“Yeah,” Elan said, and then it struck him. “But walls have doors.”

“You think…” Tal trailed off.

“They were grown by magic. And these are not normal trees. They aren’t even fruit trees like the others. Look at them,” Elan said as he realized it himself. The bark on these trees was smoother, silvery-white instead of brown or red. Their branches were high overhead—much higher than Elan could reach, even by jumping. There were no knots in the trunks, either. Nowhere to grab and climb. A wall of trees like this wouldn’t be impenetrable to people with axes, or to fire—but it would be a long, hard job to get through.

The trunk gave way to another, and then another, before he and Tal found it—a gap, not between trunks but carved into one. It was a small arched opening. The shape looked too much like one of the hallway entrances at Aredann or Danardae for it to be natural. Thick, heavy vines grew across and inside it. They seemed to be growing out of the tree trunk itself, like a curtain.

“Looks like you were right,” Tal said, and reached for one of the vines. He twisted and tugged, and it broke, but there were dozens left. “This would be faster if we had a knife.”

“Or magic,” Elan said. If they couldn’t get through themselves, they could bring Jae up to try it. But he wasn’t ready to give up so quickly. The vines were thick and sturdy, hard to tear but not too hard to move. It took a lot of untangling and pulling, and the vines didn’t just block the front of the tree. They grew all the way through it. He and Tal both worked at yanking and untangling vines until they were sweating, even in the shade of the orchard, until finally they’d pulled open a hole big enough to scurry through, hunched over, with vines still scraping at their faces and limbs.

The sun hit Elan hard the moment he broke through. He tumbled out of the way so Tal could join him, and then looked up. The trees reached like monuments to the sky, but their branches were latticed at the top, forming a patchwork roof that still allowed sunshine through. The space was the size of Lady Shirrad’s study at Aredann, and walls had been erected that reached up almost to where the branches began. The walls formed a shape with odd corners, none meeting squarely like a normal room, but they were flat rather than matching the curving of the trees behind them.

And like at any of the mage-built estates, the walls were art.

“Incredible,” Tal breathed, walking the perimeter of the room, his fingers brushing the wall. Elan took in the largest of the walls, a long, flat space across from him, and saw that it was a portrait made out of tiny tiles, carefully placed, untouched by dust and unfaded despite the sun. It was a woman, her skin a rich brown, her hair pulled into thick coils and tied into a knot on top of her head. She wore a deep red-and-gold robe and held a knife in one hand and a flower in the other. Her smile was calm and kind—wise, Elan thought. The edges of the mural were ringed with familiar vine patterns dotted by bright flowers. Elan traced it with his hand and realized it was the same four circles overlapping at the center that made up the fountain back at Aredann, with the woman placed in the space at the middle.

“It’s the same as the fountain,” Elan told Tal.

“I don’t suppose you recognize that woman,” Tal said.

Elan shook his head. “If the Highest didn’t craft the Well, then I have no idea who did, but I imagine she was one of them.”

Tal nodded thoughtfully, and they both resumed inspecting the beautiful tiled walls. The next largest, across from the woman, was a wall made mostly of tannish-orange tiles, with a handful of bright blue and green circles and a few lines, but again, something familiar tugged at Elan’s mind. He studied this picture more carefully, ignored the placement of the green shapes in favor of the blue—

“It’s a map!”

Tal stared at him.

“It is,” Elan said, calmer this time. He pointed to the familiar cluster of four circles. They were a little messier than the circles of the fountain, but very similar to those and the circles around the woman in the other mosaic. There was a red flower, the only other color on the map, right at the center where the four circles overlapped.

“Those are the reservoirs of the central cities. This one is Danardae,” Elan explained. The blue and green splotches ran up against each other, with green almost outlining the four overlapping blue circles. “The blue areas are reservoirs; the green are cities—or at least fields, farmable land.”

He knew the shape of the world well enough to recognize other estates, now that he had picked the four central cities and their reservoirs out. He traced a path outward and westward and tapped a finger against another green-blue combination. “This one is Aredann. So this”—he gestured at a much larger blue spot, near the edge of the wall—“must be the Well.”

“It’s hard to believe we traveled all that way,” Tal said, examining the distance. The gap between Aredann and the Well was much wider than between any other blue or green spaces.

Elan traced his route from Danardae out to Aredann, then frowned. He worked his way back and looked at the other cities, found the outlying estates that had been abandoned like Aredann. There were only a few, and they were all also on the outskirts. But there were others, even farther out.

“I’ve never seen some of these,” he said, mentally reciting the names of estates and reservoirs he was sure of, to make certain he was right. But he was. Out beyond even the small, now-abandoned estates, there were others.

“I wonder if this isn’t the first time estates have been abandoned,” Tal said. “There have been droughts before, I think.”

It took Elan a moment to realize it was another of his non-questions. “Yes, there’ve been plenty—but only a few were even close to this bad. The last was four generations ago.” He pressed his hand to one of the strange, unknown estates up north. “If the Highest have abandoned estates before, they’ve made sure they were never mentioned again.”

“They’d have had to redraw every map,” Tal said. “And forbid people to speak of the lost estates.”

Elan could imagine his father doing that. He’d have a lie to explain it—a pretty speech about looking forward instead of back, about leaving the past where it belonged. People would be happy enough to do it, since it would make it easier to forget the Closest who’d been left to die on those abandoned estates.