Snapdragon

Noticing far too much is an obsessive curse best turned outwards. That way when I find my thoughts turning inwards, I’ll know it is the Moon’s handiwork and not my own.

Or at least that is more or less what is what I tell myself to steady my nerves.

There is only so much that can be done.

That everyone I know would be better off without me weighing them down.

Or maybe I can go a step further than removing myself and take the worst with me.

And all the other little lies that can’t be resisted under the light of the moon until blood has been shed.

Our Moon is so willing to bargain and pretend that we would be going out on our terms.

But if we won’t come out to play and insist on hiding away, the Moon will sway others caught out and under its light into directing their blood thirst in our direction.

Traveling the roads can be safe enough, provided it is done in small numbers and proper precautions are taken to at least pretend we are respecting the moon’s threat.

Large and prolonged battles in open fields or sieges lasting many a night are but wasteful expressions of a world the Lunarian Moon no longer allows.

Or at least, that is the way Sapling Seer Eluned tells it. Although she had been a Seedling of a Seer at the time. I wonder how much Cerya’s instructions might differ.

Thankfully, Cerya is nothing like the older sister whose footsteps she is expected to follow.

How much does Ayre differ from their siblings? I could ask the same of Lenore.

Is any deviation from our intended roles an imperfect expression in need of correction? Or can I hope that some allowances must be made in order to not cannibalize a nation’s ability to function?

How was it taught to us?

Each Lunarian grove is sewn in circumstances where a bountiful return is all but assured by the Grove Tender.

Where natural resources fall short, groves tend to make their own bounty.

I can almost picture Mel’Viora leaning into political circumstances to justify a modest sized grove that could give the Castellan priority access to crafted implements that suit her needs in a more timely manner.

Placed right on the border as we are, how many other groves did Mel’Viora cut out of consideration with the sewing of her own garden of Lunarians?

A standing lake kept clear enough to serve as a reflective pool forms much of the grove’s border, making defending the grove easy enough. No sense maintaining a large standing guard when our only foreign neighbor is the heart of Vylia itself.

How many times have I guarded my grove’s only two walls and tower?

Will there come a day when I find out why our walls face not Vylia, but the rest of the greater wooded expanse of the Lunarian groves?

How far does Mel’Viora’s vision extend if she is just as concerned with threats from within as she is from without?

How much do these perceived suspicions extend to me? Is there a future where I am considered a worthy bounty that Mel’Viora has nurtured? Or are her words careless seeds planted only to be harvested or cut if something unsightly grows from them?

Does Ayre really need to prove themself beyond rising to the rank of Fourteenth Sibling? Or is there something in this arrangement between Ayre and the Seed Seers that I cannot see?

Was Seer Eluned not also paired with the previous Fourteenth Prince?

My endless ruminations are disturbed by the seedling formerly known as Nineteenth Thorn.

Only four days my younger brother, he is more driven by a need to prove himself, and yet utterly blind to the world I see.

“Any sign of Ayre?” Nineteen asks the moment his patrol brings him within range of a whispered conversation.

“Not yet, no.” I say, trying not to show annoyance at how his first question is always a pointed one.

He hesitates for as long as he feels is polite. “First says it’s time. Last call and all that.”

“Right.” I say, not allowing any hint of emotion into my voice. “I’ll start my last rounds before moonrise.”

Nineteenth’s stare lasts longer than it should before terminating with a nod.

The former Nineteenth Thorn and I share this stretch of the wall while First and Second Thorns watch from the other. Four is more than enough to keep a watchful eye.

It is just not enough to sleep in shifts or spare anyone who is injured.

Our prospects of actually fending anything off is dismal enough that I worry how we will fare without Ayre or Astraea here.

I’ve largely confined Fia to the tower in the middle where she has the least responsibility and is in the least danger. Positioned between each wall where a full Watcher compliment might otherwise rest in shifts, she is comfortably equidistant from the four of us if something tries to breach the tower from above. Anytime we communicate between walls, the tower is where we do it.

Ayre’s blood doll is as safe as I can make her.

I wish I could claim this was for her benefit.

Fia is a sweetheart, but Second knows what Cerya and Theriya call me in private. Beloved and Snapdragon both.

It is enough that Second gave me a pointed look in First’s presence. Thankfully, so far nothing has come of it. But I am not privy to the conversations passing between them inside the other wall.

The last thing we need is adding any surprise complications. Ayre, Cerya, and Theriya have enough to worry about without giving First cause for concern.

