Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Icling to the warmth of his body. The fire has long gone cold, and dawn barely begins to lift the dew gathered through the night.
We wake the same way sleep found us—locked in a tight embrace.
I brush not only sleep from my eyes but also the lingering salt of tears shed in honest revelation. Sitting up in bed, blankets gathered close to keep in the warmth, I stare into the room, and for a moment my world feels aligned.
“Ace may never forgive us if we delay his breakfast.” My heart warms at the love I feel for this place, this family. It outweighs everything else that presses in around me.
Vale laughs, and I know we will be alright. Regardless of what has changed, the way we hold each other feels stronger than ever.
We stay close even through the routine motions of dressing for the day. Still heavy and weary from the night, we keep reaching for each other—our fleeting touches more frequent, more necessary. Each one a reminder that we are both still here. That we are both in this together.
We pause before exiting the door. Neither of us is the type to be anything less than sincere, particularly among our closest friends—but some truths are best kept between us, for now.
We take our time walking down the hall to our morning meal. I loop my arm through his and lean into him. For a moment, I almost convince myself it had all been a dream. But the sharp sting at the back of my throat from unbridled tears tells me otherwise.
“Looks like someone had a late night,” Ace says, nudging Soria as we arrive. He is already seated at the table, sipping a hot drink and trying to goad us on.
I flash him a smile. It’s tired and worn—but not insincere.
They both seem to read our exhaustion as little more than that of lovers who made the most of the night. I remind myself how much of that rings true and take comfort in the fact that I am not truly misleading my friends.
Banter carries us through sweetbread, and I find the laughter isn’t as hard to reach as I feared it might be. By the time the plates are cleared, I feel lighter for it.
Ace continues to command the room, and I’m grateful that so little of that burden falls to me—or to Vale, for that matter.
He seems dimmer at first, not the formidable force I am so used to.
But he warms when I turn to him and say, “I’d love to see more of the valley today.
We walked outside the manor yesterday, but I know there’s so much more to see. ”
Even the slightest smile on his face feels like a victory.
“Anything for you, my queen.” Ace immediately awes at the sweetness of it.
“Mira, I have got to hand it to you—you truly are a force.” He starts in on a prattling speech about how his friend and cousin has changed with me in his life—
Vale shoots him a wounding look.
That is the man I love. And it’s good to see him like this.
With little fanfare, we set out into the valley as two. He had asked if I wanted the horses readied, but I ask instead to walk on this particular venture.
It takes time to reach the trees. My skirt is wet at the low hem by the time we do, and I wish I had chosen pants instead.
I begin to feel the sun’s heat at the back of my neck just as we move into the shelter of the pines.
Breaking past the threshold, we are soon met with a mix of hardwood—long trunks stretching tall toward the sky.
My step quickens as I power up a small hill. It reminds me so much of home.
I pause, my hand resting gently against the bark. I look up into the canopy—then quietly correct myself.
No. This is my home. The forest, yes—but Caerhollan. The Jewel. The manor. All of it.
I turn and watch as Vale catches up with me, amused by the vigor that carried me into the woods ahead of him. “And what are you thinking about?” I ask as his smile grows.
I start toward him when suddenly the soil beneath my boots gives way. I feel myself begin to tumble forward. Acting on instinct, I reach out for anything to catch me.
Eyes wide, I’m startled even more when my flailing hand grips something solid. A branch. I barely saw it in the corner of my eye—it dips lower than I thought from my climb up the hill.
My arm stings as I pull against the wooden limb and right myself. Vale rushes to my side, steadying me, his palm firm against my back. I stand frozen.
My grip releases. I look at the branch—then at Vale, who seems far more shocked than concerned. Once he knows I am steady, his hand covers his mouth as contemplation washes across his face.
“Did it just—” I begin, questioning my own sanity.
“Bend?” he finishes.
I step away from the branch, closer now to my makeshift path, and we stare at it. Unblinking. Slowly, with a soft creak, the tree seems to stretch upward again—as if sighing.
“Vale…” There is a tremor in my voice as I turn into him, still watching the limb. My eyes flutter. No trick of light. Just a tree.
A tree—but not.
It is still you—and yet… not.
My hands begin to shake. But when I look at Vale, he is smiling.
His arms tighten around me, and I think he might lift me from the ground in pure, unguarded joy if I didn’t look so perplexed in his hold.
His smile doesn’t fade. It softens.
Not the grin of amusement or triumph—but something older. Reverent. As if he is looking not just at me, but through me.
“That,” he breathes, barely louder than the wind in the branches, “is how it used to be.”
My heart stutters. “What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he slips his hand into mine and gently leads me a few steps deeper into the trees. Not urgency—an invitation. We find a fallen log bathed in broken sunlight, and he settles beside me, still watching the forest as though it had begun to whisper again.
“I haven’t seen the world move like that since I was a boy,” he says quietly.
After the raw closeness of last night, I follow his words into a stranger, purer space. I see a side of him I have never known.
He tilts his head, exploring the corners of his mind.
“Magic,” he explains, “it’s not what your stories made it out to be. There were those who wielded it, yes—but in its purest form, it was this.” He gestures to the forest, to the impossible tree. “Harmony. Gods, Mira… I haven’t seen anything like this since I was a child. I almost forgot.”
His jaw loosens, and I see it. Recognition. As if the pieces have suddenly snapped into place. From gentle awe he shifts to enthusiasm.
He is overcome in the best way. I have a thousand questions, but I dare not interrupt.
“We don’t yet know what has changed in you,” he says, his fingers tightening around mine. “But this—this magic—I know this. I have not seen it since the Fade.”
As much as I want his hope to rise in me, I am still too heavy with questions. “Do you think magic has come back?” I ask softly.
“I don’t know how we would even tell,” he admits. “It was so long ago. I lived alongside it—but I never used it, if that makes sense.” Then his voice drifts farther—into memory. “My mother… she had a natural affinity. The gardens she tended—oh, Mira, you should have seen them. The way the flowers—”
He stops. And looks at me. The conservatory flashes through my mind in full, impossible bloom. “That’s it!” He rises suddenly. “I don’t know whether you share her gift—or something entirely different. But I know where we must look.”
He offers his hand and pulls me to my feet. Our leisurely morning forgotten, we move back across the valley toward the manor—and its waiting secrets.