Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Valora shifts uncomfortably as I list the ingredients the Sea-Witch wants us to bring back. A rosy-pink hue spreads across the swells of her cheeks, making her seem younger than the mid-to-late twenties I assume her to be.
“What is it?” I ask, trying not to worry about the looming responsibility Ashland is trusting me with.
She lets out a disgruntled groan as she pulls a minuscule dagger from inside her boot. “Fine,” she relents, dragging the blade across a small chunk of pink hair behind her ear.
I press my lips together, stifling a laugh.
“What?” Her question is tinged with a threat.
“Nothing. I didn’t expect to find an ingredient so fast—that’s all.” I fold her clipped hair into a handkerchief and place it in my dress pocket.
“That only means the second ingredient will take twice as long to find,” she says before grabbing my hand and pulling me down the corridor. “But I bet I know who to ask.”
“Who do you have in mind?”
“Ashland has one person he relies on more than anyone else, the one person who performs everyday magic with so little—”
As we swing open the doors to the kitchens, the scent of fish pie wafts out. Servants bustle about, but we ignore the chaos, heading straight for the cook, who kneads dough at the central table.
“Agatha,” Valora implores, trying to sound as polite as possible, “have you ever heard of a rosemary plant that blooms under the watchful eye of the Spirit Goddess? Do you know what that could mean?”
She frowns, the wrinkles deepening around her guarded eyes. “What’s it to you?”
“We need some,” I plead, twisting my hands. “It’s important, or we wouldn’t ask.”
“Nay, now take your search elsewhere because I don’t have any. I used the last of it for tonight’s dinner,” she says matter-of-factly—almost too matter-of-factly—as she deliberately avoids our gaze and focuses solely on the dough ball she’s forming into a loaf.
“There’s absolutely none left?” Valora slaps her hands down at her sides.
Agatha punches a new lump of dough, deflating it. “Are you daft? I just told the girl no.”
I elbow Valora aside and stand directly in front of the old cook.
“You do realize that if we don’t retrieve the rosemary, the Sea-Witch will most likely harm several men that she’s taken as slaves?
Not only that, but she holds the Witch-King in her hut, probably doing wretched things to him as we speak. ”
Her crinkled eyes grow narrow as if she knows I’m exaggerating, but her face softens slightly at the mention of the king. She’s silent for a long moment, her bushy eyebrows knitting together. Finally, she wipes her flour-crusted hands on her apron. “Meet me in the garden after sunset.”
* * *
Valora and I collapse into my bedchamber with steaming dinner plates of fish pie.
As we wait for the sun to set, we try to figure out how to locate the last ingredient for the Sea-Witch.
I’m impressed with how smoothly the hunt for the ingredients is going so far, but I know it’s folly to get comfortable.
“A letter between two bonded lovers means a Bonding Ceremony had to occur between them and a Bonded Matrimony is extremely rare compared to ordinary marriages,” Valora grumbles through a mouthful of flaky crust. “It’s more likely we’d find unicorn piss than this love letter.”
I chew my food, lost in thought. Lady Courtesans couldn’t get married, let alone have a Bonded Matrimony, so everything about it sounds foreign. “Are there any record systems in the Spirit-Fae Cathedrals that track these types of marriages? Perhaps a scribe’s list somewhere for the couples?”
“There aren’t any Spirit-Fae Cathedrals this far north. Most get married in a floweryard with their family and friends, and there wouldn’t be records unless the families kept them.”
“That would be our luck…” I huff, clenching my fork, trying to think of something that might lead us in the right direction. A dull ache latches onto the back of my head.
Valora’s eyes light up. “But sometimes they hire the blacksmith to make rings, and they might keep financial records.”
“Do you think they’ll be cooperative? Most Ashlanders want nothing to do with me.”
With the choices I’ve made, who could blame them?
“Relax. You’re with me.” Valora shoves one more oversized bite of pie into her mouth before standing. “It’ll all work out. Now, come on.”
* * *
Valora and I navigate the village streets until we arrive at the smithy’s entrance. Above us, a wooden sign bearing white lettering swings overhead: Eldertree Ironworks.
Steam billows out as Valora opens the door, and we step inside. A wave of blistering heat brings perspiration to my skin as hammers clash, sparks light the air, and bellows pump life into the fire at the heart of the workshop.
Across the room, a buxom and muscled blacksmith peers over her red-hot blade, her face tired as she sees us.
With a few quick strides, she meets us at the counter.
Her olive features soften beneath her sweaty black hair as she leans in to hear our request. She sets aside her tools, removing her gloves before rummaging through piles of deteriorating scrolls on a dusty shelf in the back.
Just as any hope fades, she reemerges with a twinkle in her eye and a smirk playing on her lips.
“Aha! Here we are! Many couples come and go, purchasing common wedding bands. So I don’t normally keep track of receipts for more than a year, but it’s hard to forget this one.
Very few have commissioned rings for a Bonding Ceremony.
Most don’t want to take the risk if things end badly.
” My pulse quickens as she shows us the yellowed and frayed scroll.
“Are their names listed?” I ask, my voice a high-pitched pipe. “Perhaps they still reside in the village…”
Another female blacksmith rounds the corner.
This one is taller and lankier, yet her hammer is twice as big as her partner’s as she sets it next to the forge and joins us at the rear counter to examine the curling receipt.
Pulling off her work gloves, she places a palm protectively across the other smith’s back.
“Their names are listed, but I’m afraid you won’t be finding them. ”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“I’m quite sure, seeing as they are no longer with the living. The rings belonged to the late Witch-King and Witch-Queen themselves. May the fae guide their wandering souls.”
Valora’s hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes, however, meet mine, communicating a minuscule optimistic ray of hope.
