As the Royal Council discussed the crisis, Prince Arby paced the royal chambers like a caged animal in a silken tunic, his magenta skin clammy with a cold sweat.
“They’re not telling us anything,” he said, the words a furious hiss aimed at his brother. “Not a thing. They’re treating us like delicate glass figurines. ‘Stay in your rooms.’ ‘It’s for your own safety.’ It’s humiliating!”
Prince Tierro looked up from the intricate knot he was methodically tying and untying in a loose thread on the chaise’s upholstery. His eyes were shadowed with a horror that mirrored his brother’s, but his demeanor was a quiet pool in the storm of Arby’s panic. He was trying to anchor himself to this one controllable thing, this knot, to keep from being swept away.
“They’re trying to protect us, Arby,” Tierro tried to reason with his brother. “They’re the Kings. They know what they’re doing.”
“Do they?” Arby shot back, his chartreuse eyes blazing with a wild fire. “A little girl was unmade, Tierro! Erased! Right there, in the throne room, and no one remembers it. She just… vanished!” His voice cracked on the last word, as he furiously scratched his wrist.
“Are you sure you don't remember? Why are you so afraid?” Tierro asked, his fingers still working the thread. “You seem terrified.”
“I believe you. I believe Dad. I feel useless. What if we get forgotten next?” Arby ran a trembling hand through his bright blue hair. “What is the point of being a prince if you’re just a well-dressed target?”
He sank onto the edge of a large chair, his bravado finally crumbling, leaving behind only the cornered boy beneath.
“We have to act,” he looked at his brother, his eyes pleading, searching for an ally in his desperate need to do something.
“I can’t just sit here, Tierro. I won’t.” Arby rose to his feet, as he tried to craft a plan. “The Tree… it started with the Tree of Hope. That’s where the dead fruit came from. If we could get to it, examine it… maybe we could find a clue. Something the Royal Color Guard missed. Anything.”
Tierro’s fingers stilled on the knot. He knew this was a reckless idea. The Kings had given them a direct order. But he also saw the look in Arby’s eyes. He saw the chafing humiliation of his powerlessness, a feeling that was a mirror of the same quiet inadequacy that coiled in his own gut. He looked down at his own non-magical hands. Arby was right. They were useless. He sighed in defeat against his brother’s forceful will.
Tierro hesitated for a long moment, his cautious nature warring with the fierce loyalty he felt for his twin. He looked at his brother’s face, at the desperate hope that had replaced the terror. He knew he couldn’t let Arby go alone. He gave a slow nod. Arby’s face broke into a triumphant, if slightly manic, grin.
Tierro noticed that his brother was sweating more than usual and his eyes carried a sort of crazed look. He didn't want to mention anything. He knew that Arby was stressed, but he couldn't help but worry.
They moved with the practiced stealth of boys who had spent a lifetime exploring the palace’s hidden corners. They slipped from their chambers. The grand corridors, usually bustling with servants and officials, were eerily quiet with a waiting silence. They reached the grand staircase and were just about to descend toward the kitchens when a voice cut through the quiet.
“And just where do you two think you’re going?”
They froze, spinning around to see a figure standing in the archway of a side corridor. Her arms were crossed and one perfect eyebrow arched in a look of amused authority.
“Auntra Saga!” Tierro breathed, a wave of relief washing over him.
Arby’s reaction was the opposite. At the sight of his favorite person in the world, he shattered completely. A strangled sob tore from his throat. He stumbled back against the balustrade, his face crumpling as he buried it in his hands.
Saga’s expression softened instantly. She crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides. The unshakable love she held for her nephzus made it impossible to scold them. She pulled Arby into a firm embrace, one hand stroking the back of his head, her own heart aching at the sound of his broken weeping.
“Hey, hey, what’s this?” she murmured, her voice soothing. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
Arby clung to her, his body shaking with sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “We were just… I couldn’t just sit there. I have to do something. We’re so… helpless... so useless.”
Saga held him until the storm of his weeping subsided into quiet, shuddering breaths. She gently pulled back, her hands on his shoulders, and looked from his face to Tierro.
“You are many things, my nephzu,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Brave, clever, infuriatingly stubborn. But you are not helpless and you are not useless.”
She sighed, her gaze sweeping over the grand palace, at the guards, at the servants who scurried by with their eyes downcast.
“But this is no place for you right now. Not with this… this poison in the air.” She made a decision then, a plan forming in her mind with her usual practical clarity. “Pack your things. Both of you. You’re coming with me.”
“Absolutely not.” Fable’s voice boomed through the West Chamber, where the emergency council had been in a state of perpetual, anxious session. He paced before the grand hearth, his boisterous energy now caged.
“Saga, it’s out of the question,” Fable demanded. “With this… this horror in the palace, the safest place for them is locked in their rooms.”
