Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Impossible.
Caelian grabbed Kjeld’s hand instinctively, and he softly murmured, “I know.”
Proof that she wasn’t losing her mind.
Because Queen Morwyn Willowblade of Wenfyre looked almost exactly like Queen Elowyn Willowblade of Aeramere.
They possessed the same brown eyes and facial shape, the same strong nose and delicate mannerisms. But when Queen Morwyn spoke, her voice was soft and lulling, like the chimes of a bell, and her smile was full and genuine. As opposed to Queen Elowyn’s tight-lipped sneer.
“It is quite rare for us to have guests,” Queen Morwyn continued, gesturing to the grand forest at her back. “Especially those who arrive on the back of a dragon. Usually the archaic magic of the Myrkwild deters travelers, so you must be rather special indeed.”
Though she was speaking to both of them, her eyes were focused on Caelian. She motioned for them to join her on the beach where she stood barefoot. “Come, so I may greet you properly.”
Kjeld squeezed Caelian’s hand once in reassurance, then he leapt down from the rider’s seat atop Odyrss’s back, reaching his arms up for her. Caelian let him help her, and he lifted her with ease, setting her down next to him. The obnoxious heels she wore sank uncomfortably into the squishy sand.
Beside her, Kjeld bowed, and she followed suit, dropping into a practiced curtsy.
“I am General Kjeld Holtstrom of Brackroth.” His tone was clipped and commanding. “And this is Lady Caelian Starstorm Celestine of Aeramere.”
“Caelian,” Queen Morwyn repeated, her smile widening as she glanced between them. “A child born of the stars. How lovely.”
She stepped back and two other Druids glided forward, a male and a female.
The male was tall and strapping, his rich umber skin glinting in the glow of the sun.
His hair was past his shoulders, the color of freshly fallen snow.
It was fashioned into twists with silver charms at the ends, and a crown of antlers sat atop his head.
He was decked in a fitted teal shirt and loose black pants.
Leather straps crisscrossed his chest, and at his back was a quiver of arrows and an elegantly carved bow.
“Sylvan Oakheart of the Myrkwild.” The male draped a necklace of large amber beads over Kjeld’s head. “Welcome.”
He placed his fist over his chest, his violet eyes flitting between them as the female approached Caelian.
Her hair was dark pink, dazzling in color, and it fell in long, wild waves that tumbled down her back.
She wore a layered dress of pale blue, the sleeves long and flowing, and dozens of crystal chains dangled from her swaying hips.
A bodice of lightly tanned leather was wrapped snugly around her waist, and much like the queen, she also walked barefoot in the sand. But flowers blossomed around her.
“Lira Nightbloom of the Myrkwild.” She placed a woven crown of soft green leaves and pink blossoms on Caelian’s head. Fisting her hand over her chest, her turquoise eyes twinkled as she said, “Welcome.”
The delicate scent of rose and sandalwood drifted through the warm breeze, and while Caelian admired the Druids standing before her, she couldn’t help but feel out of place.
The fabric of the gown Queen Viktoria had given her seemed to scratch at her flesh, causing her to shift and squirm.
But with each movement, her heels sank further into the sand.
Pinpricks of sweat beaded along her spine, sticking to the satin.
Suffocating her. Stifling her. Her pulse raced, the dreaded quiet of her mind sent her into a panic, and she clawed at her cape, fumbling with the clasp.
“Take a breath.” Kjeld was there, right in front of her, his bright blue eyes calm and his hands steady as he unfastened her cape for her.
Her chest heaved.
He draped her cape over his arm. “And another.”
She sucked in a gulp of warm air, filling her lungs with the salty tang of the sea.
Kjeld nodded, then stepped aside, and Caelian quickly blinked away the threat of tears.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Her voice was hoarse when she spoke, and she swallowed hard in an attempt to quell her anxiety. She swiped the back of her clammy hand across her brow. “I believe I’m a tad overdressed.”
“An easy remedy.” The Druid queen offered Caelian her hand. “And please, call me Morwyn. I prefer it over the formalities of titles and such things.”
“Of course.” Caelian scrubbed her palms against the skirt of her gown and accepted the queen’s hand. “Thank you.”
“Come, we shall find you something more comfortable to wear, and then you can tell me all about your travels.” Morwyn glanced over at Kjeld, an aura of generosity radiating from her. “Your dragon is free to roam, so long as he does not set fire to my beloved forest.”
She winked.
