Chapter 3
Chapter three
The mist-shrouded forest enveloped her, fog curling around her ankles like fingers of shadow.
The wind carried the damp, earthy scent of rot and moss.
What once was a second home had become unrecognizable, the familiar comfort of it stripped away.
Joy had fled this place, leaving only dread clinging to her.
Gisela’s feet carried her without thought, every instinct screaming to stop, but the pull was stronger than her fear.
Shapes flickered at the edge of her vision, but she couldn’t tell what was real.
The crunch of leaves and sticks sounded unnervingly loud, echoing in the stillness.
At the center of the clearing stood the Guardian Tree.
Gisela approached, goosebumps prickling along her arms.
The leaves no longer shimmered. They drooped, withered, wrong in the moonlight.
The berries had shriveled, their violet hues drained to a lifeless gray.
She squinted through the dense fog and inched closer.
A strange figure crouched at the tree’s base, dressed in obsidian robes. Bony fingers twitched along the roots. Black tendrils snaked from its hands, wrapping around the tree like living chains. A wet hiss escaped its mouth.
She gasped and stumbled backward. The beat in her ears surged, loud enough to drown out everything else. Her foot caught a hidden root, and the world tilted beneath her. She imagined shadows swallowing her whole.
Crimson orbs glowed beneath the figure’s hood.
Her mind screamed to move, to get up, but her body refused. Something about the figure pinned her where she’d fallen. With a jarring, unnatural motion—like a puppet on tangled strings—it hovered over her.
Its skeletal hand reached out, brushing her cheek.
A searing burn flared across her skin. Her rational mind whispered it was only a dream, but another, louder part insisted it was far too real.
Gisela jolted upright in her bed, panting as sweat dampened her face.
Goosebumps covered her flesh as the memory of her dream lingered.
It was so real, so vivid. Even in the comfort of her own room, as she reoriented herself, the phantom touch burned her skin.
The acrid scent of the forest was still sharp and alive in her nose.
She knew she had to visit the Guardian Tree tonight.
Nestled in a quiet corner of Frosthaven, the Valors’ herbalist shop exuded a homey warmth. Its weathered wooden planks, partially hidden by dark green ivy, gave the cottage a secretive charm. The scent of dried herbs permeated the air as Gisela stepped onto the porch.
Unlocking the heavy wooden door, she was greeted by the familiar creak of the hinges.
Setting to work, she arranged jars of dried herbs and vials of colorful liquids on the wooden shelves.
Now that her father had become Village Lord, her mother was occupied with the transition, which meant Gisela had to spend more time working here.
It was an outcome she welcomed, though she missed Ivy.
The shop was too quiet without her mother’s soft humming of a familiar, wordless tune.
The stillness left her too much room to think—and too much thinking was never a good thing.
Ivy was the village’s revered herbalist, known for her gentle bedside manner and her ability to heal with nature’s bounty.
She tended to wounds and illnesses with calm expertise that earned her a cherished place in the villagers’ hearts.
Many came to the Valors’ shop not only for herbs and remedies, but for the comfort of Ivy’s presence alone.
Gisela had grown up watching that trust take root—now, it reached for her too.
As Gisela adjusted a crooked shelf, the door swung open. She spun around and her heart sank at the sight of Tristan. “I’m working.”
“Please . . . hear me out,” Tristan said, shutting the door behind him.
“Oh, I think I heard plenty, coming out the barn.”
Tristan’s face reddened. “It was a mistake. I had too much ale, and—”
“Oh, piss off, Tristan.”
“I regret it. Gods, I regret it. I love you. I—I wanted to marry you,” he said, voice trembling.
“Clearly not,” Gisela snapped. “Now leave before I lose my patience.”
“You’re supposed to be my date for the Imbuing Day celebration tonight.” He reached out to brush her cheek. “I miss you, Gisela, I miss—”
Her patience shattered. She slapped his hand from her face, seized his arm, and ripped him toward the door. A final shove hurled him into the street, and he stumbled to catch himself before falling.
Noah, walking up to the shop, froze mid-step at Gisela’s vigorous push. His smile faded.
“Don’t bother showing up here again. You’ll need a new herbalist once that rash of yours inevitably flares up, asshole!” she shouted, slamming the door with a finality that echoed through the shop.
Moments later, the door creaked.
Gisela whirled, her glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Noah held his hands up in mock surrender, an amused twitch lifted his lips. “It’s me . . . good morning to you too.”
