The ride back to the mansion was filled with a charged silence. It was a light morning with glaring sunlight and glaring townsfolk who murmured among themselves as we rode through town. Oleander and Endris hadn't spoken with each other since their argument in the hills. Oleander dipped his head, seemingly very aware that he had done something wrong. Endris grumbled like an upset father or older brother, sour and disappointed in Oleander's poor decisions.

I had other worries. Like how in the thunder god's name was I going to tell my parents and siblings that Ytel had screwed me over? That I had blindly stepped into the trap he'd been orchestrating ever since he'd volunteered to accompany me to the Serpentine mountains? He had ensured he'd be the first to know whether I'd succeeded or failed, and that information served him well now.

While Ytel and I had travelled together, I'd been a little preoccupied with my upcoming battle with a dragon. Shame on me for being passionate about not ending up as ashes scattered across the peaks of Mount Serpentine, or dragon dung. After that, I'd found Oleander and my full attention had shifted to not getting him killed. I wasn't exactly looking for conspiracy plots in the mountains, but my family wouldn't accept that excuse. Conspiracies were everywhere, and I had to see them. I should have seen Ytel scheming, not have my gaze misdirected at a scared elf who wasn't a threat and had only tried to help. As misguided as his help was.

When we arrived at the cliffs and approached the stables behind the mansion by foot, Oleander turned to me. "Lord Montbow, may I speak with you in private before we go inside, please?" he asked softly.

I glanced at Endris. He shot me a blank stare. Then he reached out, snatched my horse's reins from my hands without a word, and started walking towards the stables alone.

"Do you really need to speak with me now?" I asked Oleander, gesturing at my home. "In case you didn't realise, we have a serious problem on our hands and I need to warn my parents about Ytel's men."

"Yes," Oleander replied. "I'm sorry for taking up your time, but what I want to say is related to Ytel's men."

Oleander glided to the walls of the mansion and gingerly brushed his fingers against the climbing plants growing in the cracks between stones. "Yesterday, I noticed a rare flower blooming on the walls of the mansion. If you look closely, there are little specks of yellow woven into the green of the Ocove vines. These flowers only show if the plant is healthy and old. It thrives in briny sea air."

"Huh." I squinted at the twisting vines, and sure enough, after a few moments, I saw the little specks of yellow Oleander spoke about. I had never bothered learning the plant's name. It'd always just been an eyesore to me, like the cracked clay roof tiles and moss.

"In combination with a few other herbs I have found," Oleander continued, unclasping his bag and folding it open to showing me the plants he'd gathered, "And, counterintuitively, a small drop of the poison itself, they will form an antidote to Bleeding Ivy that would likely be of use to people in town. I wanted to prepare it and sell it in Wildewall where people surely have the coin if the queen's court is there."

I shook my head at Oleander's story. My stomach tightened at the thought of him traveling to Wildewall on his own. "Now, wait a moment," I said. "Last time I checked, nobody had ever found a cure for the Bleeding Ivy's sting—all you can do is wait it out and hope you live. And traveling to Wildewall? That would be an insanely risky journey for you. Look at what happened on the hills! Let alone if you try to venture off on your own to the queen's court!"

"Yes, I know that now." Oleander raised his hand to touch the scratch on his face. "I hadn't realised how much you and Endris had been protecting me during our journey here. Even stepping outside alone is dangerous."

"Yeah, well, we all get hurt sometimes. Conrad can look at that cut," I offered sheepishly. "He's usually the one patching us up and scolding us after we get hurt."

"Thank you," Oleander murmured.

Whenever Oleander and I didn't fill the silences and only looked at each other, I turned into an overripe tomato, so I quickly tilted my chin up and nodded at the climbing vines on the wall. "Never knew those pesky vines were doing anything but slowly eating the mansion... But like I said, no herbalist or doctor has ever found a cure for the Bleeding Ivy's sting. Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes, I'm certain I can prepare an antidote."

Oleander spoke with such confidence it made me chuckle. I looked at him. "I don't think I have ever heard you this certain of anything before."

A bashful smile spread on Oleander's lips. "I don't know a lot," he admitted. "But yes, I am really sure about this. I just wanted to help, so please let me help."

"I already said you don't need to thank me, and Endris will pay off your debt," I reminded him. "Why do you want to help the Montbows this much, anyway? You hardly know us."

Oleander bit his lip. "It is not for your family. I want to help you. If I must leave, I would leave knowing you will remember me fondly."

Oleander stood there, awkwardly fiddling with his bag, and I didn't have words. What was I supposed to say to that? That I already thought more of him a lot than I should? That he had even appeared in a dream last night?

After a few moments, Oleander shyly averted his gaze. "Endris told me what humans believe about magic," he said. "That there are gods, and the people chosen by magic are older souls, reborn from courageous heroes who gave their life in battle in a past life. We must honour them."

I let out an awkward laugh. "Please, no, don't. The attention will go straight to my head and I'll become an obnoxiously arrogant brat. Nobody wants that."

Oleander smiled. "I don't believe that you would."

"Besides," I quickly went on before Oleander would give me more compliments, "You're the one out there taking risks and getting hurt to help me. Who is the real hero here?"

"I needed you and Endris to get me out of trouble." Oleander's smile faded. He hesitated for a moment. "Lord Montbow," he then said. "Can I... can I at least return here if there's nothing waiting for me beyond the Starcross woods?"

"Endris seems convinced there will be something for you there," I deflected.

Oleander's face fell. "Endris hopes, but he doesn't know. His vision narrows if he thinks he knows the solution. Too much, perhaps. He wants me safe, but forgets to consider what I want. He doesn't want dragon hunts, but sees no other way to make coin. But the way I see it, it's not safe for me anywhere while I am alone. At least I know you won't hurt me."

