Page 293 of Elemental Becoming

“Yes, my little Zephyr,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “We can.”

A PROMISE

FORTY-ONE

The dragons have seemed unusually restless of late. Their riders speak of a shared unease, as though the dragons sense some approaching peril beyond our sight. I pray to the gods that this is not the herald of yet another threat.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

Acouple of hours later, after breakfast, we walk hand in hand through the gardens of the castle.

The crisp air carries the scent of damp earth and fading blooms, and autumn lingers at the edges of everything. Leaves have begun their creeping transformation, turning shades of amber and gold.

The gardens are even larger than I imagined.

Clusters of late-blooming flowers spill over stone-edged beds. Autumn crocuses, deep violet asters, and fiery dahlias stand bright against the shifting green. Vines creep along trellises and archways, their leaves tinged at the edges with the first blush of red. Butterflies still flit between the flowers, moving lazily, as if reluctant to accept the change in seasons.

Stone pathways wind between towering trees and flowering archways. The distant sound of trickling water drifts through the space, small fountains nestled among clusters of ornamental grasses and fragrant herbs.

Benches of weathered stone and dark wood are tucked beneath bowing willows and sprawling oaks, some half-hidden behind hedges, offering secluded places for quiet reflection. The last of the songbirds fill the air with soft notes, their melodies mingling with the rustle of the trees in the cool breeze.

It feels impossibly peaceful.

A world apart from duty, war, and the weight of what’s coming.

For now, there is only the crunch of leaves beneath our boots, the warmth of Thane’s hand in mine, and the quiet hush of autumn settling into the land.

I glance over at him.

He’s dressed simply today. A dark tunic. Dark pants. His sword strapped to his belt as always. He moves with the same quiet confidence he carries everywhere, but his steps are unhurried. Relaxed.

He catches me looking and lifts a brow.

“What?”

A smile tugs at my lips.

“Nothing.”

His hand tightens around mine.

“Liar,”he says into my mind.

I laugh softly and look away, taking in our surroundings.

I’ve never seen the gardens of the keep before, and I can’t help the sense of awe that settles over me as I take them in. So much land stretching in every direction, filled with things that exist for no reason other than beauty. Ornamental trees, sculpted hedges, sprawling beds of flowers, herbs, and climbing vines.

My eyes roam over the gardens, lingering on the fountains, the flowering trellises, the endless sweep of green beyond them. It’s breathtaking. The kind of beauty that makes my chest tighten.

But beneath the wonder, there’s something else.

A pang of guilt.

So much land devoted to this. Not for crops. Not for food. Just beauty. Beyond the walls of this keep, beyond the wealth and safety of the keep, there are people with far less. Families struggling through harsh winters. Villages still rebuilding from the war.

People who would look at these gardens and see wasted space.