Leaves of Flame by Joshua Palmatier Page A

his own robes flapping about his feet, his only concession to the cold the hunch in his shoulders. Snow that had fallen earlier blew across his path in a fine dust as Colin followed, staff in hand, satchel flung across his back. Behind, Vaeren and the other guard produced lanterns and came after them, the light reflecting warmly off of the roof, although the lanterns created no real heat against the chill.
    When he reached the edge of the building, Colin stared down into the wide plaza in front of the temple, the arc of stone obelisks rising into the night beneath him. Flurries blew back and forth, lifted up by the wind from the few drifts of snow that remained from the recent storm. Lantern lights dotted the cityscape to either side outside the plaza and in the first tier beneath them. From this vantage, Colin could see the base of the Winter Tree over the wall that had been built around it, its leaves thrashing in the wind, its length towering above him, even though the marketplace where he’d planted the seed stood on the far side of the city. It had grown since the planting, and even though he had created the Tree, had crafted the seed using the power of the Lifeblood and Aielan’s Light, its sheer size awed him. He stared up at its branches, the uneasiness Lotaern had evoked crawling across his skin as he searched it for damage, for flaws, assuming the Chosen had brought him to the roof so that he could see the Tree. But he saw nothing wrong, felt nothing wrong, although he’d only be able to tell for certain by touching the Tree itself.
    He turned toward Lotaern in confusion. “What is it? I don’t see anything wrong with the Winter Tree. It appears healthy.”
    Lotaern shook his head. “It isn’t the Winter Tree. As far as I know, it’s fine. The Wardens—the acolytes assigned to its care—have reported nothing amiss.”
    “Then what did you bring me up here to see?”
    Lotaern nodded toward the south and east, toward the night sky, where the stars on the horizon were blotted out by what Colin assumed were clouds. Colin shifted position and moved down the edge of the roofline, staring into the distance. Neither Lotaern nor the two guards followed him. He watched the horizon intently, his fingers growing numb as the wind gusted into his face, but he saw nothing.
    He had just begun turning toward the Chosen in irritation when something within those clouds flickered. Lightning fl ared, arcing from cloud to cloud, their contours harshly and vividly exposed, the sky beautiful for the space of a heartbeat before plunging back into darkness.
    Colin sucked in a sharp breath, waited for the rumble of thunder though he knew the storm was too distant for them to hear it, even as horror crawled its way down into his chest. He straightened and turned toward Lotaern. “That’s not a natural storm,” he muttered, loud enough to be heard, even though his voice felt weak.
    “No, it’s not. You see why I am concerned.”
    “Yes.” Colin turned back to the darkness that blotted out the sky. Even as he watched, more lightning streaked from the clouds, flashing a preternatural purple. Like the storms that had scoured the plains before and after the Accord, that had plagued the dwarren and the Alvritshai alike for decades.
    Until he’d balanced the power of the Wells and the storms had stopped.
    “Someone has upset the balance of the sarenavriell,” he said, stepping forward as he angled his staff across his body protectively.
    “That was our thought as well,” Lotaern said from behind him. “It’s why I thought you’d come.”
    “No. I knew nothing of this.” He searched the storm, as if he could find answers there. Then he spun toward the Chosen, glancing toward Vaeren and the other member of the Flame. Anger had begun to build, creeping through the shock and sudden clench of his gut. “But it isn’t possible.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “It isn’t possible! I spent nearly thirty years finding those Wells