We trudge on, magic tingling through me every time the roots shift. But as with our return journey from Sab Hnou, we reach the border within hours without incident. I’m surprised, however, to find that we haven’t emerged outside Sab Hnou. Instead, we must be north of it, well into the Empire.

Saengo and I gawk at the sight that greets us. A road runs parallel to the trees, where a dozen mounted and armed soldiers dressed in Ronin’s livery await us, holding the banner of the Spider King. They’ve brought enough drakes for our party. But it’s what’s behind them that catches my breath.

Swaths of bright sunflowers blanket the rolling hills, their stalks taller than a grown man. Not all are in full bloom, but it seems we’ve arrived just in time. Farther off, the sunflowers turn red, a fuchsia ribbon dressing the sky. The scent of them, heady and sweet, overpowers the decay of the Dead Wood.

Once everyone’s mounted, Ronin leads the charge, setting a brisk pace. As soon as Saengo’s drake takes off, her face pales alarmingly, but she somehow holds on. Her pain echoes dully in my own chest. When I suggest asking Ronin to slow our party, Saengo refuses. The sooner we reach our destination, the better.

Phaut’s gaze barely strays from the yellow fields. The other Nuvali soldiers breathe deeply the sweet air and turn their faces toward the sky like young sunflowers tracking the light.

Will the same joy lift me if I’m someday allowed back in Evewyn? I used to escape the Company for a few hours by sneaking out to Vos Talwyn’s southern watchtower. I would sit at the lip of the roof, where the wind broke wildly against the cliffs and the briny air was thick enough to taste. Watching the frothing waves of Needle Bay, speckled with cargo ships, while my hair grew stiff with salt, always helped to soothe away my frustrations. Will I be able to return to that watchtower and that feeling, or has everything been forever changed?

“How long has it been since you’ve seen them in bloom?” I ask Phaut.

Fields like these must exist all over the Empire. Sunflowers are one of the country’s most prized exports. Every part of the flower serves a function, from food and medicine to clothing and ornamentation.

“Years.” Her voice grows faint as she murmurs, “My father didn’t grow sunflowers, but we were close enough that on a clear day their scent would carry all the way to our little farm.”

“Sounds wonderful.” I might have slept out in the fields if this had surrounded the orphanage.