“Home again, home again.”

Jeron stood at the door of his lodgings, staring at nothing. He’d waited two weeks to return to Easthaven, toiling at the expedition site to repair the last of the mage-carts and help with cleanup and investigation.

The worst part was how far he was from Niamh, who was probably alone in the hospital. His heart ached for her as he thought of how it pained him to be far from his Easthaven friends and even his apprentice while at the expedition site.

How much worse must it be for Niamh?

He stared at the door as if wondering why it hadn’t opened. “Oh right, I need to unlock it first,” he muttered. He let himself in as quickly as his tired hands could manage. Jeron lobbed his satchel onto the sofa and peered at the streets outside the windows of his sitting room.

The neighborhood magelamps sputtered to life, decorated with green and gold ribbons for the month of Flower Moon, and smaller lights flickered in the windows of Hyacinth Way. Everything looked exactly as it had for the past few years, comforting in its familiarity yet strangely distant, as if he were seeing it through a stranger’s eyes. Nothing had changed. At least, nothing but himself.

His quarters felt smaller after the expedition’s open-air workspace with the stars over his head at night, the sun rising in the mornings before he set about creating or repairing the tools that would allow the expedition leymages to do their jobs. Northgate’s Waystone had been defunct for centuries but could have been salvageable, a way to network the northern villages to Easthaven until the new mage-cart project could expand into the Sylvan strongholds where Niamh likely hailed from.

Niamh Starsong.

One moment, they had been chatting amiably about the upcoming festival, walking side by side as they had the last few weeks. She was the highlight of his days. He had noticed, more than ever, the hints of sunset copper in her soft brown hair; the way her pointed ears were a tad backswept instead of straight; how her eyes looked like burnished gold in the sunlight.

Then, the attack hit with unnatural violence, and everything had changed.

“Sage Jeron?” A muffled voice hailed him, followed by a flurry of erratic knocks.

“It’s unlocked, Rexi.”

The door opened, and a small figure darted inside.

“Why are you sitting in the dark like a ghoul?” Rexi jogged past him, her tail swishing dangerously close to a pile of tiny mechanical components on a side table. She peered up at him, ears perked inquisitively.

“I’m sitting in the dark because, little sister,” Jeron used the nickname with fond sarcasm, “I just got here.”

“Oh. That’s not great.” Rexi coaxed a magelamp to life with a hasty spell. “Well, I’m sorry to say it, but you’re gonna have to go right back out again. Loremaster Olangah ordered me to come get you. We’re all being called into an emergency gathering in an hour at the Guild Academy moot chamber, and you know what that means.” She pulled a face.

“Damn.” Jeron sighed, shaking his head.

“Stop cursing. Especially since you won’t let me,” Rexi added with a flick of her tail. “You’d better hurry.”

“Then hurry I shall. One moment,” Jeron said, gathering fresh parchments, his expedition notes, and the packet of dried fruit and nuts the quartermaster had been kind enough to give him before his journey.

Rexi tugged on Jeron’s sleeve. “Go on alone—I can’t stay. I must go find Sage Kate and tell her, too. Fairly sure the Loremaster’s in a mood.”

“Be respectful,” Jeron scolded. “And… understood. Thank you.”

The girl nodded and then scurried off, slamming the door behind her. Jeron primed the mage-worked plumbing and splashed the travel grime off his face. He shrugged into a clean robe and smoothed a brush over his short, russet-tinged brown hair. If the Mageguild Loremaster was calling a moot, she had news about the Northgate attack.

He couldn’t indulge in thinking about Niamh now, though she always lingered in his mind. Jeron shouldered his satchel and reached for the doorknob. Something caught in his peripheral vision—a square of white, out of place on the dark wooden floor.

He picked up an envelope bearing the sapphire-blue seal of the Tanahr Militia. Surely he had time to peek. He peeled away the wax and unfolded the parchment.

Greetings, Sage Wright, and I hope this finds you well.

I am informing you that Valiant Starsong is staying at Easthaven

Hightower Hospital for the next two weeks. The Sisters say she sleeps most days and we’re not yet allowing visitors. But show the nurse in charge my letter and they’ll allow you admittance. As her healer and goodwill ambassador, you deserve that much and I’m sure she would appreciate a friendly face. I ask that you report back to me everything she has to tell you, so I can best help her navigate this new way of existing. Thank you again for your service to Premier Riva and the Tanahr Valiant Corps—especially to Niamh Starsong.

Respectfully,

– Captain B. Hawke

Jeron stood, heart pounding, the letter clutched so tightly in his hand the paper crumpled. Every instinct screamed at him to run to Niamh, yet Rexi’s urgent summons said otherwise. Duty first, he reminded himself bitterly, forcing himself into motion.

Though maybe there was a compromise.

He stuffed the parchment in his satchel and ran as fast as he could toward the nearest inter-Easthaven portal site, the Captain’s words looming in his mind.