Any Thorn stepping out of line is the kind of thing she sees as her role to address.

Nothing she is likely to do would have my interests in mind.

Not that it would stop her.

How would she frame it?

A lesser brother I can forgive, but I’m not willing to lose a sister.

As far as anyone else cares, I am the Third Watcher, positioned to push us to our limits until we blossom into terrifying Lunarian regulars.

Course, being the lowest rank present, currently this means being the one willing to give Nineteen the benefit of the doubt for long enough to perform tonight’s duties.

As for the Second Thorn, he is First’s right hand. I doubt everything I tell Second makes it back to her, but I haven’t become a problem yet. Not openly. Nineteen on the other hand is not someone First would go to any length to save when things get dire tonight.

Nineteen and I run the length of the interior of our assigned wall, making sure every hatch to the forest outside is secure.

Hinges and latches are tested for the third time. Each must shut securely and remain well oiled enough to function for tonight’s purposes. With less than our full planting, we can scarcely afford to have a single hatch refuse to respond when we need it to.

I save the door to the interior of the grove for last, in the hopes that Ayre will finally show.

Nineteen is still approaching from his side, being extra thorough.

I give the door a few silent, pleading moments.

The moment Nineteen turns in my direction, a sudden weight forces the door open.

I step to the side, lowering a spear into position before letting it fall from my hands.

Ayre, wide eyed, disregards me in favor of slamming and barring the door shut behind them.

Each breath they take is hard and labored.

Their heart hammers from an intense and sustained exertion.

Flecks of artificially frozen malice dust the length of clothing covering their arms.

“What happened?” I say, but Ayre is already speaking.

“I can’t run from this. I can’t…” They close their eyes, letting the words go in favor of catching their breath.

Nineteen closes the distance between us. Unlike me,he is unwilling to set his spear aside. “There have been no sightings reported. Cinder Blight or otherwise.” His eyes narrow at Ayre’s arms, detecting the same traces of artificially lingering frost from a cold emotional resonance that I do. “Has someone dared to bother you before a Full Moon?”

Oh Nineteen, how little you allow yourself to see. Being cut loose from the Thorns is the best thing that could have happened to you.

Nineteen visibly struggles with having lost his preferred hand and awkwardly shifts the javelin to the crude replacement. All so that they can offer Ayre a well intentioned hand in support.

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While I try not to think less of myself for having such harsh thoughts, I can't help but notice Nineteen's gesture that goes unacknowledged.

The next question that comes to mind, I don’t ask.

Where is Astraea?

“Nineteen.” I cut in. “I want you atop the tower. Tell me what you see.”

He looks back and forth between us. There is no telling what subtext he is capable of taking away, but it is clear enough that he knows he is being dismissed.

I’ll… deal with that later.

Unfortunately, he does not depart quietly. “Right. Let me know if Astraea shows up.”

Ayre winces.

And it does not go unnoticed by Nineteen. Something about his expression tells me that he regrets his words. His departure is swift, offering me an apologetic look.

I don’t imagine he meant anything by it, hopefully his narrowing down the list of what could be bothering Ayre does not go to waste.

Ayre looks visibly shaken in a way I’ve not yet seen. There is an uncertainty in the way they double check their surroundings and the door that suggests they don’t feel safe. Last I checked, they were surrounded by those they trust most.

Or has that trust been strained or violated in some way? It’s not something I would expect out of someone like Astraea. She always struck me as the fiercely loyal type. And yet the lingering resonance suggests that Cerya could just as likely been at fault.

But I just can’t see the latter. Cerya has regretted every mistake she’s made with me. Already I notice her making overtures to sidestep hurting Ayre in the same ways.

There’s no telling how much time we’ll have before the attacks begin.

Moonrise will be any moment now.

But it will be a long night.

I should address what I can. We’re going to need Ayre’s strength. Especially without Astraea here.

Whether Ayre can enact their own plan or resolve what is bothering them will just have to depend on whether we have enough time to address what has changed.

***

I position myself by one of the hatches so that I can keep watch on Ayre and the night outside.

Ayre offers me no words or physical touch.

When they hesitantly meet my gaze, I sense the kind of profound distress that can’t become tears. Not yet at least.

Uproot it all, the first thing that comes to my mind is that Mel’Viora won’t release me from my suffocating role if Ayre is not capable of fending off the full moon’s threats.

I shove this thought down as quickly as it surfaces.

It shouldn’t matter.

Not if Ayre is hurting.

