Chapter 63
Sixty-Three
A swaying sensation rouses me from sleep. For a moment, I believe I’m still aboard the rocking ship, but awareness gradually returns to me. The soft mattress and warm blankets feel distinctly different from Lir’s bed, and a faint scent tickles my nose.
I force my sensitive, sleep-crusted eyes open and squint at my surroundings. Sunlight streams through a round window framed by gauzy curtains. Ivory wooden planks similar to those on the ship form the walls, adding to my confusion.
As I inhale deeply, I notice the aroma of baking bread from the potbelly stove and the drying flower bunches hanging from the rafters. A simple table sits in the corner, topped by a washbasin and pitcher, while pots of colorful salves, powders, and dried herbs line the rustic shelves.
The cot’s feather mattress shifts as I grunt and sit up.
Bedspreads woven from lambswool in varying earthy hues cover me, and I’m wearing a thick, long-sleeved nightgown that buttons down the front.
Even my hair is clean, brushed, and neatly coiled around my circlet—neither too loose nor too tight—as I pat and examine myself.
A clear, sticky substance is smeared across my hand and wrist, the crimson lines glistening under the strange-smelling ointment.
My heart drops as my arm begins to ache.
The witch-healer’s cottage.
Outside, tense voices rumble in Ashland’s and Lir’s familiar deep tones. A hesitant smile spreads across my lips. At least they kept their word.
I try to stand, but my body moves sluggishly, so I half-fall, half-sit back down in a wave of dizziness.
The front door creaks open, and a stout, pepper-haired woman wearing a smock enters.
She surveys me with a keen silver eye. “Awake at last, m’lady?
” Light shimmers on the many earrings lining the cartilage of her ear and on her hoop nose ring.
At first glance, she seems no-nonsense, but there’s a kindness in the way her eyes crinkle.
I nod slowly, my throat dry and itchy. Knowing what I need before I can ask, she hands me a wooden cup filled with basil water.
The door creaks open again, and the two men enter. They quickly overtake the cozy atmosphere with their large bodies and weapons hanging at their sides. There’s a noticeable tension rippling between them.
“The sleeping queen awakens,” Ashland remarks with a cocked eyebrow, watching me as he leans on the wall near the window.
Before anything more can be said, I ask, “Rett—how is he?” It doesn’t make sense to worry about his well-being, but I’m sick of the suffering. I don’t care if that makes me weak.
Both of their faces turn uneasy. Lir steps forward. “The prince remains aboard the ship.”
My stomach twists. “He hasn’t recovered?”
“He’s developed blood fever,” Lir says gently. “The witch-healers are doing all they can, but he remains delirious.”
“Didn’t you give him an elixir?”
“No, love. It wasn’t made for his kind, and it could easily act as a poison with his orc blood.”
“He’s half-human, though! It might’ve worked. Why didn’t you at least try?”
Lir’s tone is firm. “There was no guarantee, and at least this way, he has a fighting chance.”
A fresh wave of guilt casts a net over me.
Ashland seems to read my thoughts and steps closer. “He brought it upon himself.” Despite his callous remarks, he frowns, peering out the window at the glittering ocean barely visible through the thick band of ivory trees.
I look down at my hands. Rett’s dried blood is still ever so slightly crusted beneath my broken nails. “I need to see him.”
Lir squeezes my shoulder and urges, “One thing at a time. We haven’t cured you yet.” A muted throb aches from my fingertips through my arm.
“Don’t just stand there,” chastises the witch-healer as she bustles between the two men. “Let me get to the patient!” They part toward the outer rim of the small cottage while she examines my injured appendage, clucking her tongue at the angry crimson swirls.
“This will take the bite out of the pain.” She scoops more of the sticky, clear salve with a wooden tool, spreading and reapplying it over my markings.
“But it’s only a temporary relief. The Bonding Curse is too powerful.
The dark magic now running through your veins can and will adapt to any and all medicines.
There’s a reason why it’s known as a curse to those wise enough to call it what it is. ”
“How long do I have?” I whisper, terrified to learn the answer.
“By nightfall—”
Ashland interjects, “That soon?”
“A Replacement of Vows is the only thing that will cure the spread. It demands a true Bonded Matrimony in exchange, or the original pair will go insane and die.” Her tone softens.
“There’s no getting around it, m’lady. You must marry someone willing to bond to you by sunset, or you won’t make it through the night. ”
Trembling and unsure of the time, I ask, “When does the sun set?”
“In three hours—”
“Everyone, leave,” Ashland orders. The healer gives him a little bow.
Lir doesn’t move.
“Time to check on the ship, Captain.”
Lir nods, but his defiant silence speaks more than any words could. The door slams behind him.
Ashland mutters something and then stops himself before he quickly says, “Tabitha, will you take a walk with me?”
My eyes widen in growing outrage because I know what’s on his mind.
Marriage.
But this time I can’t run away. I’ve backed myself into a corner with so many foolish mistakes. I’ll be forced into honoring my commitment to marry Rett whether I want to or not.
