A guard at the main entrance recognized them instantly, lowering his gaze respectfully and stepping aside.

“Welcome, Your Highness, Lady Sylverlief, Priestess Evargloe,” he said without objecting. There was no need to question such honored guests.

The interior halls proved every bit as awe-inspiring as the outer terraces. High ceilings, intricate stained-glass windows, and elegantly carved wooden paneling made each corridor feel like a grand gallery. Softly glowing lanterns lined the walls, illuminating staircases that wound upward past whispering tapestries depicting House Fythariel’s ancestors and heroic deeds.

At last, a maid in a deep green gown approached, curtsying with a gentle smile. “Your Highness, my ladies, thank you for coming. Please follow me. Lady Strumwiever awaits you on the third floor.”

They followed her through several archways, each revealing different vantage points over the water-laced valleys below until they arrived at a tall spiral staircase. The steps were carved from smooth stone with leafy patterns etched into each riser. Ascending, Elle could not help but admire how the windows at every turn allowed glimpses of waterfalls tumbling amid sun-dappled rocks while overhead branches of ancient trees arched protectively.

“Take care on these steps,” Liori murmured, touching the railing lightly. “They’re polished from so many centuries of footsteps.”

Elle nodded, adjusting her hold on the slender rail, her slippers making soft scuffing sounds on the worn stone. Aer followed close behind, nimble as ever, though she kept a hand on the railing – no point in risking a slip above such dizzying heights.

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At length, they emerged onto a broad landing. The third floor was filled with arched windows overlooking the layered mountain scenery, and the hall smelled faintly of fresh herbs. A pair of carved double doors stood open, revealing a sitting room awash in warm lamplight and the gentle hush of healing wards.

“Her Ladyship is expecting you,” the maid said quietly. She curtsied again, stepping aside so the princess, the ranger, and the priestess could enter as they pleased.

Elle paused, smiling gratefully at the maid before turning to Liori and Aer. They all shared a brief, understanding glance. Fayelwen was unwell, and their presence might bring her comfort and hope.

“Shall we?” Elle asked softly, stepping over the threshold.

Arm in arm, the three women entered the manor’s third-floor sanctuary. Beyond the wide, double doors, a corridor branched into several arched windows overlooking the roaring waterfalls below. The mist caught shards of sunlight that danced across the stone floor. The gentle hum of cascading water echoed through every hallway of Stormweaver.

The maid in a deep green gown who had guided them from the entrance closed the doors behind them with a polite bow. At the end of the corridor, a young elf woman named Winnie waited by a tall door carved with spiraling motifs of leaves and vines.

“Please, this way, my ladies,” she murmured, leading them forward. They followed, letting the tap of their footsteps mingle with the distant rush of water.

“The young 9th Miss is resting in bed,” Winnie told them softly. As soon as the door opened, the pungent aroma of herbs wafted through the air. Inside, the room was spacious, illuminated by broad windows that framed a magnificent view of the waterfall. Thick drapes hung by each window, shielding much of the sunlight and creating an ambiance of cozy dimness.

Faye’s voice called from behind the heavy bed curtains, a weak cough punctuating her words. “You may go, Winnie. I’ll ask for you if I need you.”

Winnie bowed to Elle, Liori, and Aer, then curtsied toward Faye’s bed. “I’ll be down the hall, my lady. I’ll bring refreshments shortly.” She left with a soft hush of skirts.

A silence settled over the room, broken only by Faye’s faint coughing. The fabric of the bed curtains rustled, and through it, they glimpsed Faye shifting.