“Thank you. This helps us greatly,” I say breathlessly as the forge’s heat begins to make me lightheaded. Valora slams a coin onto the counter before we rush out.
We sprint through the village back to the castle, the scroll clutched in my hand, one step closer to our goal.
If I could accomplish this for Ashland… Then perhaps he would start trusting me enough to tell me what’s happening across the border—what’s happening at home.
We slow down on the path. Valora explains, “I never met the late monarchs, but I heard stories of them when I first arrived in this kingdom.” My curiosity is piqued as I continue to wonder what brought a princess of the Solarian Isles to these shores to fight, but we don’t have time for me to pry, and I doubt she’d want to talk about it anyway.
“They were madly in love, even after decades of hardship—but to learn they were bonded is absolutely insane. It’s the sort of thing that creates legends and myths. ”
“What happened to them?” I instantly regret asking when her eyes darken.
Her words fall like sharpened knives. “Someone killed them.”
I don’t dare ask who murdered them because I already know the blame lands on my bloodline. The unspoken reason hangs over us as we enter through the gates and return to the shadowy corridors of Ashland Castle just as the sun begins to set.
I ask, “Do you think the library holds family letters in its archives?”
“Wouldn’t hurt to check.” She shrugs.
We make a sharp detour to the library, and the musty smell of books hits my nose as we stride through the bookshelf aisles, looking for anyone who might help us.
In the corner, we finally spot a middle-aged scribe wearing a worn green robe patched at the seams. He’s writing something in a thick ledger, but he looks up as we approach, his dark-circled eyes growing more tired before we even say a word.
“What may I do for you?” he asks with a sigh.
Valora nudges me. I take a deep breath and explain our situation as my cheeks warm slightly under his scrutiny.
The scribe listens intently, his face tilting in understanding, but he cuts me off mid-sentence.
“We haven’t kept official records for the past one hundred years.
No point, really—not when the library goes up in flames every other generation. ”
Surprise hits my gut like a punch.
He shakes his head and returns to work on his ledger.
My gaze drifts over the scorched walls behind the bookshelves, something I’ve never noticed before. “Could the records have survived somewhere else, though?”
The scribe stops writing and peers up, weighing my words.
“It’s possible, but if someone kept them, they’re probably hidden in a place that’s considerably less cursed.
” Not wanting to be disturbed further, he takes his stack of fraying ledgers and shuffles away, but not before I hear him mutter, “Who would want to curse a library? Really? Of all places?”
Valora pulls on my elbow, and we retreat once again to my chambers. From my window, I watch the sun hang low over the horizon, casting dazzling displays of orange and crimson hues over the courtyard’s castle walls.
“How are we going to find this letter and still have time to meet Agatha?” My earlier feelings of triumph are quickly fading as I start to feel this is turning into a wild-goose chase, or worse, a lost cause.
“If Ash were here, we would just ask him,” gripes Valora, plunking down in a chair. “I mean, we could just search his room… but I don’t think he’d approve of us rifling through his things.”
Just the mention of going back into his chambers makes me remember him pushing me down onto his bed, and my cheeks heat uncomfortably.
Dropping down next to Valora in front of the fireplace, I bury my hands into my hair, digging my fingers into my scalp. “Is there an attic?”
“Not anymore. The rafters are exposed because of the crumbling roof, so they’ve stopped storing things in there. It’s been like that ever since I got here.”
I look up, studying her calm face and deciding that I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Valora, do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you here?”
What I really want to ask her is why she believes in Ashland’s plight so much that she refuses her father’s court, refuses to be a princess, and refuses her family?
Wouldn’t it be better to be away from all of this suffering, on a warm beach, enjoying everything a royal life could offer?
But I figure something less invasive would be better.
There’s an understanding between our gazes, and I know she’s aware of what I mean.
Her tone is muted. “This is my home now.”
“And the Solarian Isles?”
“They will always have a place in my heart, but some things never change, and when that happens, you have to make a choice. And I chose to follow Zarina here. And I chose to stay.”
“Zarina?”
“My twin sister.”
Her empty stare immediately makes me regret asking. I should have stuck to my earlier determination not to pry. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
Valora shrugs. “It’s natural to be curious.”
“Was she—is she alive?” I ask carefully.
“Will you please stop being so morbid?” Valora lets out a half-hearted laugh with a roll of her exasperated eyes before her voice turns serious once more. “She’s very much alive—but I see little of her—and sometimes that feels far worse when you have to grieve the living.”
“What happened?”
Valora’s gaze shifts. “Now’s not the best time to exchange life’s wounds.”
Everything from learning about this warrior princess to the darkening sky outside pumps me full of nervous energy. I jolt to my feet, murmuring my agreement. Picking at the cuticles around my fingernails, I pace back and forth. “It’s almost time to meet with Agatha.”
“You should probably prepare for the reality that sometimes missions fail,” she warns, crossing her arms.
No. I can’t fail at this.
I have to prove that I’m more than what Ashland accuses me of, that I’m—
I kick at the iron side of the locked chest sitting at the foot of my bed. Profanity flies from my mouth as I nurse my toe—but suddenly, the pain means nothing as I grow very still.
Valora’s violet eyes snap to mine.
“The queen’s trunk—” I frantically tug at the rusted and corroded lock, so disfigured that it barely resembles its original form. “Valora,” I grunt, “we have to get this open.”
“No can do. That lock is twenty different types of fucked.”
I stare at the trunk that’s been an eyesore and a source of clutter in this room since I moved in…
Surely, there has to be a way to open it.
Valora gives me a rueful pat on the back as she says, “We’ll have to figure it out after we return from the garden. If there’s enough time.”