That needs to be my focus.

And so I reach for an apology framed to address the circumstances that led Ayre here. “I know Theriya and I are the ones who conspired to put you in this position.”

“It’s fine.” Ayre lies, unconvincingly.

I note a hurried desperation in their reply.

Maybe an apology isn’t what they need.

No.

Ayre knows what they signed up for.

I can offer them better than that. “I just… I wanted to thank you. We put you through far more than we intended.” I take a cautious step forward, to close the distance between us.

Ayre flinches.

So I halt my advance.

This time I do offer apologies and assurances in Cerya’s stead. “Sorry. I’m here, but you can pretend I’m not if it’s what works for you. When you’re ready.”

It is with closed eyes that Ayre takes the next step. “It’s just. Cerya just… She was there for me just now. In a way I’m not sure anyone else could have been.” Ayre’s eyes open, and their distress becomes plain to see.

They’re worried.

It’s the kind of worry that they’re unsure they will ever get to address.

As someone who has been there, it is with visible difficulty that I offer Ayre a sympathetic smile. “Yeah. She’s like that sometimes.” I leave it at that, unsure if it is quite the right time or place to claim that moving mountains for someone they care for is a quality they have in common. “Tell me what happened.”

And they do.

I wish I could embrace them.

I wish I could press them for more information.

I wish I had time and privacy to say all the things that feel like they need to be said.

Ayre has just had their trust broken by someone who has pledged to protect them. Not only that, but Astraea has the kind of body and confidence that might make Ayre think she has all the answers.

This is not the kind of pain I can ease or dull. If anything, I’m someone who would think the same. Upon first seeing Ayre feed on Selescia, I thought they themselves had the answer to my circumstances.

If we had more time, I’m sure there is something I could think of to say that did more than make Ayre’s anger and pain my own.

But I don’t have the answers Ayre needs.

Not with the time we have.

Not when these kinds of emotions will serve them well in using the gemstone implements in their possession.

“What would you ask of me?” I say, intending to clarify whether they need advice, consoling, or just someone to listen.

But the words and tears come freely now.

“I don’t know what to do.” Ayre says, visibly straining to hold back the tide of tears and emotions.

For every mistake Cerya has made, Theriya has been the one to step in and prevent a breaking point between us.

Can I be that?

I take a deep breath, considering what I know.

Ayre is self-reflective to the point of relentlessness. Despite not inherently being a bad trait, looking upset and like they are about to panic is not likely to lead anywhere kind to themselves.

Not that anything I do now to help them will hold up under the moonlight. But that would be asking too much of myself, wouldn’t it?

I just need to ease their concerns enough to help them decide on a plan of action. If they are still willing to go forward with their intended plan, I’ll hear them out or give them a push as needed.

No matter how unprepared I feel, I am who Ayre has to support them.

As much as I’d like to be gentle, I need Ayre prepared for whatever comes next.

I lock eyes with my Princess. “Ayre, what has been done to you is enough to shatter stones intended to be unchanged by compounding emotions. As far as I’m concerned, we won’t know if anything Astraea claims is true until you try.”

Ayre’s voice and posture shrinks. “And if I ruin everything?”

“Then I will be here at your side, helping you pick up the pieces.” I say, stepping forward to close that distance and offer them reassurance.

They take a step back and away from me.

“No matter what comes next.” I say, hand over my heart.

Ayre won’t hear of it. They shake their head. “I can’t let you be hurt too. Not after Cerya…”

I want to grin, knowing my Cerya wouldn’t allow herself to be hurt so easily. But I try and maintain my stone faced mask intended to be unimpressed by Ayre’s worries. “Did you see her get hurt?”

“No. But-”

I’m relentless. “Will worrying help her or change anything?”

“What if I can do something about it?” Ayre says, backing into the wall alongside the door.

I make a pointed gesture towards it. “Well, go on then. I’m sure Cerya will be pleased to have you also at the mercy of this Goddess.”

Something in Ayre changes.

I watch as they wrestle their emotions into something more vicious and cold.

And then I twist the knife.

My pitch deepens as I reach for the Third Watcher voice that issues from within my lungs. “Just leave Fia and I at the mercy of the Full Moon and Mel’Viora both.”

Ayre freezes up.

Too much?

I relent, backing away a step. “Whatever you do. Make it matter. Commit to it.” And then I turn away, hating myself for pushing myself into something like cruelty to be what I think Ayre needs.

They don’t let me get far, their words a plea.

