I landed face down in grass lit silver from the roots. My hands sank into soft earth, and the air smelled of night-flowers.
Above me, gold and silver bands crossed a violet sky. A white marble temple stood at the far end of the field.
Thousands knelt before its steps. Fae folded their dragonfly wings against their backs. Centaurs lowered their heads beside creatures whose bodies held points of moving light.
The crowd faced a woman on the highest dais. Every bowed head rose when she moved the scepter in her hands.
Elara. The face was the same one I had watched across our bonding altar, yet her old fear had vanished.
She wore a dark gown filled with shifting stars. A crown of constellations rested above her hair, and a moonlight scepter lay across her palms.
She lifted the scepter. Gol
