“…ground’s too hard, scavengers will dig him up,” Belen said.

“…a pyre will alert every merc in Vyg of our whereabouts,” Kerrick said.

“…cave…seal off the entrance?”

I tuned them out as I remembered Flea’s energy and enthusiasm. His lopsided grin, puppy-dog pouts and utter joy as he mastered juggling three rocks. He had such potential… The word caused a flood of memories, but not of Flea. The Death Lily had wanted him. It said he had potential.

Scrambling to my feet, I interrupted Belen and Kerrick. “Offer Flea to a Death Lily.”

Their reactions matched. Shocked, repulsed, upset and angry. I explained as much as I could without sounding like a lunatic. They argued. Not surprising, it went against logic and compassion and plain old moral decency. But, damn it, I knew it was the right thing to do.

“Avry, you’re grieving and not thinking clearly,” Belen said.

“Belen, I spent hours inside a Lily. This is what we need to do for Flea.”

Belen, Loren and Quain shook their heads sadly. They thought I had lost my mind. And maybe I had.

“How can you not trust me?” I asked, attempting one last time. “Did you even see my sister’s joy at the prospect of my death? I could have stayed with Estrid and tried to repair the damage between us. But no, I…” My throat closed as tears threatened. “Forget it.” I turned my back to them so they wouldn’t see me cry.

“There’s a cluster of Lilys about two miles west of here,” Kerrick said.

I wiped my face and glanced back. Kerrick pressed his hand to the ground. “It’s in Vyg, but there’s no one else around.”

“Are you nuts?” Quain asked. “You’re not going to—”

“We are. Belen, get Flea’s blanket.”

Belen wrapped Flea in the blanket and carried him over his shoulder. No one said a word. By the time we reached a grove, darkness had descended.

Gently laying him down, Belen told a story of how he had taught Flea the facts of life and how the boy thought it was disgusting, but a few months later, he had changed his mind and asked for more details. Loren and Quain took a turn relating how they taught him to fight.

“My son in all ways but one,” Kerrick said.

The others agreed.

I couldn’t speak.

Kerrick removed the blanket and carried Flea over to a pair of trees. I went with him just in case the Lily attacked. The base of the tree trunks almost touched, but the upper trunks bowed away, making the trees look like a giant V. The Lily grew right behind them. Death or Peace? We’d find out soon enough.

It didn’t hiss or move fast, but the petals parted, dipping toward Flea. The tips of the petals bent under his body. The Death Lily gathered Flea as if it were his mother. Then Flea was gone.

We traveled north along the border road for the next six days. Encountering no resistance from Estrid’s platoons, or mercs, we covered roughly two hundred miles. Conversation was kept to the minimum. No one smiled or laughed or teased.

At night, we followed a routine, gathering firewood, cooking a meal and sitting by the fire. Except we stared at the flames instead of talking. My thoughts dwelled on Flea or on one of the empty villages or farmsteads we passed that day. There had been so many. By the end of the night, I would be leaning against Belen. He’d wrap his heavy arm around my shoulder and we’d comfort each other. Poppa Bear had lost one of his cubs, and I think he suffered the most. Although, half the time I would fall asleep on him and he’d tuck me into my bedroll.

Why Belen? His steady solid presence eased my pain. I considered him an ally and a protector. But more important, he was my friend. The first one I’d had since…before I left for my apprenticeship with Tara. Loren and Quain relied on each other. Not physically, but they were brothers in all but name. And Kerrick didn’t need or want anyone as far as I could tell. Jael had crushed his heart. It had shriveled and died in his chest four years ago. Yet, he strived to find a healer for Ryne. Perhaps he wasn’t beyond hope, after all.

As I grieved for Flea, I began to believe Kerrick had it right. Keep a distance. Especially during this mission. It was dangerous. Too late for me. After having no friends or family for three years, I had grown quite attached to these three guys. Or was that four?

On the seventh day, Kerrick veered to the east, taking a small road that branched from the main one. An icy wind blew, biting into exposed skin, reminding us that it was midwinter’s day. Before the plague, cities and towns across the Realms would celebrate the halfway mark to spring. Now, it passed with a sense of relief that we had gotten halfway through another winter without starving.

Two hours later, Kerrick stopped at a large ruin. Three magnificent buildings had stood here at one time. Their fancy stone columns had toppled, their roofs had collapsed and their interiors had burned. Other smaller structures filled the area. All had met the same fate.

“The compound of the Healer’s Guild,” Kerrick said.

I had forgotten about visiting it. No surprise that it hadn’t survived. The people had been angry, miserable and grieving. We poked around the wreckage, searching for anything useful.

Memories from my single visit to Guild headquarters bubbled to the surface of my mind. Healing, research and teaching had been their three goals. Each of the three grand buildings was dedicated to one goal. If I had graduated, my ceremony would have been in the building of teaching. Those seeking medical aid entered the building of healing. The last one housed those who worked to learn more about our healing powers and about the plants that could provide relief.