Jethran sat at the head of the council table, a quiet center in the storm of his husband’s paternal panic. He said nothing, but his rainbow eyes were fixed on Saga. His expression one of calm, thoughtful consideration, waiting to hear her reasoning.
“With all due respect, my King,” Saga said, her tone an infuriating blend of regal formality and sistraly exasperation. “Locking two sixteen-year-old boys in their rooms is not a security measure. It is a punishment. One they have done nothing to deserve.”
“They are the future of this kingdom!” Fable retorted, his hands gesturing wildly. “Their safety is paramount!”
“Precisely,” Saga agreed smoothly, taking a step forward into the center of the room. “And it would behoove the kingdom, would it not, to avoid keeping its entire line of succession in a compromised location? A tactical dispersal of assets seems not only prudent, but responsible.”
“Did you just refer to my sillies as assets?” Fable stopped pacing and stared at her.
“I am merely pointing out the strategic foolishness of keeping all of your eggs in one basket,” Saga countered, shifting her gaze to Jethran, who was fighting, and failing, to suppress a smile.
“Especially when that basket has an invisible force eating at its foundation,” Saga continued, as she presented her case. “It would be an act of profound irresponsibility for the Crown to deny Silvarii Hollow’s formal offer of asylum to the young princes in this time of crisis.”
Fable sputtered, momentarily speechless. He looked to Jethran for support. “Jethran, tell her she’s being ridiculous.”
“She has a point, Fable. It might be for the best,” Jethran finally spoke, his voice a hum that seemed to calm the air in the room.
“Best?!” Fable cried, his voice pitching higher with disbelief. “They need to be here! With us!”
“Do they?” Jethran asked gently, his gaze unwavering. “Or do we need them to be here with us? They aren't sillies anymore, Fable. They are young heremen, trying to figure out who they are in a world that has suddenly become terrifying. Being trapped in this palace, surrounded by our fear, isn’t helping them.”
“Listen to your sprittle, Fable,” Saga interjected, her eyebrow arching. “He may have the fashion sense of a peacock in mating season, but he is wise in other areas.”
Jethran’s head snapped toward her. “Hey! I'm on your side.”
Saga smiled, a brief, triumphant flash. “See? He always chooses the right side of any battle. Besides, they have never been away from you for a single day of their lives.”
Fable threw his hands up in defeat. “They have left the palace before,” he argued weakly, grasping at straws. “We’ve taken them to Silvarii Hollow.”
“They were with their parens,” Saga interjected, her voice sharp and clear. “You both had your time away from home, a time when you were forced to learn who you truly were on your own. The benefits of that journey were… world-changing. For everyone.”
The argument landed, an undeniable truth. Fable and Jethran exchanged a long look. They both remembered their formative journeys. They had been forged in the fires of solitude and self-reliance. To deny their sons the same chance, however frightening the prospect, felt like a betrayal of the very experiences that had made them who they were.
“Think of how happy they were to see you the last time you spoke to them.” Saga saw her opportunity to place one more dash of glitter onto the sparkle of her argument. “And then think about how happy they will be to see you when they get back after some time away.”
Fable let out a defeated sigh, the fight finally going out of him. He looked at Saga, his expression a mixture of profound reluctance and grudging respect.
“You will keep them safe.” It was far less a request than it was a direct command.
Saga’s maternal power seemed to fill the room. “I will guard them with my life,” she said, her voice an unbreakable vow.
As Saga stepped out of the West Chamber, she turned to Jethran, mouthing the words "Thank you." He just looked at her and gave her a small nod.
Once the door closed behind her, Jethran leaned over to his husband.
"I don't have the fashion sense of a peacock in mating season," he whispered.
"Of course not, my love," Fable answered without taking a breath. "Peacocks look like that all year long. Not only during mating season."
The three-day journey to Silvarii Hollow was a passage from one world to another. The rainbow-lit corridors of the palace gave way to the humming life of the world outside.
For Tierro, every moment was a revelation. He watched, mesmerized, from the window of the royal carriage as the manicured palace grounds dissolved into the untamed beauty of the Evenhere Forest. The trees of lilac and yellow, the air alive with the songs of birds he had only ever seen in books. It was the first taste of a freedom he hadn’t known he was missing, a quiet space to process the horror he had witnessed without the suffocating pressure of the court.
Arby, however, sat in a brooding silence, his gaze turned inward, the emotional storm of the past few days still raging within him. The relief of his confession to Saga had been replaced by a gnawing unease, although he couldn't place it. He continued to absent-mindedly scratch his wrist.
Saga was lost in the passing scenery. She saw the world through the lens of both legacy and future. Her eyes scanned the familiar lilac and yellow woods, a quiet pride in her heart for the peace her family had fought to build. As the carriage rounded a bend, she caught a flash of movement in a sun-dappled clearing. A family of foxes, their coats a rich azure, tumbled playfully in the golden grass.
