The garden at Crestwood Palace smelled of rain and lavender.
Light from the weeping willows painted warm spots on the cobblestone path. The bruises on her body and the frail feel of her bones were clear, but her spirit was sparkling and deeply alive.
She was urged by her healer to get some fresh air and so here she sat under the blanket, sipping on some herbal tea. The air was fresh and felt good, but she couldn’t get herself to relax.
Her dreams continued to be nightmares.
They came in flashes—blood, smoke, the cracking of stone beneath her feet. The mirror. The girl who looked like her. The moment her body betrayed her and gave way to darkness.
But in the daylight, with birds chirping faintly in the trees, she could almost pretend that she hadn’t nearly died.
Almost.
“Soph?” came
