Chapter 3 CHAPTER THREE

The descent down the mountain was a blurred, agonizing marathon of jagged rocks, skidding gravel, and biting wind. Twice I tripped and nearly pitched headfirst over the ledge, but the terrifying memory of those golden, glowing eyes kept my balance true. The sun was already sinking beneath the horizon when I crossed the invisible boundary of the Accord, bursting out of the shadowed foothills and onto the flat, grassy expanses of my homeland.

The golden fields of House Sandor stretched before me, bathed in the violent, blood-orange hue of dusk. In the distance, the familiar thatched roofs and curling chimney smoke of my village looked so tranquil, as if my entire reality hadn't just been shattered on a mountain peak.

I didn't slow down. I ran through the tall grass, my lungs burning like they were filled with crushed glass and my skirts torn at the hem. Sweat stung my eyes, but I kept my focus locked on the small timber cottage at the edge of the settlement.

"Mother!" I gasped as I hit the wooden porch, throwing my weight against the heavy oak door and slamming it shut behind me. "Mother, I'm here! I have it!"

The sight that greeted me inside instantly froze the blood in my veins.

My mother wasn't resting quietly in her cot. She was lying flat on her back, her body thrashing violently in the grip of a fever dream she couldn't wake from. The soft, silver-grey veins that had laced beneath her skin just yesterday had completely transformed. They were pitch black now, raised and swollen like coarse ropes beneath her flesh, spreading up her throat and toward her jawline.

She was gasping frantically for air, her fingernails digging into her neck as if trying to tear open her airway. A harsh, rattling gasp echoed from deep within her chest.

Then came the cough.

A violent, racking spasm bent her torso double. As her mouth opened in a silent scream, a thick cloud of dark, fine ash erupted from her lips, dusting her chin and the white bedsheets in a grim blanket of soot.

My heart plummeted into a dark abyss. She wasn't just in stage two anymore. The illness had accelerated in my absence. She was slipping rapidly into stage three—the final phase where the magic consumes the body, turning flesh and blood into living ash.

"No, no, no," I whimpered, dropping my satchel onto the table and tearing it open with shaking fingers. "Hang on, Mum. Please, just hang on!"

I pulled out the damp cloth, carefully unwrapping the crimson fern. The Heartroot glowed faintly in the dim light of the cottage, its delicate leaves untouched and intact. I rushed across the room, grabbing a stone mortar and pestle from my healing shelf, alongside a jar of pure spring water and a pouch of dried lavender.

My hands flew through the steps I had rehearsed a thousand times in my head. I washed the glowing roots, placing them into the mortar and grinding them down until a thick, crimson pulp formed. I poured in the spring water, sprinkled the lavender over the top, and raised my hand above the stone bowl.

"Focus, Brienne," I whispered to myself, forcing my frantic breathing to steady. "Focus."

I drew upon the magic deep in my core, channeling it down through my arm and into my fingertips. A soft, vibrant blue flame ignited at my index finger—witchfire. I held the blue heat beneath the bowl, watching intently as the liquid began to simmer.

Green to gold, gold to deep crimson, I chanted under my breath. Green to gold, gold to deep crimson.

The liquid spun and bubbled under the heat. It turned a dull, murky green, then brightened into a shimmering, metallic gold. I intensified the flame, my pulse racing, until the gold suddenly broke and deepened into a rich, dark crimson syrup.

It was ready.

I blew out the witchfire, grabbed a wooden spoon, and rushed back to my mother's bedside. Supporting her trembling head with one arm, I carefully pried her dry lips open and forced the first dose of the warm liquid down her throat.

For a terrifying minute, nothing happened. She choked, coughing up another faint puff of grey dust that stained my sleeve. But then, slowly, the violent spasms in her limbs began to quiet. Her breathing softened from a ragged gasp into a shallow, steady rhythm. The raised black veins on her throat didn't disappear, but the fierce, angry heat radiating from her skin began to cool.

I sagged against the side of the cot, letting out a ragged sob of pure relief. The Heartroot was working. It was suppressing the illness.

"Brienne?" a soft, frail voice whispered.

I looked down. My mother's eyes were half-open, clouded with pain, but looking directly at me.

"I'm here, Mum," I sobbed, taking her trembling hand in mine. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay."