Her breath caught, a bittersweet ache piercing her chest. For a unguarded moment, she saw Lilian with his mischievous eyes. She felt the familiar weight of him curled in her pack and his unwavering loyalty. A phantom pang of loss made her unconsciously reach for the now-empty space on her shoulder where he used to ride.
The moment passed. Her expression settled back into its usual serene resolve, but the echo of her faded quest lingered.
Arby glanced over, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “I bet the council will be surprised to see us show up at the Hollow."
"They won't be," Saga said, a small smile on her face. "I sent a Macaw ahead of us. They're much faster than the old couriers. My assistant is already getting your dadzu's old room ready for you.”
As the carriage made its final approach, cresting the hill that overlooked Silvarii Hollow, they were met with an unexpected sight. A buzzing crowd of teenage sillies were gathered at the edge of the village, their wings a riot of excited color. They held up crudely painted signs made from large leaves, the juice of berries used as ink.
WELCOME PRINCES! one sign read.
Another, held by a young sill with bright crimson wings, declared,
Silvarii Hollow <3s OUR PRINCES!
As the carriage rolled to a stop, the crowd erupted in a chorus of high-pitched squeals.
Tierro shrank back in his seat, a blush rising on his jade skin. Arby, however, straightened up, a flicker of his charismatic self returning. He smoothed his teal tunic and prepared to step out, a charming smile already forming on his lips.
He swung the door open, ready to greet his adoring public. The squeals intensified into a near-deafening shriek.
“Prince Tierro! IT’S HIM!”
A Silvarii with hair the color of a dandelion swooned dramatically. Another held up a sign that was just a surprisingly detailed portrait of Tierro’s face.
“Tierro! WE LOVE YOUR POEMS!” a varii yelled.
Arby froze, his smile faltering. He looked from the sea of adoring faces, all directed at his brother, to the signs. He saw at least four more dedicated to Tierro. Only one that read AND ARBY TOO! in messy letters at the bottom held by a teenage varii. Arby stepped out of the carriage, the charming smile now a forced line.
Tierro stepped out and waved. The sillies screamed out, “WE LOVE YOU, Tierro!”
“And I… think you're all just… swell,” Tierro nervously replied.
It was clearly enough. The teens dissolved into a fit of delighted giggles, their collective wings creating a shimmering cloud of color as they scattered, whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
The village was a breathtaking fusion of life and magic. So much so that Tierro gasped at the changes since their last visit. The mushroom-shaped homes of glittering wood were still there. Only now they were interspersed with the woven structures of the Coloristas. Their vibrant tapestries and colorful rooftops were a beautiful counterpoint to the shimmering gold of the grass and leaves. The air itself was a harmonious blend of the Silvarii’s elemental Hum and the Coloristas’ chronological Weave.
An elderly Silvarii, his form stooped but his eyes bright and alert, approached them, leaning on a beautifully carved lilac-wood cane.
“Eldru Post,” Saga whispered, rushing forward to embrace the old Silvarii. “You should be at home," Saga said. "You didn't have to greet us here."
"I couldn't miss the chance to welcome the young princes," the old varii said. "Especially with all that is happening in Evenhere City. Welcome, welcome. It has been too long. Time is too precious a thing.”
“My, how you’ve both grown,” he looked the boys up and down, a grandfatherly smile on his face. “It seems only yesterday you were two little princes chasing butterflies in this very circle. Now look at you. Two fine young kings."
“Thank you, Eldru Post,” the two young heremen said in twinly unison. Tierro gave Post a warm hug.
“It is indeed good to see you, old friend,” Post said with a warm smile.
Tierro found his eye drawn to the far end of the Central Circle, to a structure that dominated the view. It was a magnificent town hall, built from the swirled colors of the Tree of Hope itself. Its elegant spire seemed to reach for the emerald sun.
“I remember that place,” Tierro began, his voice full of awe.
“The Jethran Frye Town Hall,” Post confirmed with a proud smile. “Erected on the fifth anniversary of the battle of Silvarii Hollow, when you two were but wee sillies. A reminder of the courage and sacrifice that gave us this peace.”
"When it was built I remember being flown up to see the top of the swirled spire by Banner," Tierro stopped himself, as he looked at Post. "Eldru Post, I'm so sorry. Tassel was my friend."
"Who?" Post asked. "Ah, yes. This forgotten song. I must say I do not recall but if you indeed claims she exists then I believe you. Maybe we can return her.”
“Come,” Saga said, placing her arm around Arby's shoulders. “Let's go inside for some tea.”
