“Don’t tell me you’re fine again, Poppy.”

“I wasn’t,” I lied.

“Uh-huh.” He shifted me closer to him, so I leaned into his chest. “What you need to know now is that none of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong, Poppy. None of this is on you. You understand that? Believe that?”

“I know that. I did nothing to cause any of this,” I told him, speaking the truth. I didn’t blame myself for other people’s actions, but I was still a disruptive presence, whether I intended to be or not. It was a different kind of guilt.

We fell silent as my gaze shifted beyond Kieran to the sprawling city of Saion’s Cove. Ivory and sand-colored buildings—some square and others circular—gleamed under the fading sun, dotting the sweeping, rolling hills and valleys. Some structures were as wide as they were tall, sitting closer to the ground. Once again, it reminded me of the Temples in Solis, but these were not made out of the black, reflective stone that those were. These captured the sun, worshipped it. Other buildings were taller than even Castle Teerman, their sleek towers sweeping gracefully into the sky. And every rooftop I could see was covered in green. Trees rose from them, and vines spilled from the rooftops, all bursting with vivid pink, blue, and purple flowers.

Saion’s Cove was nearly the size of Carsodonia, and this was just one of Atlantia’s cities. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Evaemon, the capital of Atlantia, must look like.

The first signs of life we saw were from the farms just outside the city. Cows and fluffy sheep grazed in the fields. Goats nibbled at weeds and low-hanging branches near the road. Orchards bearing yellow fruit were mixed among various crops, and seated back from the main road, cream-colored walls of homes peeked out from behind mossy cypress trees. Many buildings were there, among the trees, all of them spaced apart and large enough to house a decent-sized family. This was nothing like Masadonia or Carsodonia, where sprawling manors and estates were prevalent, and the workers either traveled from the city or stayed in barely livable huts on the properties.

The livestock took no notice of the wolven that followed us as we passed the farms. Perhaps they were used to their presence or sensed they were of no threat to them. Had the farmers or people in the city heard the wolven in the middle of the night as they came to the Temple of Saion? That must have been a sound to wake up to.

But thoughts of the wolven’s howls fell to the wayside as nervous energy jolted my system. The city suddenly appeared before us.

There were no gates, no inner walls or buildings heavily stacked upon one another. The scent of people forced to live in cramped, narrow spaces didn’t stain the air. That was the first thing one smelled when entering either Masadonia or Carsodonia. It always reminded me of misery and desperation, but Saion’s Cove smelled of fruit from the nearby orchards, and salt from the sea. The farmlands and moss-strewn cypresses simply transitioned into the city, and that was a statement.