Summer in the royal gardens is a glorious, vivid season, fragrant at all hours. Morning blossoms and moon blossoms riot everywhere, and the formal hedges are always thick and glossy, filled back in with dense new growth after the spring pruning.

Zelda loves the gardens. She feels closer to her mother's spirit there than anywhere else. The late Queen was in many ways the despair of the royal gardeners and the keepers of the royal wardrobe, for she loved to have her hands in the rich earth. Roses thrived under her touch - and everything else, too. She could coax along the most tender, exotic plants in her gardens. The King had given her exclusive use of whole hillsides between the castle and the Council buildings as a wedding gift, so she could cultivate wildflowers and lush tallgrasses too.

Zelda misses that part of her father, especially in these quiet hours when everyone else is busy with their duties or properly asleep. People like to say his softness perished with his wife, and who could blame him growing hard in his grief? Especially so soon after losing his parents to Gerudo raiders?

She was extremely small when her grandparents' manor burned, so she can't say she ever grieved for them. But she remembers her father weeping when the messenger came, on his knees in grief before the whole court. She remembers how his beard tickled her nose when he clutched her tight. She remembers how her mother took his crown off and kissed his forehead as she so often did in private.

She can't remember when that stopped, what happened between her grandparents' funeral and her mother's that divided her parents. She was small. And she liked having her mother's undivided attention. Or rather - only needing to share her with the gardens.

Zelda turns another circuit through the rose garden, trying to love the moonlight on white blossoms the way her mother did. She tries to love the fragrance of jasmine and moonflower in the alcoves. She tries to be serene and kind and soft as a sacred maiden should be.

But she is dreaming of storms again, and her mother isn't there to help her understand what they mean or what to do about them.

The dreams are never quite the same, but they are always different from the other visions the gods send her. In all the other visions, she sees specific people - if not their faces, their heraldry or something unique in their appearance. In her other visions, she sees specific places, even if she's never been there. When she describes the places to the high priests, they take long notes and they send royal limners and cartographers to find it.

Even the horrible visions of battlefields, she sees the bright banners and standards, garrisons and bridges and clear profiles of the mountains on the horizon. Sometimes these come to her in time to warn the Lord Marshal, sometimes they come to her only a day or two before a bloody messenger reaches the castle.

No one asks why she didn't warn the generals about those disasters. But she can see in their eyes the questions they dare not voice. She is afraid of what everyone will say about her, will think of her when the storm does come. She is afraid of how many people will die if she can't solve the goddesses' riddle.

But how can she explain a dream of glowing yellow eyes in a wall of darkness?

How can she explain a vision of the earth rent open under spears of lightning?

How can she ask Vah Rauru to send priests and painters to the west to find a place where the wind is black, and the earth changes shape under her feet?

"It is late," says Impa from the shadows.

"I am aware," Zelda grumbles at her because she is ashamed that she startled.

"You are to attend the war council in the morning," says Impa.

"Why bother? I've already heard the report about the loss of Avosgart and Duzhar and Yarat. The Baron of Karakut will ask for more soldiers, Father will refuse, everyone will argue for three hours, and nothing else will get done until well after lunch."

"The council and peerage are less likely to egregiously misbehave in the presence of their maiden princess," points out Impa.

Zelda makes a rude noise. Anyone awake at this hour to overhear her deserves to be shocked. "Even if I could persuade Father to send a detachment to Vosterkun, there isn't actually one to send. After harvest, if we strip the men from every farm in north Hyrule we could reinforce the mountain garrisons over the winter. But we'd have to feed them on biscuit and gruel to afford it, and oh by the way, if you could please bring your hayfork and threshing knife when you report, because we can only give you one pike. That will go over well."

Impa snorts in disdain. "Militia forces are suitable to deter cattle thieves and petty footpads. Sometimes. Maybe. If they're more terrified of their sergeant than ghosts. Sending farmers to reinforce the Gerudo border is a death sentence. Of which, the Minister of Justice is going to be attending council tomorrow."

"Ew," says Zelda. She would remove the man to the farthest and most contested border post at once if she had the power. Everything about him makes her skin crawl, and she hates that her father is seriously considering his proposals for 'reforming' the prisons and putting criminals on the battlefield.

"The crown must consider other means of raising funds to stabilize Hyrule. There aren't enough small rupee left in the treasury to support another month - let alone a year - with all her knights on active circuit and tens of thousands of pikemen holding down border garrisons. You must make them understand a wagon of gold and silver rupee is as much use to a field marshal as a wagon full of rocks," says Impa, falling into step behind her. "On the other hand, to a company of professional soldiers-"

"We will not set wolves on our own people. It is an offense to the gods," snaps Zelda. "Anyways we'd only end up in another war to make them go away."

Impa sighs. "No foreign bank is going to extend more credit to a country that can't transport the collateral safely."

"Well I'm still not going to agree to any marriage contract, I don't care if the boys are filthy rich. Gross," says Zelda, pulling her shawl tighter.

"That is the council's idea only because they do not know there is another way," says Impa quietly.

Zelda sighs, and folds herself gracefully onto one of the marble benches. Everything a princess does must be graceful, even in private hours, lest she forget herself in a moment of crisis. "I barely persuaded the Zora out of formally declaring war. They're certainly not giving me their greatest treasure now. And no one has been able to even find the deep forest shrine in generations."

Impa lays a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Zelda rubs at her temple and stares at the serene roses. "Maybe I can take some jewelry to - the artisans' district - or one of our banks?"

"Headache, dearest?"

"Only a little," says Zelda, refusing to meet her eye.

A few minutes pass, and Impa sits beside her. "You had the dream again."

Zelda nods. "This time, there was rain in the darkness, and the lightning made the shape of a sword."

"Hm," says Impa, reclaiming her hand.

"What does it mean? Why does the Blessed Light send me riddles when I most need guidance?"

"Did you see the eyes?"

"Not in the same dream."

Impa grunts. "Perhaps the gods are preparing a great warrior to become your champion, to lead Hyrule through the darkness into a new golden age."

"How will I know?"

"Pray," suggests Impa with a shrug. "When the time is right, you'll know. But at this time, you should be in bed. Come - you have a long day of listening to old men argue tomorrow."