Chapter 4 #2
The entrance to the gardens was a towering arch more than twenty feet high that spanned the road, mounds of purple wisteria weaving through its wrought-iron filigree.
Beyond the arch was a wonderland of trees, bushes, and flowers, exploding with color.
The fragrant scent of honeysuckle wafted on the gentle morning breeze.
The gardens were silent, save for the buzzing of honeybees and the gravel crunching under my feet as I walked down the path.
After weaving through mazelike trails bordered with box hedges and maple trees, I came to the center of the garden: the site of the Bleeding Oak.
The tree towered over the surrounding landscape.
Its massive trunk had many branches that lifted to the sky.
True to its name, there was a gash across its trunk where sap flowed out continuously and pooled beneath it.
An expansive circular lawn spread out around its trunk, bordered by a tall and imposing wrought-iron fence topped with razor-sharp spikes. Guards orbited the fence, looking as though they’d rather be anywhere else.
There was something about this place that I couldn’t quite put into words; it was as if an energy were spilling from the gash in the trunk and leaking into the surrounding landscape. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant either.
As I approached the stately old oak, I stayed out of sight.
I had every right to be here, but there was no need to raise suspicions.
So I stood quietly in the shadows a stone’s throw away, observing the guards and their patterns.
One guard with a bushy mustache never quite finished his circuit, leaving a sizable gap unmonitored. Sneaking past him should not be hard.
Getting over the spiked fence was simply a matter of having the correct equipment. I’d be back this evening with my thieving tools in tow. This seemed like too easy a task for the Emberlight Trials. There had to be a catch. I supposed I’d find out tonight.
I finished my reconnaissance and was heading toward the exit when something caught my attention—a man around my age, maybe a few years older, twenty-four or twenty-five.
He was on the other side of the courtyard, peering my way.
The sun streamed through his sandy-brown curls.
He was taller and more muscular than the beanpole that was me.
His trousers and shirt were common, but they fit his body nicely and were clean and well constructed, so he was likely a merchant’s son or a downstairs servant in a noble house.
He smiled as our eyes met. For a moment, the world narrowed, and he was my singular focus. Why had this strikingly handsome man chosen to direct his attention at me? As he continued to stare, my cheeks grew hot. Dust, was I actually blushing?
That direct stare was too much, so I looked away. But from the corner of my eye, I could see that he was still looking toward me. A guard noticed his very obvious staring and squinted in my direction. I backed into the shadows quickly. This ridiculous man was blowing my cover.
I was hit with a strong familiar scent—ozone and citrus.
“I’m watching,” a melodic and familiar voice whispered right behind me, and I felt breath hot against my neck. I spun around, looking for the golden-eyed thief, but no one was there. What in all the hells?
I scanned the courtyard, but nothing was amiss. The handsome man still watched me from across the square, scratching his neck and smiling. If he had seen the golden-eyed thief, he gave no indication. Was I losing my mind?
A crowd crossed between the man and me—scholars dressed in robes of simple black and white, each adorned with a silver crest of a snowy owl.
These were students of the Citadel Academy.
An older man with deep wrinkles, dressed in purple robes and an elaborate pointed hat, led them toward the tree.
He gestured around the square, speaking in lofty tones, droning on about how a woodsman had gone mad and attacked the tree with his ax and the brave Royal Guards had struck him down when he’d begun to attack innocent bystanders.
Lies.
My mother had told me a very different story. The king had ordered the woodsman’s wife executed, so he’d fought back in the only way he knew how, with the blade of his ax against the bark. He hadn’t hurt a soul, but the cost had been death.
The procession continued past the tree and out the entrance on the other side. I searched for the handsome man again, but the place where he’d stood was now vacant. I glanced around, but the courtyard was empty, save for the guards and a lone bird flying from limb to limb, chirping in the sunlight.
At least I didn’t have to worry about him being way too obvious and attracting the guards’ attention to me anymore.
Even so, my heart sank in a way that surprised me—a feeling I’d not had in a long time. It was absurd to feel this way about a stranger, but the space he’d left behind felt unusually empty.