67. Tree
The rest of the journey to the Mannereds passed uneventfully—it came as a surprise and a relief to Wilder. Lyra rode alone in the carriage, but as expected, she did not stay quiet.
From flowers, birds, or rock formations, she pointed everything out with childish wonder. Dust and Oak found it endearing, Ridge and Maelys were used to it, and Otto gestured to everything he thought she would admire but had missed.
Wilder stayed quiet, enjoying the companionship of those around him while staying trapped in his thoughts. His feelings towards Lyra had shifted—that much was obvious. She was unexpected. Had leapt into his life as gracefully as a wildfire, consuming everything in her path.
He had wanted to do things for her, the unicorn for starters, but more. He had wanted to be there when she had woken, with the unicorn in hand, to see the happiness in her eyes. To know that he was the cause of such joy.
The forest around them became ordered with fewer brambles underneath the large canopies and more intentionally placed shrubbery. They were still far from the castle, but Queen Titania’s grip over her realm was already evident.
A pathway lined with tulips and foxglove opened up before them, leading them up and over a hill that overlooked the large plateau in the distance where the castle emerged. It was still a day’s ride away.
Something rustled in the distance, outside his periphery. A shadow, lying in wait. It wasn’t the Queen’s guards that monitored their perimeter; it was something else.
A creature of which he had only heard whispers. Wilder whistled low under his breath, a tone that only Maelys would hear. She urged her horse forward and beside him, leaving Ridge to fall back in line with the carriage.
“Yes?”
“We’re being followed,” he said, no louder than the breeze. “Animal?”
Maelys’ grip on her reins tightened as she felt for the animals around them.
“No.”
Wilder nodded, and she fell back in line.
“Otto?”
“I see nothing,” he replied.
Wilder squared his shoulder and reached for the sword strapped to his side. The creature melded with the shadows but kept pace with them. It wasn’t threatening, per se. It wasn’t welcoming either.
“What is it?” Lyra called from the window of her carriage.
Half of her body was leaning out of the opening, and she gripped the bottom of the window to keep herself from tipping out.
“Nothing,” Wilder replied.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Your shoulders are stiff.”
Wilder did his best to let the tension melt away. It was futile. He caught a better glimpse of what was trailing them and gleaned it wasn’t a threat, but a surprise to be sure.
It was a tree—one of the sentient trees that stood between their two courts.
Wilder halted their pace and dismounted.
“Of the King,” the tree spoke. Its voice was as soft as the wind in its branches.
Wilder bowed and touched his brow. “Of the Wilds.”
“You’ve traveled some way, my prince.”
“And we have a way yet to go.” Wilder looked up into the gnarled face of the tree. Lined with centuries of life and weather. It was like looking at the beginning of the world and seeing what it had become.
“You travel with a creature not of land.” Its words were not unkind, but there was an edge to them.
“I do. We travel with a princess of the sea.”
“I have not looked upon the water in some time. I will see her.”
No other creature could have demanded such a thing of the Prince. But as a royal of the Wilds, his stewardship prioritized nature.
“Lyra,” Wilder called.
He heard the clatter of the carriage door opening before the crunch of her light footsteps against the forest floor. Turning as she approached, he had to stifle a laugh at the wonder and astonishment widening her eyes and dropping her jaw.
“Is that—” she whispered.
“A lady of the sea,” the tree remarked.
Lyra halted, her gaze sweeping from the tree to Wilder. He held out his hand, and with equal astonishment, she took it.
“I am, er, sir?”
The tree laughed, and the leaves rustled. “I am not a male or female. I simply am.”
“My apologies,” she lamented, and shame colored her face.
“Do not fret. How could you have known?”
Lyra sighed and took a step closer. “May I?”
Wilder watched in wonder as the tree nodded as she approached, resting her brow upon its bark. For someone who had little knowledge of their customs, she certainly behaved in a way that was similar.
“Why have you come?”
Lyra tipped her head back to meet the wise eyes of the sentient wood.
“I was taken and agreed to a bargain.”
“And yet you are afraid.”
Lyra shifted, and Wilder could tell the words stung.
“I am unsure of how to uphold my bargain,” she uttered.
“You fear the desires in your heart.”
She didn’t have an answer for that, and Wilder felt he had become an unwanted outsider.
“Stay, Prince.”
Wilder nodded. Lyra sighed and worried her bottom lip.
“What if I am the monster they always said I was?”
“You will bear the burden. There is no other.”
Wilder watched as all the sun-kissed color drained from her face. Her freckles now stood out starkly.
“What is magic if not the bindings of our fragile realm? Elvethamian would cease to exist without magic. The gods will see to it.”
Elvethamian.
Only the wisest and oldest knew its true name.
Lyra closed her silver-lined eyes. A single tear dripped down her cheek.
“What if I fail?”
“See to it that you do not. Or in violent waves we all perish.”
He could see the anger flash across her face, a tinge of red to her cheeks, and then the clenching of her fists.
The tree’s branches swayed and jostled as it turned; long roots rose and fell as it walked away.
“It was a pleasure, Lyra of Atlantis.”
Lyra stood frozen as the tree ambled away with slow, crunching strides.
“Was that a dream?” she spoke at last when the sun speared through the thinner canopy of the hawthorns.
“It was not.”
Wilder watched as her face turned from anger to wonder, and, lastly, to horror.
“I think—I think I’m going to be sick.”
She bent over at the waist and proceeded to catch her breath. He rubbed lazy strokes over her back, and she didn’t pull away.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“How? How is it going to be okay?”
“The library at the Mannereds is second to none. And if I know anything about you, it is that you have a thirst for knowledge. You’re afraid of your magic because you know nothing about it.
You fear the unknown and the lies that were spewed.
We simply need to increase your knowledge to decrease your fear.
” He said it with as much authority as his title held.
“And you think that will help?”
“I know it will.”
She shifted on her feet and squeezed her fingers together in a way that was most out of character for her.
“I killed someone. What if it happens again?” Her voice was quiet and timid.
All at once, it hit him—she needed a vote of confidence, someone to believe in her when she couldn’t believe in herself.
“I believe you are capable of anything you put your mind to. You have lived through so much in your short life—I see that now. You were only a child, and it was an accident. It was not your fault. I see the scars you hide, the tremble in your voice when you can’t contain your anger, I see the fire in your eyes when you’ve been wronged, and the way you try to stifle it.
I want you to wield that anger, Lyra. Wield it as a blade against everyone who has ever wronged you. ”
She stared and stared into his eyes.
“Even against me, if you must.”
Her eyes slipped closed as she nodded.
“Give me a moment, please?” she asked, her voice shaking again.
“Anything you wish,” he murmured.
And he left her standing in the grove of hawthorn trees as he trudged back to the carriage.