“The spark of life…you mean the celestial flame Gallis has been talking about?”
He nods. “Yes, the light that the gods have imbued into every living thing.”
“And you thinkIcould help Fairon,” I say. It’s not a question. Leon lied and tricked and betrayed me because he was trying to protect someone else entirely—his brother.
“So you never had any intention of letting me go in Trova,” I say, the realization bitter.
“No, that’s not true.” His denial is forceful. “Even once I knew you were a solari, I didn’t make any connection between your power and Fairon.”
“Then when? When exactly did you decide to break all your promises to me?”
His eyes harden, and for a moment I think he’s going to close off from me entirely, then his expression clears.
“In Hallowbane. My trip to Trova was partly to search out a cure, but it needed to be done discreetly. Very few people know the seriousness of my brother’s condition. We have too many enemies who’d seek to take advantage. But our healers in Filusia had come up with nothing, and we thought perhaps Trova might have something else to offer. At first, we only got the same answers, but in Hallowbane we found that dryad who was willing to consider moreunorthodoxpossibilities.”
“The blood you gave him, that was Fairon’s?”
His eyes widen a fraction, surprised I knew about that, but he nods.
“So what did he tell you?”
“He told us about the theory of the celestial flame—which I later confirmed with Proctor Gallis. And he told us that there are legends about solari who could influence it. There were none living with that power that we knew of. But what about a solari who’d shown to have more than one ability, and who also had deep, untapped wells of power?”
I’d allowed the dryad in Hallowbane to examine me, unknowingly handing him all the information he needed to analyze my magic. Leon claims he didn’t know I’d be useful to him before then, but the whole thing feels perfectly orchestrated.
I push aside the resentment, trying to focus on what matters now. Despite everything, part of me hurts for Leon. I can empathize with the pain in his voice when he speaks about his brother. It’s how I’d feel if Tira was struck by some unknowncurse. But I’m also so overwhelmed by what he’s suggesting that my empathy is drowned out by a creeping sense of dread.
“I still don’t understand why you think I can do anything where dryads and mages have failed,” I say. “I can cast some light and make things move—that’snothinglike viatic magic. I don’t know the first thing about healing.”
Leon approaches me, seizing one of my hands as he sweeps me up with his gray eyes.
“Because nothing else lines up like this does. My brother’s sickness is celestial, and you’re a multi-blessed solari. If you can wield two, why not more? The old stories talk about solari with multiple powers. Withthiskind of power, the ability to manipulate that spark of life could revive Fairon.”
I shake my head, not ready to accept his certainty, feeling like I’m short of air. All these weeks of refusing to give me a scrap of information, and now he’s askingthisof me?
“Why didn’t you just tell me all this before?” I ask desperately. If I’d known why Leon was doing this…I still wouldn’t have been happy about it, but maybe it would’ve hurt less.
He drops his gaze for a moment.
“I made a vow to my brother,” he says.
“That’s it?” I ask, the words coming out more harshly than I intend. “You made a promise?”
He shakes his head. “Vows in Filusian culture are farmorethan just a promise. They’re binding. You can face grave consequences if you break them—exile, imprisonment or worse. You can’t make them lightly.”
“Why would your brother make you swear a vow like that?” I ask.
“Because he cares about his country more than himself,” Leon says. His voice takes on an edge, and I can tell he doesn’t approve. “He worried that anyone outside of our immediate circle knowing about his illness would destabilize the monarchy. The court in Lavail is full of fae who’d take advantage of any visible weakness in our family. And then there are our enemies abroad—you know yourself that there are powerful people in Trova who’d capitalize on this news.
“I told Fairon none of that mattered. That if it helped us cure him, I’d tell the whole world what had happened to him. That’s why he made me swear the vow. This was back before his illness became too advanced for him to communicate. He thinks I’m reckless, and knew I wouldn’t respect his wishes when it came to playing politics. So the conditions of the vow were that I couldn’t share the truth unless I was sure it was a life-or-death situation. That kept my hands tied, for the most part.”
“You must’ve given some explanation to the dryad in Hallowbane,” I point out flatly.
He nods, conceding the point. “We gave him some details, yes, but not who the blood belonged to. And if he could provide information on a cure, then that would mean itwasa conversation with life-or-death stakes—it would satisfy the terms of the vow. Besides, you saw the test Alastor gave the dryad. We felt we could trust him after that.”
But not me.
I bite my lip to keep the words from coming out. They sound petulant even in my head—but that doesn’t stop them from stinging. The importance of Filusian vows aside, I can see thatLeon upholding his brother’s wish—maybe even adyingwish—was important to him. Still, I don’t know if it’s enough.
