Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
With all three of the baby dragons dozing peacefully in their pile of blankets after a long day of training, Caelian went in search of Morwyn.
She’d spent most of the past few days with Kjeld and Sylvan, with Lira joining them every so often, paying careful attention as Kjeld taught the whelps the most basic of skills.
She watched in awe as they attempted to hover and flap a few feet off the ground, as they learned to breathe fire instead of puffing out plumes of smoke.
It was fascinating, really, being able to witness them learn and grow and respond to Kjeld’s commands with ease.
Even if there were a few she didn’t particularly enjoy.
Like when Kjeld called out fierys, and Pyran quickly charred a squirrel on the run.
She didn’t like to dwell upon that too much because she knew as the whelps increased in size, so would their appetites.
Squirrels and smaller critters wouldn’t satisfy them for long.
The only consolation was Kjeld explaining that even though they ate a lot now and always seemed hungry, that too would abate.
One decent meal could satisfy them for a week or so, maybe longer, depending on their mood.
Dragons were not inclined to hunt for sport, it was a means of survival.
Either way, Caelian preferred to watch them fly instead.
Or at the very least, try to fly.
Each of them was improving every day. Lunaris could hover and flutter her wings so she was able to look Caelian in the eyes.
Pyran was still in the hopping and flapping phase, though he was more advanced at a fireball than the other two.
And while Brohm hadn’t quite mastered the use of his wings, he was the first of the whelps to swoop and glide for any length of time.
In a few days, they would be taking the baby dragons to meet Odryss.
Kjeld’s dragon would demonstrate all the aerial maneuvers, and she hoped he took them under his wing.
Both literally and figuratively. Kjeld mentioned that the whelps would pick up hunting easier if they could follow the example Odryss set before them.
But in the meantime, while the whelps earned some much-needed rest, Kjeld was off in the Myrkwild with Sylvan shooting arrows, and Caelian found herself perched on one of the vast balconies of the Eldergrove with Morwyn.
Before her, the sweeping rooftop of trees rose and fell in waves, ending abruptly to the west, where the edge of the Myrkwild met the shores of the Caelora Bay.
Birds sang freely, soaring and diving between branches, while glimmers of sunlight bounced off an array of vibrant greenery.
The forest seemed to breathe and sigh, the breeze humming a delightful melody through its leaves, while a flurry of activity surrounded the Eldergrove.
Preparations were being made for the Wildsong Gathering, and the Druids of Wenfyre were busy decorating and cooking for the celebration of Caelian and Kjeld’s marriage.
It seemed silly, for she wasn’t sure anything could ever replace their intimate vow exchange beneath the willow, much less the activities that followed, but from the looks of the meadow below, it certainly seemed the Druids knew how to throw a wonderful party.
There were arbors overflowing with wisteria, and each time a kiss of wind stole by, lavender and blue petals flurried to the ground like snow.
Wooden logs were rolled out for seating, and a clearing surrounded by a circle of stones and flowers looked as though it was the perfect spot for dancing.
Laughter rang out like the clanging of bells, loud and merry, and Caelian couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
“You seem at ease here, Caelian.” Morwyn’s gaze slid to her, the corner of her mouth pulling into a gradual smile. “The Myrkwild looks good on you.”
It was merely an observation, but it rattled Caelian’s bones.
Because Morwyn was right, she was at ease in Wenfyre.
She was comfortable. Happy. And it was more than just the layered skirts and dresses with flowing sleeves, more than walking barefoot through the meadow and wearing crowns of flowers.
It was the entire atmosphere. There was so much goodness to be discovered, a wealth of abundance that cared nothing about status, power, or charm.
It was a simpler way of life, one that Caelian longed to fully embrace, and it was that notion which left her shaken.
Riddled her with guilt.
Because she shouldn’t want to be so far from her family. She shouldn’t imagine anywhere other than Aeramere as being home.
And yet…she could see herself fulfilled in Wenfyre, traipsing through the forest and flowers and trees, granting wishes every night on the beach.
It sounded like heaven.
Bliss.
But then there was Kjeld to consider, and he hardly seemed like the woodland, flower crown, amber necklace sort.
Caelian leaned back and absorbed Morwyn’s comment before responding in an entirely different manner. “Is it always like this here? Warm and balmy?”
