Chapter 36 Where Roses Bloom
WHERE ROSES BLOOM
“There’s something calling me beyond these woods, Elder A?na. I can’t explain it, but I feel her. Like a thread tugging at my chest. If I follow it, I may not return. But if I stay, I’ll always wonder what I left behind.”
—ándor, one year before the barrier rose
Noel
ándor, my love and my life. We were meant to raise our Noel together, but now I face this world on my own. I will always be your Eyleen, your blue rose.
A grave. This is a grave.
ándor’s grave.
My heart feels like it’s been ripped apart as the truth stands before my eyes.
Mother was ándor’s mate. They wanted to raise me.
Together. ándor . . . ándor is my father.
I just now understand what truly happened.
He left ávera when he saw Mother in his dreams, then the barrier rose, and he stayed here—somewhere—for hundreds of years, until he somehow met her.
This is all too much to handle.
We could have had a good life. I could have had them both—Mother and Father.
A family. I close my eyes, the image searing itself into my mind: running through the trees with him, laughing, chasing, him catching me in his arms. We could have gone back to my mother, together. We could have been happy.
She could have been happy.
I fall to my knees. The ground feels cold. It feels like the day they took my mother’s lifeless body away, the carriage creaking as it carried her farther and farther from me. Carried where? Where is she?
Father . . . do you know where Mother is?
My vision blurs, tears slipping down my face. With every tear, each drop that lands on the ground, blue roses bloom. One by one, they spread around the grave, bright and glowing against the earth. All these roses . . .
Mother cried here. She never cried in front of me, but I know she did. She was grieving. She buried her loved one, her mate.
She wasn’t born and raised in Tárnov. No. She was here, near the barrier. She wanted to raise me in ávera. She hoped for a better life for us.
A sob tears through me, raw and wounded. I want to scream until there’s nothing left inside me. We could have lived a happy life. Mother. Father. Together.
My hands tremble, and I feel the crystal’s warmth against my chest. Its light glows brighter. My eyes widen.
ándor . . . he’s listening. I found him, but it’s too late.
My hand shakes with how forcefully I grip the crystal. “You saved her, didn’t you?” I whisper, my voice cracking under my own words. “You didn’t leave her without reason, right?” The lump in my throat burns painfully, and my breath hitches.
“A vólkin would never leave his mate,” Theron says, crouching beside me as his claws trace over my braid.
I lift my gaze to meet his, my brows knitting together. “Then what happened? Everything I believed . . . it feels meaningless now.”
“I want you to see something.” He stands and helps me to my feet. His paw is firm. It anchors me when I feel like I’m falling back down again.
Theron turns to the others and commands, “Stand on guard. We’re entering the house.”
Glancing around, I notice Kael, his face streaked with tears. Zephyr stands beside him, his paw resting on Kael’s shoulder. Right. Everyone here is my family now. I can’t let my pain consume me. I can’t turn it against them.
I look back at Theron and take his paw in my hand. His expression softens, there is reassurance in his eyes. “When I entered the home, I was searching for answers,” he says. “And I think you need to see what I found.”
I nod, overwhelmed with both dread and hope. Together, we move toward the house.
It’s undeniably a vólkin home, both inside and out. The structure is grown from the surrounding trees, their trunks and branches weaving together to form walls and beams. Yet, it’s not entirely wild—it feels welcoming, designed for human comfort. Father made this for my mother.
Father. The word feels strange but comforting, it’s something I’ve longed to say my entire life.
To finally know who he was, to piece together the parts of him that Mother never shared.
She never spoke of him, never explained why.
But now, I understand. It was too hard for her, too painful to put into words.
Elder A?na told me he was an honorable male, and standing here, I believe it. This home, this place, is proof of his love for her. My mother deserved the best of everything, and he gave her that. I’m grateful to him for growing this place for her.