Later that night, after Post had gone, the Princes settled in Fable's silliehood bedroom. Arby lay awake, staring at the patterns the moonlight made on the ceiling. The quiet of the Hollow was different from the palace’s silence. Here, it was living, filled with the gentle chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Even to Arby and Tierro, who were Here by birth, the Hum could be felt in this place.
It should have been peaceful, but for Arby, he found himself feeling confused. If he didn't know any better, he would have said the Hum offended him. The itching on his arm started to flare ad he tossed and turned, his mind a relentless vortex of his own perceived inadequacies. Finally, unable to bear the stillness any longer, he rose and crept out of the room. He made his way downstairs, drawn by a faint light and the low murmur of voices from the main living area.
He stopped in the shadows of the hallway, peering into the room. Saga was sitting with Eldress Stanza, their hands intertwined. A single candle burned between them, casting their faces in a warm cerulean glow.
“…I just worry about them, Stannie,” Saga said “Arby especially. He’s so full of fire and frustration, and he has nowhere to put it. I just feel so responsible for them.”
“You gave them a gift, Miss Saga.” Stanza squeezed her hand. “You gave them a chance at a new chapter in their lives. Your brother and Jethran have always been immensely grateful for them.”
“I know,” Saga sighed, her gaze distant. “But sometimes when I look at them, it just weighs on me the fact that I created them. I have to make sure that they're okay in their lives. Because I'm the one who gave them their lives.”
Arby’s world tilted. The words were shattering. A thousand disparate pieces of his life suddenly slammed together in his mind, forming a monstrous picture.
They had been told they were adopted, found not long after the battle. A simple story. But this… this was something else. A secret. A lie. His deep bond with his auntra… it wasn’t the bond of a nephzu. It was the bond of a son... she wasn’t his auntra... she was his mother.
A wave of nausea and a terrifying sense of betrayal washed over him. His entire life, the very foundation of who he was, had been a lie. He stumbled back into the shadows, his chest tight, his mind screaming with the impossible truth. He fled back up the stairs, his movements clumsy with shock. He burst back into their room, shaking his brother awake with a frantic urgency.
“Tierro! Wake up!” Arby's voice squeaked with anxiety. “You have to wake up!”
“Arby? What is it? What’s wrong?” Tierro sat up, blinking in the moonlight.
“I know,” Arby whispered, his voice trembling. “I know why they’ve been hiding the truth from us. I know who we are.”
His eyes wide with a feverish light. He took a ragged breath, the words tumbling out in a torrent.
“It’s her, Tierro. It’s Auntra Saga,” Arby grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “I heard her. She said she created us. She’s our mother.”
Tierro stared at him, his expression a mixture of sleep-fogged confusion and dawning disbelief.
“Arby, that doesn’t make any sense,” Tierro argued. “You must have misheard her. You were probably dreaming.”
“I was awake!” Arby insisted, his voice squeaked from shock. “Aunt Stanza said that Auntra Saga gave our parents a gift of a new chapter in their lives. Then Saga said it. Saga said she feels responsible for us because… she… created us. She said she gave us our lives, Tierro. And it’s the only thing that makes sense! What else could that possibly mean? Why else would they lie? Why else would we be so… different?”
“How can she be our mother?” Tierro asked, his logical mind grasping for an anchor. “She would have had to give birth to us at the age of sixteen. To twins. Plus, we aren't Silvarii. We have no sparkle. We were born without magic. Where are our wings?”
Arby’s face fell for a fraction of a second, the undeniable truth of Tierro’s words a brief obstacle. Then his frantic certainty reasserted itself.
“Dad didn't get his wings until he was sixteen years old!” Arby said, spoken as if it was proof.
Tierro heard this and paused. That was a valid point. But he shook his head as still there was so much that wasn't logical. He looked back at his brother. Arby stood still, clenched his eyes and pushed. He strained until the magenta skin of his face flushed into the deep purple of a tomato. Tierro stared at him curiously.
“Arby, what in the name of the Seven are you doing?” Tierro asked, unsure he wanted to know.
“I'm trying… to make… my wings pop out!” Arby strained out the words.
“I will most likely only be able to come on our birthday,” Tierro promised as he rolled over and covered the blanket over his head. “I will send an aide once a week to ensure that you're being properly managed and taken care of in the sanitarium. Once I am King, I will simply be too busy. I'm sure you understand. It doesn't mean I don't love you.”
“Tierro, please!” Arby ripped the covers off of his brother, causing him to sit straight up in the bed. “Listen to me! Saga and Stanza are having this new baby that they conceived through magic. What if she did the same thing to make us?”
“We have to find proof,” Arby snapped as he exhaled. “The Silvarii… they keep everything. Their entire history is like a religion to them. This whole Hollow is nothing but one big historical artifact. There has to be something in the Silverleaf Library. Something about our family. We have to look. Tonight.”