Kjeld shoved a few strands of hair back from his face, then roughed his knuckles along his bearded jaw. “Aye, he’ll be on his best behavior.”
Caelian allowed Morwyn to lead her toward the forest, looking over her shoulder twice to make sure Kjeld was coming as well and that this wasn’t some trick where she was actually being led to her doom.
He unstrapped the satchel containing the dragon eggs, hefted it easily over one shoulder, and stalked up the beach alongside the dashingly handsome Sylvan.
She released the air held tight in her lungs.
While Morwyn moved gracefully from the sandy coastline, Caelian trudged through it like she was stomping through mud, grasping the queen’s hand tightly for fear she would fall on her face.
“You should remove your shoes.” Lira piped up, walking alongside her. “The earth is gentler than you think.”
She hoisted her swishing skirts, displaying her bare toes.
“Oh.” Caelian paused, looking down at her feet. “Okay.”
She slid her heels off, hooking them between her fingers, and plucked them from the ground. Wiggling her toes between the grains of warm sand, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Delightful.”
Morwyn and Lira met her with beaming smiles, and they made their way into the waiting forest.
The moment Caelian entered the Myrkwild, a strange sense of familiarity settled over her.
As though with every step, every impression, she was marking this world as her own.
Birdsong echoed overhead, a tranquil melody that soothed her soul.
She grazed her fingertips along the rough bark of each tree she passed, and her blood stirred, awakening. Like the forest was welcoming her home.
The air hummed with magic, the warm breeze whispered through yawning branches, fluttering her hair and feathering her cheeks like the wings of a butterfly.
Dappled sunlight filtered between the jade and emerald leaves so they glittered like jewels, while pink and white blossoms sprouted from serpentine vines, their delicate petals falling like incandescent snowflakes.
Beneath her bare feet, the ground was cool and comfortable, a reprieve from the everyday pangs of heels or slippers.
They walked deeper into the beguiling woods, past homes built into mounds of earth and others perched high in the sturdy overhang of branches.
There were doorways framed with red and white speckled mushrooms, boughs of greenery tied with twine and tinkling bells, and beautifully carved stairs of smooth wood that wrapped around the dizzying heights of each tree.
Windows of stained glass reflected scenes of natural wonders, and wind chimes sang softly in the breeze.
Laughter rang out, accompanied by the patter of footfalls and hushed voices.
“Druids are a curious sort,” Morwyn explained as they passed beneath a waterfall of wisteria and entered a clearing. “Quiet, but curious.”
Lira darted past Caelian, sprinting into the clearing that was actually more like a meadow.
Long blades of golden grass rippled like waves in a sea of wildflowers.
Butterflies danced and dozens of Druids milled about, enjoying the gifts of an eternal summer.
Their gazes followed Caelian as she fell into step with their queen, but she was too mesmerized by the majestic tree standing before her to pay them any attention.
It must have been as tall as the Moonfall Peaks in Aeramere, for it stood with exceptional grandeur.
Balconies curled from its moss-covered trunk, walkways spanned between gnarled branches leading to multiple rooms built into the side of the magnificent tree.
Lanterns hung from ropes of flowering vines, benches were carved into its impressive overgrown roots, and a winding wooden staircase led to an arched door engraved with whorls at its base.
It was a palace within a tree, and Caelian had never seen anything more fascinating in her life.
“It’s splendid,” she breathed, gazing up at the tree that wildly resembled the Tree of Life constellation tattoo marking her heart.
“This is the Eldergrove, she is the life source of Wenfyre. All that is, and all that ever will be, runs deep through her roots.” Morwyn looped Caelian’s arm through her own. “I have adjoining rooms suitable for you and your dragon rider.”
“Oh. He is not my dragon rider.” Caelian stumbled, casting a quick look over her shoulder to see if Kjeld was listening, but he appeared to be in a deep conversation with Sylvan. The Druid was showing him one of his arrows as they walked. “Kjeld is…”
It was a struggle to convey his relationship to her.
“Well, I suppose he’s my companion.”
“A pity. There’s something rather pleasing about seeing the two of you near one another.” Morwyn patted her hand and guided her up the winding path of steps toward the framed doorway. “Would you prefer more separate quarters?”
“No.”
Morwyn flashed her a look of interest, and Caelian bit her lip, realizing she’d answered far too quickly. “That is, adjoining rooms will be fine, thank you. We have…well, we’re traveling with dragon eggs, you see. And I would like to be close by when they hatch.”