I had wanted to mimic her confidence today in my own speech to the warriors—but my feet ache, and it feels like a lifetime since I didn’t have bags under my eyes. Too many urgent meetings with the king, the healers, and the scholars. Too many hurried steps from one end of the palace to the next. Too many haunting cries from mothers and fathers whose children are overheating with fever.

Sentinels Carrick and Hammond quiet the group and call everyone to attention while Renna makes her way around the room and hands out scrolls to each of the commanders.

“Each of these contains a detailed map of Balmora, as we best know it,” says Hammond. “Still, you will be going farther than that.”

“Lord Hammond, sir,” calls a voice. Warrior Io, with her shaved head and fierce glare, gets his attention. “How many children are sick?”

Hammond pauses a moment. “There are fifteen presently in the healers’ care.”

A hushed gasp sweeps the room, and I feel the sting of Hammond’s words strike close to home. Literally.

All my training couldn’t prepare me for the sight of the familiar Storm’s End insignia on the dead girls’ shoes as their places in the sick room were cleaned up. The Heliana has three schools, each with a slightly different approach to care and lessons. My mother, Matron Talla, ran Storm’s End, which focused on the arts like music, pottery, and writing. For Rowan and me, that care was a way of life until we were each thirteen and followed in our father’s footsteps to warrior training. Storm’s End is home. I know sure as the skies that Mother is strong enough to cope with almost anything. Anything but watching her girls die.

Hammond continues. “Also on the scroll is a drawing of the cure you seek. I know it does not appear to be much,” he says, “but the scholars are sure of its power. They say each child will need a ‘petal a year, a stem a season.’ We don’t know how many children will get sick, so when you find the cure, you’re to collect as much of it as you are able.”

“What of the crown prince, my Sentinel Hammond?” I recognize Callen’s voice and find him standing next to Sethran. Callen shifts his stance, arms folded and head held high. “Skies keep us, but the prince is young. What will be done if he, too, gets the disease?”

Hammond considers this. “Your question is one that I’m sure many others share. But to put your mind at ease, the crown prince is not sick.” The very walls seem to exhale. “Crown Prince Tabrol has been quarantined in the royals’ private chambers. Every precaution is being taken.”