Morwyn smiled, tapping her nails lightly on the curved arm of her seat. “Perpetually.”
It did sound lovely, living in a state of eternal summer.
Caelian reached into her pocket and pulled out the items she’d discovered while rifling through her mother’s desk. Now seemed as good of time as any to ask about them, as it was her sole purpose in coming here.
“When I was…” The word home stuck in the back of Caelian’s throat, and she couldn’t force it out. “Back in Aeramere, I found a few things while looking through my late mother’s belongings.”
“Oh?” Morwyn turned, tucking one leg up under her on the chair, twisting her plait of brown hair over one shoulder. “What sorts of things?”
“There’s a handful of letters, though I fear they’re written in a language I don’t understand.
” Caelian carefully placed them upon the carved wooden table between them.
“I was hoping you might be able to read them or at least tell me what they say. I believe they’re Druidic.
And I also came across a stone, a pendant, and a feather. ”
She gently set the other objects beside the stack of letters.
Morwyn skimmed the assortment of items between them, then picked up the polished stone engraved with three spirals.
Rubbing her thumb across its surface, she held it to the light, where it sparkled like a rare gem.
“This is from the River Thalorien. The markings indicate it holds a memory of some kind.”
“A memory,” Caelian repeated numbly and held out her hand when Morwyn offered her the stone. “And how does one unlock a memory kept within a stone?”
“You simply toss it back into the river and ask.” Morwyn made it sound as though it was the easiest thing in the world to do, as though anyone could ask a river to return a memory. “As for this…”
She twirled the sleek black raven feather between her fingers, giving the twine at the bottom a small tug. “I’m afraid there’s no magical story or boundary tied to this, it’s a plain raven feather.”
Caelian’s brows clashed together, and she pressed her lips into a hard line. “Just a feather? What about the twine?”
Morwyn flicked it back and forth so the feather glinted like a shard of obsidian. “Mm. No. Nothing. If there was any importance to this, then it was only significant to your mother and no one else. It may have just been something she wanted to keep, something to which she formed an attachment.”
“Oh.” Caelian tried to erase the disappointment from her voice. “And the pendant?”
It was a lovely necklace made of worn leather, and dangling from the end of it was a piece of bone carved into the shape of an oak leaf.
“Hand crafted,” Morwyn mused, rolling it between her fingers. “Likely a gift of some kind. Or a treasure. The oak is symbolic of strength and endurance, so there is a chance Trysta was leaning into her own inner fortitude.”
“Yes,” Caelian mumbled, shoving the baubles back into her pocket. “I suppose someone would need to possess a certain amount of bravery to poison their own husband.”
A beat of uneasy silence passed, and she clasped her hands in her lap.
“If you want, I can attempt to translate the letters. But if you’d rather, we can save them for another day as well.
” Beside her, Morwyn turned in her seat, her dress of ivory and sage tumbling around her legs in soft layers.
“I don’t want to sour your mood. Today is supposed to be a happy occasion. ”
“I am happy.” Not a lie, yet Caelian felt the need to defend herself, even though her disposition was suddenly less than cheerful. “I’m just…thinking.”
“About?” Morwyn prompted, her expression as serene as ever, like the smooth surface of a lake without waves.
“About why…why did Trysta agree to go along with Elowyn’s plans? Why did she feel the need to end my father’s life? Why even come to Aeramere at all?” She tossed her arms wide, exasperation causing the air to pinch tight in her lungs. “Why didn’t she love us?”
And there it was, the unforgivable truth of the matter.
Why didn’t Caelian’s mother love her and her siblings?
If they were strictly a means to an end, why bother having so many of them?
Ariesian was the firstborn, and a male at that, so the Starstorm title would have passed to him, anyway.
But why would Trysta continue having children if she wanted nothing to do with them?
If they were merely a thorn in her side?
Morwyn must have sensed her inner turmoil, because she did not press the matter further.
Caelian fiddled with the hem of her sleeve where it belled out around her elbow. “If you wouldn’t mind reading them, just to see. Maybe there will be some new and enlightening fact I’ve not yet discovered.”
Like why.
“Of course.” Morwyn flipped through the pile of letters, sorting them and scanning through their contents.