He shrugs. “I have no clue. The polymaths had no clue, either—they study magical symptoms in order to combat them, certainly, but they’d never seen anything like this. So we were led to believe they weren’t magical. They were just part of the way her mind worked in sleep.”

The dust swirls in the light, like thousands of miniature fireflies. I understand something then. “And you— So when she died, you went looking for it. You used the annual prince’s Hunts to search the woods, thinking you could find this Tree. You thought—”

“I thought it had something to do with her death,” he agrees, eyes focusing on me again. “That it lured her somewhere. That sounds equally mad, I know. Part of me was using it as an excuse. But another part of me was—is—still suspicious. The polymaths said her symptoms weren’t magical. But I’ve seen it happen too much to think it’s just a human symptom, either.”

He breathes out, heavy and long, looking up at the blue summer sky through the shards of roof. “She was gone for five years. And she came back. And still, still she dreams of that godsdamned Tree. I’d hoped she’d gotten better. Fione and I—after we got over the joy of having her back—we both dared to hope, but…”

For a moment, I admire the way the shafts of sunlight illuminate his proud nose, his thick brows. Prince Lucien flits his eyes to me.

“There was one polymath,” he says. “One, out of the thousands, who didn’t think Varia was mad.”

“Just one?” I quirk a brow.

“He wasn’t an official polymath,” the prince says. “But Mother and Father were so desperate to find someone who knew something, they called for anyone who could pass a basic test. He was an old celeon. I’ve always remembered his name—he was the first person who dressed in polymath robes and smiled at me kindly at the same time. Farspear-Ashwalker. Muro Farspear-Ashwalker.”

My blood goes cold. That name is chillingly familiar—it’s Yorl’s last name. Yorl’s father? No—his grandfather? The one who did all that polymath research and got no credit for it? The one who all but made the serum that lets me talk to valkerax? The one Yorl is working so hard to vindicate with the valkerax—with Varia?

“What did he say about Varia’s nightmares?” I blurt.

Lucien sighs. “I don’t know. I was young. I was playing with some toy at Mother’s side while they talked. I assure you, over the past decade, I’ve tried to remember. It all blends together. But one thing did stand out.”

My feet take me to him, burning with curiosity. “What is it?”