Kellan whips his head around to look at me. “That wasn’t written by a farmer. It was by our great-great-grandmother, Louisa Carrenwell. And she didn’t just draw the plants. She also had a blessing from Stellaria—she made it her life’s works to capture the art and culture of Lunameade, which meant native plants and gardening, traditions and celebrations, and—” He darts to the other side of the library, disappears into the stacks, and emerges a moment later with two books held high in the air. “Hand-drawn depictions of art in the city. It’s probably not exact, but I vaguely remember a whole series of maps of the city layout through history. It’s possible there’s something old enough that it’s from before our family started hoarding their secrets.”

He places one book in front of me and sits down in the chair next to me with the other.

I carefully flip through the first few pages of handwritten notes. There’s no table of contents, so I go a page at a time, watching our history pass in a blur of paintings, mosaics, sculptures, and architecture.

Kellan gasps. “Here.” He points to the open page. “There are a few maps, but this one has some water markings.” He traces his finger over the drawing. “These ones that are marked with squiggly lines must be the first water channels. That’s what they used before the modern pipe system and obviously it wasn’t as intricate as what we have now. The direction of the lines show how they flow. And this triple down arrow must be the water flowing out. You can see they all channel clean water to the west side of the city and wastewater out to the east.”

“So that has to be freshwater from the Rylan River streams,” I say.

Kellan nods, still completely entranced by the drawing. “This bucket marking is right where the Blood Well is, and there’s another one here in our house just south of there. So it’s safe to say that’s how she marked the wells.” He flips the page to a map of the original Mountain Haven fort. “There’s one marked on there. We could work with the theory that the well flow starts at the Mountain Well, flows to the Blood Well, and then to the Family Well.”

“So the fact that it’s in here means our family has always known,” I say.

Kellan runs a hand through his hair, leaving his black waves sticking up in all directions. “Maybe, but if our father had known all along, I suspect he would have made an issue of it sooner. Also, if the Havenwoods had the well the whole time, why were they still sending their kids here to be blessed in the Blood Well every month until the Drained Wood became too dangerous?”

I frown, considering it. “To keep up the illusion? Maybe they only sent a few children and the rest were blessed in their well.”

He shakes his head and frowns at the map. “We only have speculation. The well flow isn’t marked.”

I tap a series of “Xs” just southwest of South Hold that stretch from just beyond the South Gate into the Drained Wood. “Then what are these? It says in the map key that this is a no-build zone. Obviously, we don’t know for sure, but it’s a good guess.”

Kellan traces the well flow with his finger. “I could have a group go out to investigate. At least a little ways away from the gates to see if there’s any sign of contamination.”

I absently flip through the book in front of me, stopping abruptly on a familiar image.

The sketch is of a painting of a man stepping out of sparkling water. It’s not just the familiarity of the image that catches my eye. It’s the title. “Stellaria’s Deathless.”

“Where have I seen this before?” I know this painting well, but somehow I can’t seem to summon the memory of it.

Kellan follows my finger to the drawing and freezes. “You can’t be serious.”

I frown. “Is it in one of the Stellaria shrines?”

He’s quiet for so long that I finally look up at him. He’s studying me like one of his marks, and his aura glows, but it doesn’t try to hook into me. “Do you really not remember?”

I try to shove down my irritation. “If I did, I wouldn’t ask,” I say curtly.

He hesitates. “It’s over the stairs on the way down to the Cove.”

A chill zips up my spine and all my muscles tense like I’m bracing for a fight. Then the breath trapped in my chest finally releases and the disorientation fades.

Of course. It’s hanging on the landing, down a dim stairwell that leads to our Family Well and the room where I first experienced my father’s madness—where I went on to experience it many more times.

“Can we go see it?” I ask.

While the Family Well is open to any of the Carrenwells, with a lock attuned to each of our magics, the Cove and the vault, which are on the same level, only open for my father, Able, and Kellan. The leader, the heir, and the captain of the city guard.

The vault holds valuable Lunameade artifacts and family secrets, but the Cove is a small room that leads to the vault. The underground location and thick stone walls make it the perfect place for interrogations because the screams don’t carry.

“Are you sure you want to go down there?” Kellan asks.

I stare at my brother with my face fixed in an apathetic smile, challenging him to admit he knows why I might want to avoid that space.

This is a thing we never talk about—a ghost in every room that we all see, but are careful not to disturb.

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s just a piece of art.”

He studies my face for a long moment and must see something that convinces him. Kellan stands and tucks the book with the map under his arm and ushers me toward the library exit.

We exit the library and turn down the hall. Gaven falls into step behind us, though Kellan’s bodyguard is notably absent.

“Where’s Ames?” I ask, and we take a few more turns and pause at the door that leads down to the vault.

Kellan waves a hand. “With all the rebel activity, I’ve asked him to stay with Libby and the kids for the time being.”

Gaven takes his post at the top of the stairwell while we descend the stairs to the lower level.

I can tell there’s more to this, but I don’t press. The hallway splits. The stairwell to the Family Well is on our right. We turn left and begin the descent to the Cove, pausing on the first landing in front of a painting that takes up almost the entire wall.

I’ve seen it before but never noticed its beauty—the way seeing something so many times makes it fade into the scenery of your life.

The man in the painting looks nothing like the modern Drained. He looks like what the fort storyteller described in her story—an ethereal being neither of life nor death. There’s something uncanny about his eyes—a hint of silver starlight sparkle. His broad chest is carved muscle, his hands have human fingers instead of vicious claws, and through his parted lips glint a row of distinctly human teeth, save for a set of short fangs. I understand the fantasy. It’s a nice escape to picture the Drained this way, instead of the monsters scratching at our walls.

Looking at it is a gateway to things locked in the back of my mind. The door to the past is thrown open all at once.

I’m six years old. I have new magic and no idea how to use it. I just need to make it happen again once. But my father has largely ignored me and he’s staring at me and I’m afraid of letting him down when I finally have his attention.

I’m eight years old and I know now that my father’s attention is a thing to fear. His harsh commands are punctuated by Aidia’s crying. I wish I were invisible again.

I’m ten years old and I’m squeezing Aidia’s hand so tight her bones creak. I smell blood and I feel nothing but the searing agony on my back. Her lilac eyes are full of so much fear and sorrow. She keeps whispering how sorry she is but I keep telling her I’m fine.

I’m twelve and I know that it’s different this time. I know I’m not fine. I see the terror reflected in Aidia’s eyes the moment before she⁠—