Niamh was alone but didn’t have to be, not at least for a few stolen moments. As Jeron ran in the bracing spring air, he made up his mind. Forget slower ways of travel. The situation called for a quicker, and more expensive, route.

It was a good time to take the Golden Portal.

“Worth the extra coin a hundred times over,” he whispered to himself as he reached the dais where attendants ran civic portals night and day. Jeron dug in a pouch at his side, then shoved half a month’s spending money into the attendant’s hand. “Hightower Hospital, please.”

As he stepped through the portal, the world faded into light and shimmers. He closed his eyes, the warmth of leymagic surrounding him. Stable, ordered leymagic attuned to all the elements in perfect harmony—not like the violent, unstable portal summons that had brought him back to Easthaven. When he appeared outside the hospital grounds, Jeron ran as fast as his tired legs would carry him to Hightower’s guest entrance.

“Please,” he panted, shoving Captain Hawke’s letter into the hands of the attendant who came to meet him. “I need to see Valiant Starsong.”

The attendant glanced at the letter and then smiled. “Ah yes, dear Niamh. She might be asleep, but I can wake⁠⁠⁠—”

“Only if it won’t cause her distress,” Jeron cut in, and then bowed his head in apology.

“I think the opposite will be the case,” the woman said.

He followed her through the foyer into the lift powered by leymagical reactions and a pulley system, then to a long, narrow room lit by dimmed magelamps. They stopped by a bed that was apart from the others. Jeron’s heart thundered like it was trying to wrench itself free of his chest. Niamh lay swathed in white sheets, her injured leg hidden beneath the bedding. His heart sank at the sight of her ears nicked in several places, healing bruises mottling the skin of her face and neck.

“Niamh, you have a visitor. Are you awake enough?”

“A visitor?” The words were faint, but Jeron’s stomach flipped a somersault at the sound of Niamh’s voice.

Sister Hilde motioned for Jeron to come closer. “There’s a chair if you need to sit. I’ll go fetch this one some food since she’s awake.” The woman smiled at Jeron and wandered off.

“Hello again, Niamh,” Jeron said, smiling at her as she yawned.

“Jeron,” Niamh replied and struggled to sit up.

“Careful. Let me help, please.” Jeron leaned over to slide an extra pillow under her head.

Niamh held Jeron’s gaze, a serious, tiny smile flickering over her features, gone as soon as it had bloomed.

“I read your note,” she said and gestured toward the side table.

Jeron’s letter to Niamh rested against a carafe of water. There were a couple of other cards next to his. The sight stirred something in him, relief at knowing people were looking out for her flooding him with warmth.

“It’s good to see you,” Niamh said quietly. “I’m sorry I’m so fuzzy. Surely I hold a new world record for Ahra’s Most Prodigious Sleeper.”

“I don’t know about that. You’ve never seen Senior Sage Panri nodding off during lectures from the Loremaster.”

Niamh chuckled. “Well, I’m pleased you came to visit. Maybe it’s a sign I’m getting better. And maybe because I can be here with my goodwill ambassador, I’ll have better dreams tonight.” Her smile from before faded.

“Bad dreams after what happened are natural. But you deserve peace, and I hope you find some soon.”

“Thank you,” Niamh said so quietly Jeron had to strain to hear.

“Speaking of boring Mageguild meetings, I hate to say that I must go for now. I’m under orders from the head of my guild. I wanted to at least let you know I’m here in Easthaven, and not leaving soon. I’ll come back the moment I can and help in any way I can offer. We are all on standby to help you.”

“I might take you up on that.” Niamh glanced at him and then closed her eyes. “Thank you, Jeron. And thank all the rest who’ve been there for me, if you can.”

Her breathing slowed, and just like that, she slept. Jeron stooped down and, before he could second-guess himself, brushed his hand over her soft cheek, tracing a lock of tawny brown hair. He stood to go right as Sister Hilde bustled in with a tray.

“Brought you some—oh, poor thing,” the woman said, and set the tray on the stool. “Thank you for seeing her. She’ll rest easier because of it, I think. She is doing far better than most in her position would be, but sleep is the best thing for her right now.”

“Thank you for letting me see her.” Jeron said, then reached out and took the woman’s hand. “I’ll sleep easier, too.”

He nodded his goodbye, then ran back to the portal, his step lighter, heart fuller than he had felt in days.

—

Day and night, awake and asleep were all a blur. Yet if Niamh’s senses were not lying, he had come to her. In the flesh, safe-as-houses, a smile brightening his face.

Jeron—the one who had saved her life. His low, calm voice had soothed over her, feeling like home. Her breathing slowed as sleep pulled her gently down once more. Before dreams claimed her, she felt the lingering warmth where Jeron had briefly touched her cheek, a comforting memory to anchor against the dark dreams she knew were coming. Dreams of lightning, hidden keys, and terrible things lurking behind the shadows, promising death not just to her, but to all.