The older woman gives me a smart nod as she discards one cloth and starts pressing ground herbs into a fresh one. Even though she was born without a right hand, Prena’s skills as a healer are unmatched. “The skies had to keep something back,” she told me once. “Otherwise, I would have been too good at my job and Leonodai would live forever, like the sea-folk.”

Prena rubs a minty-smelling salve onto my shoulder. When she’s done, I lean forward and swap out my armored boots for leather sandals that’ll be better suited for the day’s heat. The sounds of the next fight echo from the arena, while music plays from farther outside the palace grounds. I listen for the high-pitched bells that mark the hour, but I don’t hear them. I might not be too late.

“You’re all set,” says Prena, wiping her hand on her olive-green uniform. The gold thread of the Leonodai crest sewn into the front catches the light as she does.

I leap up. “Thanks, Prena.”

“Thank me by stretching that shoulder. Don’t let my good work go to waste.”

I smile and duck out of the room. In my chest, my heart flutters as if it’s trying to fly from within me. An echo of cheers from the eastern side of the palace confirms that I’m not too late to watch the Race of the Four Gates. If I hurry, I can still catch the finish.

I take my lioness form, gliding above the palace and the massive crescent-shaped ridge beneath it. Toward the middle of the ridge, windows reveal the endless tunnels built into the stone. They’re already illuminated with candlelight and lanterns made of colored glass. The same will be done to the other palace windows, from the lowest level to the Glass Tower at the very top, as per tradition. Only the hollow Keep deep inside the base of the ridge will remain dark, but no one ever goes in the Keep, anyway.

From this height, I can see all four rivers that mark the cardinal points of our diamond-shaped city. The waters pour from a magical spring far beneath the palace, rushing straight outward and off the edge of the island and into the sea below. Not many know of the grotto where the spring is hidden, but Callen, my oldest friend, and I had found it years ago in a game of hide-and-seek. My mother chastised the two of us when she found out, making us promise not to go back.

“That is sacred ground,” she said. “Only the royal family should ever visit that place, to remember the magic of their ancestors.”

Of course, immediately following our scolding, Callen and I made a pact to keep going there, but to keep it secret. As the years turned, we visited less and less. Now I can’t remember that last time we were there.