Her gaze shifted slowly around the room, landing on the stone mortar on the table, the remnants of the glowing crimson plant, and finally on my torn, dirt-caked skirts and bloody hands. Horror gradually cleared the fog in her dark eyes.

"Where... where did you get that root, Brienne?" she rasped, her voice dry as dead leaves. "That is... that is Heartroot. It only grows..."

She choked on the realization, her grip on my hand tightening with sudden, desperate strength.

"You went to the Sky Mountains," she breathed, tears springing to her eyes. "Brienne, no... the Accord! The dragons!"

"I had no choice, Mum," I whispered, squeezing her hand back. "You were dying. I couldn't just sit here and watch you turn to dust."

"You don't understand what you've done!" she panicked, trying to push herself up, only to collapse back onto the pillows in weakness. "If the Faction Elders find out—breaking the truce means execution! They will hand you over to avoid a war!"

"They won't have to hand me over," I said softly, the bitter truth weighing like lead in my chest. I looked down at my lap, remembering the glowing golden eyes of the dragon lord and the heat of his promise. "I made a deal, Mum. A dragon caught me on the upper pass."

My mother went dead pale, all color draining from her face. "A... a dragon?"

"He let me harvest the root," I explained, my voice barely above a whisper. "He let me come home to save you. But the price for my crime... is me. When I finish giving you the third dose tomorrow morning, I have to go back. I have to surrender myself to him. He promised that if I didn't return, he would come down and tear this village apart to find me."

My mother clutched my hand to her chest, sobbing quietly in terror and despair. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against hers, closing my eyes as I tried to hold onto the warmth of home.

"You fool of a girl!" a harsh, sharp voice suddenly slammed into the room.

The heavy oak door swung wide open, revealing Elder Vesper, the matriarch and head of our village council. Standing tall in her deep green robes of House Sandor, her silver hair woven into intricate braided crowns, her face was contorted in sheer fury. She had stepped onto the threshold just in time to hear my words, and her sharp blue eyes were locked directly on the glowing crimson remnants resting in the mortar.

"Elder Vesper—" my mother rasped, trying to shield me with her weak arm.

"Be silent, Sarah!" Vesper snapped, stepping into the cottage and slamming the door shut with a flick of her hand and a burst of warding magic. She rounded on me, her presence suffocatingly heavy. "Do you have any idea what you have done, Brienne? You crossed into dragon territory! You stole from their lands! You brought the eyes of the Sky Mountains directly down upon House Sandor!"

"I saved my mother's life!" I yelled back, standing up to face her, though my knees trembled. "No healer in the Flatlands could cure Ash Vein! Was I supposed to sit by and let her die?"

"The life of one witch does not outweigh the safety of the entire Faction!" Vesper spat, her voice ringing with the uncompromising authority of a matriarch. "Fifty years of peace! Fifty years we have maintained the Accord, and you risk throwing us into war for a single plant! If the Dragon Lord comes down those mountains, he won't just take you—he will burn our crops, slaughter our cattle, and demand blood from the Council of Five!"

"He won't come down," I said, my voice steadying despite the terror gnawing at my gut. "Because I am going to keep my word. I am leaving at sunrise to surrender myself."

Elder Vesper stared at me, her chest heaving under her heavy robes. The harsh, angry lines of her face seemed to tighten, but as she looked at my bloody, blistered hands and then at my mother weeping quietly on the cot, the blazing fury in her eyes faltered.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the stern matriarch slipped away, revealing the tired old woman beneath. A flicker of profound sorrow and quiet regret passed through her gaze. In our matriarchal society, a leader’s highest duty was to protect her daughters, her sisters, her people. Turning one over to the dragons went against every principle House Sandor stood for. But the survival of the village came first. She had no choice, and we both knew it.

"You will give Sarah her remaining doses tonight," Elder Vesper said, her tone dropping into a quiet, heavy murmur that carried no anger—only a bleak, final sentence. "And when the sun touches the horizon tomorrow morning, you will step across that border and you will never return to the Flatlands. If you stay... I will be forced to bound you in iron and deliver you to the border myself."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and bowed my head respectfully. "I understand, Elder."

Vesper lingered at the door for a second longer, her eyes lingering on me with that heavy, silent regret before she turned and swept out into the night, leaving my mother and me alone in the gathering darkness.