“Skies keep us, no,” says the Chief Scholar. “If the warriors return with the cure in time, then the city will be restored to her normal place in the skies.”

“That said,” the Chief Healer cuts in, “I know no one wishes to say it, so I will. Forgive me, my king, but don’t you feel we should prepare—at least in some way—for the worst?”

I exhale, my heart thumping hard in my chest. “Which is?”

“Abandoning the Heliana,” she replies.

A few chairs down from me, Renna leans forward. “Chief Healer, I’m surprised. You’d abandon the city so easily? Our warriors can and should make a stand here, on streets they know.”

“And what of the people who don’t know how to fight, hmm?” the Chief Healer replies. “You surround yourself with warriors, but you forget that there are other citizens at play here. Other lives. If the city falls, the humans will be on us in a matter of hours. We know they can reach us by sea, and now by air. Seeking refuge on Vyrinterra is not a permanent solution, but our people would last longer in the shelter of the bearkings’ fortresses than they will here. Our city is not built to be defended.”

She has never needed to be, I think bitterly. The thought of retreat is painful, but I can see why her mind went there. The Heliana would not become a second Garradin. If retreat is needed, we’ll retreat. Though I can only imagine the colorful language that Princess Freanna would unleash if thousands of Leonodai started landing on Vyrinterra’s shores, headed for their carefully guarded lands.

The king clears his throat. “Thank you for your words, Chief Healer. I know we would all like to believe that’s impossible, but without word that the cure has been found … I agree it must be considered.”

Renna opens her mouth to retort. Beside her, Hammond puts a steady hand on her arm.

“Your Grace,” says Hammond. “If the city is to be abandoned, then we must preserve every part of Leonodai tradition that we can and take it with us to Vyrinterra.”

“There is still time,” Renna interjects, but the king silences her with a wave of his hand.

“Tell the scholars and trainees to begin gathering our oldest and most vital texts,” he says. “I detest the possibility more than anyone in this room, but we must be ready to react as needed.”

“It will be done, Your Grace,” the Chief Scholar replies.

I sway with the pain of our reality. Gathering texts. Sending scared citizens fleeing to Vyrinterra. And no word from the east.

I close my eyes—it is all too much. What I wouldn’t give to have Seth hold me in his arms, to whisper to me that we’re going to be all right. I need him for moments like this.