The living area is spacious and open, with what looks like a kitchen. Wooden cabinets line one side, along with a sturdy table and matching chairs, all grown from the same trees. My chest tightens as I imagine her here, making trinkets the way we used to in Tárnov.
A faint scent draws me toward the cabinets. Fresh herbs.
How? It’s been over twenty-five years.
I inhale deeply. My heart races as I begin opening the dark cabinets, searching for the source. “Theron,” I call, “do you smell the herbs?”
His brows furrow as he scents the air. “When I was here before, there were no herbs. But now I do scent them, my mate.” He moves toward the higher cabinets and pulls one open. “It’s from here,” he says, reaching in and removing a small object.
A trinket?
My fingers tremble as he hands it to me, and I lift it carefully to my nose. The smell is so familiar it nearly brings me to tears again. “This . . . this is just like the trinkets my mother used to make,” I whisper. “To shield us from illnesses.”
I turn the small silk bundle in my hands, the red string binding it tightly. “Rosemary and salt. Tied in silk cloth.”
Theron’s gaze darkens. “It is a shield ritual, my mate,” he says. “But not from illnesses. It’s meant to ward off unwanted visitors.”
“What do you mean by ‘unwanted visitors’?”
“If you burn rosemary, it temporarily wards off unwanted visitors, but for a more lasting effect, scattering rosemary around the house works better. Adding salt and tying it in silk keeps it fresh longer, and binding it with red string seals the ritual with greater strength.” He pauses, then says, “Those who are unwanted by the creator of the ritual won’t even be able to see the house it protects. ”
I blink. Is that why no one ever came to our home? Mother, you continue to surprise me. How much more did you know?
“So,” I say, turning the trinket over in my hands, “if this is still so fresh, and we’re able to see this house . . .”
“The one who created it knows of us,” Theron says, finishing my thought.
We continue walking through the house, and with every step, more questions churn in my mind. Mother had a mate. She buried him here, in this place, and then she left—moved to Tárnov. But where was she from before that?
She always told me her parents, my grandparents, were long gone. That their graves couldn’t be found.
I remember searching the burial grounds in Tárnov, going through every section—military, citizen, rebel—combing through names etched in stone. Dirt and silence greeted me, rows of graves bearing names of people I’d never known.
Were they buried in another village? Did Mother leave more behind than I could ever guess? Or . . . are their bodies truly missing?
Theron and I walk into the bedroom. In the center is a massive nest, layered with furs and twigs. My eyes sweep across the space, and that’s when it hits me. There’s no dust here. Not anywhere.
Could the person who left the trinkets also be cleaning this place? Who are they? Who is doing all this?
Why would she leave this place, so full of life and love, for the harshness of Tárnov? What danger could be so great that even this home wasn’t enough to keep us safe?
Theron moves toward a small drawer near the nest. I watch as he picks something up.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A book,” he says, turning toward me. “I found it the last time I was here, but I haven’t opened it. I think it belonged to your mother.”
It’s small, old, and weathered, the kind of thing that has seen many years and journeys. As I move closer, the delicate embroidery on the cover catches the light from the window—a blue rose, just like the one on Mother’s handkerchief.
Theron hands me the book, and it’s heavy in my hands. “It feels wrong to open it,” I murmur, my fingers tracing the worn leather. I glance up at him.
“It felt wrong for me because it is your mother’s. But it feels right that you are the one to see.”
I swallow, nodding. If I was not meant to see this, Mother, I am sorry.
With a deep breath, I open the book.
Year 701, MY BIRTHDAY I AM 8!
Today, I read many chapters of a book with my mother! She says books hold all the world’s secrets. One day, I’ll read them all.
Mother says I’m special because of the blue-rose blood. She says it means I’m meant to do great things. I don’t know what that means yet, but I want to learn everything.
Father showed me how to carve the symbol of the rose into wood today. He says it’s the mark of our family, and I must always protect it.
“Theron,” I whisper.
“What is it?”
It’s a struggle to force out my next words. “It’s not a book. It’s my mother’s diary.”