“Sorry,” she muttered.
Noah leaned against the counter, watching her work. “Why didn’t you come to breakfast?”
“I woke up early. Had a nightmare,” she said, grinding the herbs with a little extra force. “Needed to get out of the house.”
Noah nodded. “You good?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It was only a dream.”
Noah wandered around the shop, his focus shifting between the shelves.
Gisela, observing him from the corner of her eye, recognized his nervous habits.
“So,” he began, and she braced herself for what he was about to say.
“I hate to ask, after your rough night and Tristan but . . .” He gave her a hopeful look, and despite herself, her lips curved slightly.
“Can you cover for me for a few hours? Tell Mother I went to the Snowdrifts for plants, maybe?”
Gisela eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”
He hesitated, wringing his hands. Another nervous tick.
“Are you meeting Ruby?” she asked teasingly.
“Yes. How did you—?” He sighed. “You know everything. Only for a little while.”
She cocked her head at him. “Why are you hiding it? Ruby is lovely.”
“Her family wanted to keep Cillian as Village Lord.”
“And? Are they giving you trouble about it?”
“I don’t want her to have tension with her parents is all.”
Gisela rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. They need to get over themselves.”
“Well, if you must know, they want to betroth her to Thorne.”
She shot him an incredulous stare. “For the sake of a family alliance? Certainly not for his personality.”
Noah laughed. “Probably. They have ambition. They know Cillian is close to the King. She wants nothing to do with Thorne and her family knows that.”
Ruby’s family, the Blackwells, always had their eye on whoever was in power. It puzzled her that they still wanted Ruby betrothed to Thorne after Cillian was forced to step down. She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.
“Well, if she’s seeing you, she must have a better head on her shoulders than her parents do. I’ll cover for you.”
“Thanks,” he said, rushing over to give her a quick hug.
“Here,” Gisela said, grabbing a small bag. “Give her some of Mother’s frostbites.”
“Good thinking,” he said, taking the bag from her and heading out the door.
Villagers trickled in for their various needs: tinctures to uplift their mood, ointments for minor burns, and oils to encourage respiratory health now that fall was coming.
More of them had been asking for tinctures for anxiety lately.
She couldn’t blame them. Everything was uncertain, and Gisela wasn’t sure it was as temporary as they hoped.
As she sharpened her knives under the desk, the door burst open.
Her head snapped up.
Thorne and his companions, Fynn and Zane, stepped inside, smirks curving their lips.
“How can I help you?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Zane hopped up on the counter, leaning far too close. “Just checking if you’re still whispering to the weeds.”
Gisela slammed the desk drawer shut. The crack echoed through the room.
Fynn shifted uneasily, shooting Zane a warning look.
Her lips curved at the memory of tossing Fynn over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Zane snorted. “Easy there, Valor. Thought you might get jumpy again with all those new storage crates stacked by the pub. Tight fit, those things, huh?”
Thorne’s hand paused halfway to the shelf.
She stiffened as the memory surfaced, unbidden—wooden walls closing in, the scrape of a lid sliding shut, breath thinning to nothing.
Gone as quickly as it came.
Her expression cooled. “You know, Zane, it’s bold of you to barge in here to pester me. I know why your mother comes by so often. Still dealing with those boils you have on your ass?”
Zane’s eyes bulged.
Thorne casually picked up vials, hiding a grin.
“You wouldn’t want me to . . . hmm . . . accidentally put something else in that vial, would you? To make your cock shrink even smaller than it already is. Considering your personality, you’ve got to be overcompensating for something.”
“You bitch,” Zane’s voice cracked, his hands twitching.
Gisela’s hand moved before her mind did. She grabbed her knife from under the table and pressed it to his throat. “Get. Out,” she demanded, her voice deadly calm as she held his furious stare.
Fynn grabbed Zane’s arm and pulled him away. “I told you this was a stupid idea. Why do I even hang out with you guys . . .” he grumbled, dragging Zane out the front door.
Thorne approached the counter, ignoring the threat of the knife.
Gisela’s grip on it tightened.
“How are you and Tristan?” he mused, as he idly inspected a vial from the counter. “I saw him chopping wood with a little extra fervor.”
“We aren’t together. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His mouth twitched.
She lowered her knife, but her grip didn’t loosen. “What is your problem? You can’t bully me at school anymore, so you find new ways to get under my skin?”
He crossed his arms, the movement pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his chest. “I’ve never laid a hand on you.”