“I don’t know who I am anymore, Snapdragon. You’ve put all these ideas in my head that I can just redefine myself. And it’s not just you. Cerya, Amari, and even Astraea are guilty of it. And I just don’t see it. Yet the steps are in front of me. They feel natural to take even when trying to understand why only leads to doubts, threats, and fears that I’m going to get someone hurt unnecessarily.”

I turn to face Ayre as they put their feelings into words.

Their voice is delicate, but something is different. “How do I know if the next step is worth it if I can’t see the ending as clearly as you all do?”

It’s not not a question of whether or not to take the leap, so much as a plea for an assurance I cannot offer.

And so I shrug. “You don’t. You just take the steps that come natural to you anyway. Because to do anything else would be a lie. But if it is assurances you want, eventually the doubts, threats, and even the punishments stop mattering. Not if they’re coming from someone who can’t see and acknowledge the whole of who you are and what you were always going to become.”

Ayre’s hand begins to hover over their beating heart.

I remind myself that they are not going to trust easily, not with a betrayal of their trust so fresh in their mind. “Ayre, you’ve described yourself as trapped in a prison of your own flesh. Our Seers and your protector might claim they can set you free, but only you will get to decide what change is the best for you.”

They look up at me, eyebrows raised. “How are you so confident?”

It is my turn to turn away and make myself vulnerable for Ayre’s sake. “Cerya has tried to make my body and language more tolerable for me. But it’s the role assigned to me I cannot escape. Not without you.” I clutch at my arm, willing my grip to be gentle. “If you are capable of half of what most think you are, you eliminate the need for my role. As far as I’m concerned, a part of me would prefer it if you stripped me of my senses.”

Especially if it means they can save far more than I ever could.

Ayre steps forward, but this time it is I who back away.

They lower their voice. “You’re not confident at all, are you?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m borrowing heavily from assurances made by Ceriya and Theriya both. If I look beyond the face of this exchange, I have no way of knowing whether I’ll even be the same person if you take too much. And for all I know, my magnified senses will worsen a delicate balance. You wouldn’t just know what eats away at me, but gain an intense understanding of what bothers you about your own circumstances. And I wouldn’t wish the kind of disconnect I feel on anyone, let alone intensify whatever kinds of hurt you're going through.”

“I won’t feed on you.” Ayre says.

And I laugh at that. To think that they would now seek to comfort me. “No. You don’t get to make that call. Not this early. When the Cinder Blights do not attack immediately, it is typically because they’ve spent their time infecting something dangerous.”

“Fair enough.” They say, offering me platitudes in the face of the cruelty of our situation being something long in the making.

“You should cast that fairness to the depths of yours. I’d rather dream of a world where you and I seized what we wanted from the corpses of any who would deny an end to the pains inflicted upon us.”

The pained smile I get from Ayre is the kind of emotional resonance that I half expected I would get. Of course they would relate to my most unkind and selfish thoughts.

“You’d have me be ruthless.” Ayre says it with a grin. “Just like my family made me.”

I shake my head, only showing a surface level irritation. “You are more than how they would define you. Don’t do their work for them.” My words are followed with a sigh as I am interrupted.

Snapping to attention, I witness the first signs of something moving through the distant treeline.

Ayre reaches for a pair of spears, passing a lighter javelin to me.

I finish my thought while I can. “I would rather you make them choke on every attempt to lessen you. Make them pay for what they would demand of us.”

Everything begins to happen at once.

Our tender moment ends to the sound of beating wings both large and powerful.

Nineteen’s voice begins to shout as the walls around us begin to shudder.

“The gate! Someone is opening the gate!”

Ayre takes off at a run.

Meanwhile I keep my attention on the tree line.

Glimpses at the size of the creature alone are enough to cause my heart to sink.

Ayre peels back a hatch, giving them a sight line on the gate.

From the tree line emerges a scaled creature of considerable bulk displaying traits that suggest it is well into its adolescence. A dozen visible clusters of Cinder Blight glint in all their luster under the moonlight. Sharpened quills quiver with each movement of its tail, each abrupt shift stopping just shy of flinging a quill loose.

From the open gates of the grove emerges a horned woman with lilac skin and a spaded tail.

No explanation is given for how a girl could shift the weight of a stone gate that large on her own.

Nor is there time to demand one.

Nineteen communicates their alarm with a shift in his voice alone.

We’re under attack by a Quill-tailed Drake.

And Astraea has just opened the gates.