* * *
Wrapped in the healer’s fur cloak and wearing borrowed boots, I step out of the doorway as Ashland follows me.
I’m still weak, and my gait is slow, but Ashland doesn’t rush me as we stroll into a village of ivory cottages.
This unusual settlement nestles in a wooded clearing overlooking the icebergs resting in the distant ocean.
The air is icy and crisp as we silently proceed through a dazzling world of white, all while fat clumps of snow fall on us.
“I want to show you something,” he says, giving me a hesitant smile and pulling me toward the village center, a place where children run and throw snowballs at each other.
My eyes widen as we become surrounded by a circle of tall stones where a single, glorious tree sits in the middle—but it’s no ordinary tree.
It resembles a mix between a giant oak and a willow, but its bark is ivory, and hundreds of gleaming iridescent jewels appear as hanging fruit on branches that arch and spread wide.
Ashland’s voice is almost reverent as he says, “This is the Alexra source—or mother, if you will. Her roots spread saplings in all directions until she feels her safety threatened. She has a natural boundary, choosing where to replicate and where to stop.”
Taking in the splendid sight, I cover my mouth, wondering how my circlet came from it.
“You haven’t seen the special part yet…” He holds open the bejeweled curtain of silver leaves and motions for me to join him in what can only be described as a cavernous tree alcove. I duck under his arm into the secluded enclosure.
The sun, peeking through the clouds, catches the jewels at the right angle, sending us into a shimmering dome of brilliance and fractals. A matching jewel glints on the pommel of his sword, and I gasp, ashamed I hadn’t already put the pieces together.
“Your mother bestowed this jewel upon me the night she disappeared.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” A knot lodges in my chest.
“She pleaded with me to take her tiara—the Ashland Jewel, an heirloom that came into Metalla possession many hundreds of years ago.” My eyes widen as I remember the same tiara written about in Cliodna’s diary. “But in return, she made me promise—”
“Promise what?”
“—to protect you with it.”
My palms burn hot. “You’re a liar. You were raised to kill me.”
“You’re not wrong. You see, it was easy to make a bargain that I didn’t fully understand or intend to keep.
She was delirious, and as far as I knew, she didn’t have any children.
So I hid the tiara and never told my parents what she had truly said.
They continued their lessons, preparing me for revenge, never realizing I had your mother’s voice in the back of my mind—”
My heart begins to race. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“Your pity isn’t necessary. I need only for you to understand.” He takes a step closer, and my stomach drops. “Please.”
He meets my eyes, his chest rising.
Shocked by his earnest plea, I inhale deeply for a long moment and soften my tone. “My mother’s tiara came from here? What about my circlet?”
Ashland nods. “All Devana Trees have magical properties. They were once a gift from the Spirit Goddess before she closed the Fae Realm. And as such, we’re able to harvest their inner rings for the ore that becomes Alexra.
Not only that, but their wood provides the planks for our ships that can never be struck down by fire or torn by the jagged shoal rocks lurking beneath the waves. ”
“Then why have I only ever seen one white ship?”
“Because we keep them hidden in the north. They protect our forests from the Spirit-Fae Cathedral and anyone else who wants to destroy or manipulate them. We also can’t risk our ships being commandeered and used against us.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to tell me about them at the hot springs…”
He touches a jewel hanging on a nearby branch. “This mother tree before us is the only one ever to produce fruit. The jewels never drop and are impossible to pluck. The only time it happened, it was seen as an omen—and not a good one.”
I absorb the information, his words imprinting in my mind as he takes another step closer.
There are so many more questions I want to ask.
So many things left unsaid. My face flushes under his gaze.
“Tabitha—” A million toxic butterflies stir in my stomach as his dangerous shift in tone prepares to poison me.
“He will offer to marry you because he loves you.”
My mind reels.
Lir.
Not Rett.
Ashland interrupts my thoughts. “But I implore you to refuse him.”
My breathing stops.
Ashland has no right to choose the person I marry, no matter who it is. My voice turns sharp. “This isn’t any of your concern.”
“Think carefully about this. Could you tether your life to him with my family’s curse hanging over your head when he should be free to live his life?
He’s a romantic with a soft heart. He deserves to grow old.
Have babies. Relax on a beach somewhere.
In the end, the curse will be the only winner here. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“Why do you care what he does with his personal life? Shouldn’t this be his choice?”
“Lir’s my friend—my chosen brother. He pulled me from the darkest of places when I thought my life wasn’t worth continuing. For that, I’ll owe him for the rest of my days, and that includes protection from himself. I won’t see him turned into my enemy.”
“You mean to protect him from me?” I ask, crossing my arms. Warmth blooms down my neck as the wool I’m wearing itches my overly hot skin.
“In a sense—yes.”
His answer hurts more than I thought it would. Tears fill my eyes, and my voice fills with contempt. “And who would you rather I choose instead?”
“Me.”