown from the rucksack in that moment.

  “Phew.” She took a breath, then leaned for Robin’s ear. “Take this and slip as you planned. Do not throw the bag, it’s risky. I will distract them.”

  “My lady…?” Robin froze, hesitant.

  “The crown is most important.” He pressed it into his palm, firmly. “My only wish from you.”

  She rose in an instant, walking toward the front.

  “It is him, the young Hightower called Quenton.” The captain in orange glamor sounded sure. “Quickly now, we’ll make it faster by horse.”

  “No!” The boy stepped back. “It is unsafe.”

  When Alyx poked her head to take a look, she saw the young Hightower in utterly bad condition.

  His skin, though flushed in places, had a gray pallor beneath it. Sweat gathered at his temples and ran in thin streams down his neck, soaking the fine linen of his doublet and black robe. Narrowing her eyes, she noticed the ‘sweat’ was shimmering.

  A thin, turquoise watery sheen covered his entire side. Seldom were branches sticking out from his skin, with leaves of the same turquoise color that often joined the flow of water.

  “What the hell happened?” One of the soldiers asked. Alyx was not even being noticed now.

  “I was instructed to keep my mouth shut.” The novice struggled to keep him upright. “Please, clear the way.”

  Alyx leaned toward Elissa. “At the right moment,” she whispered, “maneuver the wagon’s back toward left. Make Robin slip away from there unseen.”

  Before letting Elissa reply to this impossible-sounding task, Alyx stood straight on the front seat. “Wait,” she said. “I can help him.”

  The young Hightower did not look like a boy suffering from a common fever. He looked like a vessel being reclaimed by the earth. A strange, rhythmic sloshing sound came from his chest with every ragged breath, as if his lungs were filling with the tide.

  “Mama…” He mumbled beneath Alyx.

  Up close, the sheen upon his skin was not sweat alone. It gathered and shifted like a film of shallow water disturbed by wind. When his ribs rose, something beneath the surface moved with it — a slow, tidal pulse, as though a small sea had been poured into his chest and was now seeking an exit.

  The turquoise branches were no true wood. They were growths like veins made visible — soft, translucent filaments that forked outward from his collarbone and shoulder, trembling faintly. At their tips bloomed tiny, glassy leaves thin as membrane.

  One of the guards held his breath. “Seven save us…”

  The cobbles were cold beneath Alyx’s knees when she knelt. He focused on the boy.

  He was drowning.

  Not in water that filled the mouth and nose. No, this was deeper. The drowning was inside him. His breaths came with a hollow, liquid rattle, and with each exhale, a faint mist escaped his lips, carrying the scent of brine and something green — like leaves blending with river mud.

  A sickness of spring.

  Stories she read from books flashed in her mind. Was this a cousin of the Red Death that Nymeria’s people suffered in the Summer Isles? That may or may not be the case, but whatever it was, the world was sending dark messages with it. Alyx took a deep breath with a tinge of nervousness.

  She placed her palm lightly against his sternum, and the water beneath his skin shuddered.

  “What are you thinking, woman?” the captain ordered. “If this is some plague—”

  “How can I help him without touching him?” Alyx stared coldly. “I say you should be more worried about Citadel than the prison cells, Ser. Unless you are planning to kill that boy.”

  Meanwhile, Elissa shifted the wagon ever so slightly, the wheels grinding against stone. The soldiers’ attention was divided between the noble boy and the strange girl who was bold enough to touch him.

  The white-haired novice took a step back, terrified. The captain looked at him, a ball of sweat forming on his temple. He turned to Alyx.

  “If he worsens, it will be on your head,” he said at last.

  First bloom, she thought. Not yet the rot.

  The boy convulsed suddenly, a thin stream of clear fluid spilling from the corner of his mouth. It struck the cobbles and did not behave like spit — it spread too smoothly, too purposefully, slipping between the cracks as though eager to return to something larger.

  A guard stepped back.

  “Fuckin’ hells.”

  Alyx moved quickly. From the leather satchel she brought, she withdrew two small twists of linen. Inside were dried leaves and slivers of pale root.

  “Willow bark,” she said aloud, so they would hear something ordinary. “And marshmint. For fever.”

  She crushed them between her fingers. Then she pressed the crushed herbs beneath his nose first, forcing him to inhale. Lastly, she made him swallow the mash.

  “Water,” she commanded.

  The novice fumbled with a skin, handing it over with shaking hands. Alyx did not make him drink, but poured some upon his body, as if he wasn’t wet enough. She could feel how full he was, flooding.

  In a sudden move, she threw the crushed herbs into her mouth and swallowed them with the water. She coughed a few times from the dusty meal, but it brought a new life to her. She smiled, and laughed it off as she wiped a forced tear from her eyes.

  She breathed for the next few seconds to steady herself, to calm. When she finished her respite, her palm returned to his chest. This time, she did not merely touch. She closed her eyes and listened.

  Listened deep. Too deep for soldiers, too deep even for Elissa and the novice. She inhaled and let her breath slow to match the rhythm inside him. Tide in. Tide out.

  There was something there, like a stirring.

  Her thumb pressed between his ribs — just enough to interrupt the pulse. She began to murmur in the lowest whisper possible.

  “Jyr?q b??lvqqa tshd?k ysr?ntu aqtysh, (Where the light meets hollow,)” she breathed, “pjyra ksryikam ysr?ntu byar, yntshyk byt?γ ysr?ntu byarmshyk. (flow where you must, but not where you drown.)”

  The sheen beneath her hand trembled. For only an instant, the turquoise branches along his shoulder brightened.

  A guard shifted uneasily. “What is she doing?”

  “Let her,” the novice whispered, intensely watching.

  Alyx exhaled slowly. And with that breath, she did something so small no one could name it.

  She gave the water somewhere else to go.

  The film upon his skin gathered toward her palm. The sensation was cold — biting, river-cold — creeping along her lifeline and pooling at the base of her thumb.

  The boy’s chest rattled once, violently, and then he coughed. Then coughed again, again, again, so violently and constantly.

  He vomited then. Alyx turned his head sideways, then he coughed and vomited more. And more. Alyx rolled his whole body with quick and firm movement, holding him as he shook with more lung-shattering coughs.

  And he vomited more. Gallons.

  It took minutes for the boy to stop vomiting and start breathing. He opened his eyes for the first time, then, seeing the smiling Alyx.

  “Mama…” he mumbled once more, voice hoarse.