POV: Ravenna
The garden is beautiful. I hate it immediately.
It sits atop one of the eastern floating islands, carved into the stone like someone scooped out the center and filled it with growing things. Trees with silver bark. Flowers in shades of white and pale blue. A small pond with crystal-clear water that reflects the sky. Everything is serene and peaceful and makes me want to SET SOMETHING ON FIRE.
Seris waits beside the pond. She's dressed simply today—pale grey robes that blend with the garden, her silver hair loose. She looks like a benevolent teacher preparing to impart wisdom.
She looks like someone I could trust if I didn't know better.
"Princess Ravenna." She smiles as I approach. "Thank you for coming. Please, sit."
I sit on the stone bench she indicates. Try to look eager and unthreatening. Like I'm just a young woman grateful for guidance from an experienced mentor.
It makes me sick.
"Healing magic is unique among the rare gifts," Seris begins. Her voice is calm, educational. "Fire destroys. Water adapts. Earth protects. Air reveals truth. But water's healing gift? It creates. It mends. It restores what was broken." She pauses. "Tell me, when did your gift awaken?"
"A few months ago," I say carefully. Giving truth wrapped in omission. "During the competition."
"Ah yes. The marriage competition your father arranged." Her eyes are too sharp. Too knowing. "Such an archaic tradition. Forcing a woman to marry against her will. How did that feel?"
Is she trying to bond with me? Make me think she understands? "Frustrating," I say honestly. "But I found someone worthy."
"The scarred warrior who survived five rejections." Seris's tone is thoughtful. "An interesting choice. Most would consider him... broken."
My hands clench. "He's not broken. He's strong."
"Of course." She waves a hand. "I meant no offense. Survival itself is a form of strength." She leans forward slightly. "Tell me about the awakening. Was there a trigger? A moment of danger or extreme emotion?"
She's fishing. Trying to find out about Mother's scale. About the crystallized gift that saved my life.
"I don't remember clearly," I lie. "Everything was chaotic. One moment I didn't have it, the next I did."
Seris watches me for a long moment. Then she nods. "That happens sometimes. Trauma can blur memory." She gestures to the pond. "Let's begin with basics. Healing requires understanding of three things—body, mind, and spirit. You must see all three to mend properly."
She has me practice on plants first. Wilted flowers. Damaged leaves. Teaching me to sense the life force within living things, to feel where it's weak or broken, to channel my gift through water to restore it.
And gods help me, she's good at this.
Her knowledge is vast. Genuine. She explains techniques I never would have figured out alone. Shows me how to differentiate between surface damage and deep trauma. How to mend bone versus flesh versus spirit. How to purge poison from blood. How to restore energy to the exhausted.
I learn more in two hours than I learned in months of fumbling on my own.
Which makes me hate her even more.
"Excellent," she says when I successfully heal a flower that was nearly dead. "You have natural talent. Your mother's gift runs strong in your blood."
And there it is. The probe.
"I never knew my mother," I say carefully. "She died when I was born."
"How tragic." Seris's expression is perfectly sympathetic. "Queen Elara was renowned in her time. A healer of extraordinary skill. She could cure almost any ailment, mend wounds that should have been fatal." A pause. "Did she leave you anything? Knowledge? Teachings? Perhaps something... physical?"
My heart pounds. She's asking about the scale. She knows about the scale.
"No," I lie smoothly. "Just her necklace." I touch the sapphire at my throat. "Nothing else survived."
Seris watches me with those cold blue-grey eyes. I can see her weighing my words. Deciding if I'm lying. If I'm hiding something.
Finally, she nods. "A shame. But perhaps it's for the best. Gifts passed down through objects can be... unpredictable." She shifts topics seamlessly. "Tell me, Princess—have you noticed anyone else in Cindravale with rare gifts? Your kingdom is old. Surely others have awakened."
There it is. The real question. The one she's been building toward.
"Not that I know of," I say. "Rare gifts are called RARE for a reason."
"Indeed." But her eyes say she doesn't believe me. "Though one wonders if that's truly the case, or if gift-bearers simply hide their abilities. Fearing persecution. Fearing those who would hunt them."
The temperature drops. Not literally—but the shift in her tone is undeniable. She's not being subtle anymore. She's letting me know that she knows. That she hunts. That I'm sitting across from the predator who wants me dead.
And she's doing it deliberately. Testing to see if I'll break. If I'll give something away.
I meet her eyes steadily. "I imagine anyone with sense would hide such abilities. The world is dangerous enough without painting a target on your back."
"How wise." Seris smiles. "You are learning already, Princess. Not just about healing—but about survival."
The lesson continues. She shows me more techniques. More refinements. All while asking probing questions disguised as friendly curiosity. Where did you travel after leaving Cindravale? Who did you meet? Did anyone else display unusual abilities? Are there others like you?
I deflect. Dance around answers. Give her truth without substance. It's exhausting. Like fighting a battle with words instead of fire.
Finally, after three hours, she says, "That's enough for today. You did well, Princess. Tomorrow we'll practice on living subjects. Perhaps your warrior would volunteer? I understand he has many scars that could benefit from healing touch."
Over my dead body will she get Theron alone in this garden.
"I'll ask him," I say sweetly. "Though he's rather attached to his scars. They tell stories."
"All scars tell stories." Seris stands gracefully. "The question is whether those stories serve us or trap us. Some things are better healed than remembered."
She says it like wisdom. Like she's imparting some deep philosophical truth.
But what I hear is: Some people are better dead than alive.
"Thank you for the lesson," I say. Stand. Bow slightly because that's what protocol demands. "It was... enlightening."
"Tomorrow morning," Seris says. "Same time. We'll delve deeper."
I leave the garden. Cross the bridges back toward our quarters. And the moment I'm alone in my room with Theron, Morgana, and Saren, I say, "We need to leave Skyreach. Now."
"What happened?" Theron asks immediately.
"She knows." My voice is shaking. "She knows about Mother's scale. About other gift-bearers. She's hunting information as carefully as she hunts people. And she's not even hiding it anymore. She's letting me know that she knows. Testing to see if I'll break."
"Then we leave tonight," Morgana says flatly.
"We can't." Saren shakes his head. "Guards are watching our quarters. If we run, they'll stop us. Seris will know we're onto her."
"Then what?" I demand. "I just keep showing up for lessons with a woman who wants me dead? Keep smiling while she circles closer?"
"For now," Theron says quietly. "Yes. Because if she wanted you dead immediately, you'd be dead already. She's taking her time. Which means we have time too. Time to plan. Time to prepare."
He pulls me into his arms. I bury my face against his chest.
"Something about her feels fundamentally wrong," I whisper. "Not just evil. Wrong on a deeper level. Like she's broken in a way that can't be fixed."
"Then we don't try to fix her," Theron says. His voice is steady. Certain. "We survive her. And then we stop her."