If Oleander's people weren't across the Starcross woods, or wouldn't take him back, he was right. Then I might as well have left him in the valley, freezing to death. If there was nothing for him there, as the heir, I would have the leverage to make my family leave him alone. I wouldn't be easy, but still less difficult than living with the knowledge I'd turned Oleander away, knowing he likely wouldn't survive on his own.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" I smiled wryly. "Fine. If there's nothing for you out there, you can return."

"Thank you!" Relief flooded Oleander's face. He leapt forward and flung his arms around my waist. I stiffened as his grip toughened and his silvery hair tickled my chin. Butterflies flitted in my stomach. 

I should have pushed him away and told him this was inappropriate. I didn't, and I got punished for my perversion immediately.

A sharp thwacking sounded behind me and drew nearer. Oleander sprung back wide-eyed while I whirled around. Father limped towards us, leaning heavily on his cane with his good arm. The other arm dangled at his side. Amber hawkish eyes above heavy eye bags studied Oleander, then me. 

A sense of doom seemed to drape itself over any space my father occupied. My throat went dry and felt like someone was squeezing it. "Father, I—" I started, my voice ragged.

"Bring that man inside," my father interrupted, nodding at Oleander. Without awaiting a response, he hobbled away from us, his cane striking the ground with each step.

I sighed, dragging hand down my forehead. Oleander looked apprehensive about the whole situation, but came with me when I reluctantly gestured for him to come along.

We had to walk slowly because my father walked slowly. He wouldn't accept any help, aside from the cane that he had carved and crafted himself. Nobody took being injured by bandits well, but there were people who took it extraordinarily badly; those who couldn't accept help, and those were proud. Father was both.

We walked to the living quarters where father sat down heavily in his favourite chair near the black marble mantel, which nowadays was often used by Conrad when my father was ill in bed. Father rested his hand on top of his cane and narrowed his eyes at Oleander, his face set and grim. Oleander shuffled nervously under his gaze.

"Do you have magic?" Father asked abruptly. "That you feel you are worthy enough of dallying with a storm-touched?"

"No sir," Oleander replied quietly.

I grimaced. Oleander already sounded like he struggled to keep his voice from cracking. 

Father grumbled something incoherent under his breath. "What are your skills, then? Why should you have been allowed to stay the night here and eat our food?"

"He doesn't have his memory—" I started explaining, but my father's icy stare, which could make blood grow solid in veins, made my voice die out quickly. He'd clearly been told about my failure.

Oleander's shoulders drew up. He darted a glance my way. "I think I might've been a herbalist, sir. In another life."

Father grunted. With his good hand, he reached into his pocket. I opened my mouth to speak again. Before I could, father drew his hand out of his pocket and threw something Oleander's way.

With the inhuman grace I already knew Oleander possessed, equal parts wild and delicate in his movements, he ducked. His fingers shot to his waist, reaching for a weapon that should have been in a scabbard at his belt. His fingers found air instead. The small pebble father had thrown rebounded off the wall and landed on the stone floor with a thud. Oleander stood and looked over his shoulder with his eyes spread wide.

"You were no herbalist," my father stated.

Oleander gaze drifted down to his own hand, the one that had reached for his belt, shock clear in his expression.

"Father, we have more urgent problems than Oleander's worth," I interrupted, dodging my father's eyes. "We ran into Ytel's men, and they will come here later today to collect payment on a loan our uncle took out. He travelled with me to Mount Serpentine. It was a setup."

"A setup for if you didn't complete the dragon hunt," Father bitingly remarked. 

I didn't need to look my father's face to vividly imagine the way he'd hardened. I'd felt the shame and dread the moment I left the mountains, but it twisted in my guts in an even more painful manner now. I'd already known how important the dragon was. Now the consequences of failure were becoming real. 

"I can tell Endris we're going back to the mountains today, I—"

"Still wouldn't be in time," Father cut me off.

"If I may?" Oleander spoke meekly. "I have something that could be of use. It is worth money to these men."

Father blinked at Oleander and stayed quiet, which was the largest sign of approval I'd seen him give anyone since our uncle's betrayal.

Oleander correctly interpreted the silent approval and went on. "I wondered if people were willing to pay for a cure for Bleeding Ivy's sting?"

Father breathed in and out audibly as he leaned forward, closer to Oleander. The chair creaked. "Such a recipe is worth nothing," he said flatly. "Here at the Thundercoast, we don't pay for fairytales."

"I really think—" I started.

"What are you still standing around for?" Father gave me a dismissive wave. "Laurence, prepare the horses for the market for Ytel's men. And get this man out of my sight. I want him gone by nightfall."

I would have almost laughed at my father's dismissive bitterness. I had to laugh, else I'd lament that he no longer had any faith in the world, in people, and in anything new. And people used to say my father, and I were alike. It was hard to believe that was true. 

I bowed my head. "Yes, father."

Oleander and I left the room side by side.

"I will make the antidote regardless," Oleander told me once we were out of my father's earshot. The determined shine in his eye was undiminished from when he first mentioned the antidote. "Perhaps he will change his mind, or you can convince Ytel's men to take it?"

I didn't have it in me to argue with him, but my father was right: Ytel's men wouldn't believe Oleander had an antidote to Bleeding Ivy. They would call it an old wives' tale and laugh before shoving Oleander aside into the mud. I believed Oleander thought he could make the antidote, but whether he could was another matter.

"Thank you, Oleander," I said. "You go ahead and do that."

After a curtsy, Oleander sped down the corridor towards the kitchen, presumably to make his antidote. I sighed at the walls, preparing myself for my little brother's wailing and tears when I told him we had sold his favourite animals.