Chapter 14 Weapons & Woes #2
“They gave them ten silver coins,” she says, “enough to feed everyone for a while. Our six older brothers work the fields and the mines. Our three younger sisters are still too little to offer up.” Her voice trembles.
“I didn’t cry when they took me. But my sister did. I can still hear her screaming.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
We sit like that for a while, sun-washed and silent.
“She’s a good rider,” Cassy says suddenly, glancing toward Vivian. “Back home, Vivian was part of the courier team. She used to deliver scrolls to the High Council and the priestesses.”
Vivian doesn’t look up, but she doesn’t protest, either.
“She was the fastest of all the girls,” Cassy adds with a soft pride.
Mariel lifts a brow. “You had a courier team? Why not use birds?”
Vivian lets out a dry scoff. “In Korran Vale? The only birds we have are either flightless or so scrawny that they can’t carry anything more than a scrap of twine.”
“Oh,” Mariel says. “In Eldrien, we have skycrows. Big enough to carry just about anything smaller than a goat, if you train them right.”
“Well, Vivian could outrace a bird any day,” Cassy says. Vivian doesn’t smile, but her lips twitch, ever so slightly.
And for the first time since arriving, the silence between us doesn’t feel like a threat.
I lean back, letting the sun warm my skin. The moment feels oddly peaceful. But as I scan the terrace edge, something catches my eye. Far above, near the east wing, a balcony juts from a shadowed stone tower. And there—just for a heartbeat—I see him.
A figure in black, watching us from the gloom. The breeze tugs at the edge of his cloak. His face is unreadable, but I know it’s him.
King Keiren.
The gardener.
The liar.
The shadow I can’t stop thinking about.
Somewhere below that balcony, I glimpse movement—Lyra Vale, gliding along a lower walkway with her hand to the wall as if listening to the stone itself speak. A heartbeat later, she vanishes into mist. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m seeing ghosts again.
But before I can be sure, the king is gone, like a ghost retreating from light.
We take our time after lunch, feet slow and sluggish from the big meal, drifting away from the terrace until the castle swallows us again.
Mariel, Cassy, and I wander the grounds, eventually stumbling into a narrow orchard nestled behind a hedge of pale thorns.
Strange creatures with thick, hairy feet and oversized eyes are carrying baskets of glowing fruit that pulse like lanterns.
They don’t speak or even glance our way—just shuffled along in silence, their shadows rippling over the grass like oil on water.
“They’re kind of cute,” Cassy whispers.
“More like kind of creepy,” Mariel whispers back.
I say nothing. My heart is elsewhere. I want to show them the garden. More than anything, I want to see their faces when the dry thorns give way to life and beauty. I want them to see the way the roses bloom by the moonlight, the way the air there feels so… untouched. Holy, almost.
I want to prove it was real. That I didn’t just dream it up.
So, I lead them back through the keep, retracing every step from memory. We walk down the west wing corridor with the cracked windows and past the statue of the veiled lady. I pivot left where the ivy spills from the ceiling like green ribbons.
I know this path. I know where the garden is. But when we reach the corridor where the archway should be, we hit a dead end. There’s nothing but a wall.
A groan shudders through the stone, deep and distant, as if the keep is sighing. Dust drifts from the ceiling. The wall’s smooth surface pulses once, then stills again.
My breath hitches. I turn in a slow circle, looking for some mistake, some curve we’ve missed, a bend I confused for another turn. But everything is exactly where it should be—except the door.
“I swear it was here,” I say, stepping forward and pressing my hand to the wall. The stone is smooth beneath my fingers. Too smooth, like it was only carved recently. Or conjured up.
Beside me, Mariel frowns. She reaches for a faint rune etched into the corner—one I hadn’t seen before—and brushes her fingertips over it as if trying to read its pulse. Her expression darkens. “It’s like the keep’s rearranging itself.”
Cassy blinks. “Why would it do that?”
But I already know the answer. Because this castle isn’t just cursed; it’s alive. And it doesn’t want me to find it again. Not the garden. Not the truth. And perhaps not him, either. Perhaps it’s punishing me for snubbing the king, leaving him alone in the garden.
With the sun still high but casting longer shadows, I linger in the library while the others return to their rooms.
There’s something about the space that makes it feel…
safer, as if the stories woven into the pages might offer clues, protection, or, at the very least, distraction.
Even the air seems thicker here, brimming with secrets waiting to be exposed.
It’s the only place where the heartache of missing home subsides.
I sigh, still wishing I could see Ashwing one more time, to feel the foal shift beneath her soft hide.
I run my fingers along a shelf until one volume thrums beneath my skin. Bound in soft, sky-blue leather with crimson-gilded edges, it seems to pulse with a warmth of its own. The title is etched in delicate gold leaf: Flames and Fate.
I cradle it like a secret and retreat to a worn velvet armchair near the window, curling my legs beneath me as I open to the first page.
The story pulls me in like a tide. A fire god named Murth.
An ice princess called Amala. Two souls bound by prophecy and forbidden desire.
Doomed by their very nature, they transform into foxes to meet in secret each dawn and dusk at the border between the lava fields and snow-covered plains.
Only when the world is neither too warm nor too cold can they hold one another without melting…
or burning. Each word strikes like a bell in my chest, as familiar and beautiful as it is painful.
I don’t realize how long I’d been reading until the sunlight softens, brushing the stone with honeyed shadows. The lights flicker, or maybe the shadows breathe.
And then a voice shatters the stillness. “Good book?”
I jump, slamming the book shut as I turn, heart hammering.
King Keiren leaned against a nearby shelf, arms crossed, golden firelight dancing across his skin. His sharp blue eyes lock onto mine.