Chapter 18
I never tellWillow what happened with Harrow. I’m not quite sure why. I know Willow would take my side and I know, if anything, he’d be proud of me for how deftly I used my magic.
But something about the exchange felt private. I have a wriggling notion that Harrow wouldn’t want people to know about his vulnerable state. As much as I want to ignore that sense, I can’t. The privacy of my patients is sacred to me, in the Natural World and in Midscape.
So Willow and I part ways with him none the wiser, some excuse made about a potion attempt gone wrong to explain away the floorboards Willow fixed with his wild magic.
That night I burn the midnight oil and I’m up with the dawn. I scour the journals I’ve taken from the laboratory, searching for any clues as to how equilibrium is created between the queen, the redwood throne, and the seasons. I start with Alice’s journal, but the quality of her entries diminishes with age.
Her pen lines are shaky. The once masterful drawings are rough sketches, wobbly and hard to decipher. Without warning, they stop altogether.
It fills my chest with a deep pain unlike any other I’ve felt. I can see her in that laboratory, working the last energy from her fingers while they will cooperate. I imagine her hands trembling without her permission until she can no longer hold a pen. I imagine her alone, longing for her brother—the comfort of family—and to smell the salt air of Capton just once more.
I imagine myself, ninety years from now, withering in this cold place with nothing but the agony of the redwood throne filling my days. It’s a cold and bleak thought, one I try and put away with Alice’s journal.
After that, I read the writings of the queens before Alice. It’s easier to thumb through the pages that lead up to their ultimate demises when I don’t have any kind of personal connection with them. I succeed in hardening my emotions after the third journal—the journal with the loving notes about the roses.
She had been heartbroken by the thought of leaving her king’s side, even in death.
A knock on my door jolts my eyes from the page. I rub them. Hook has curled up at the foot of my bed yet again. He’s long since given up on trying to place his muzzle over my book pages or nudge me for attention.
“Are you awake?” Rinni asks through the door.
“Yes.” I stretch my arms overhead and my spine pops in several places.
Rinni enters. “I came to let you know that an urgent matter has arisen.”
“Oh?”
“It seems a delegation from the Fae King arrived last night,” she reports.
“I thought there wasn’t a Fae King, just a bunch of infighting between clans?”
“Every now and then they scrape together enough unity to declare someone king and swear to the rest of the world they’re presentable. This one has lasted the longest, but we’ll see if he can keep it up. No king has ever kept his power long enough to make it to the Council of Kings.” Rinni shrugs. “Regardless, Eldas has sent me to inform you that he will not be able to meet with you this morning as planned.”
“Oh well.” I hop off my bed. “What’re you up to today?”
“What am I…up to?”
“Are you busy?” I rephrase.
Hook stretches with a low whine and shakes out his fur.
“Usually, I would be assisting Eldas with the delegation…but he has appointed me to your care.”
“I can’t tell if you’re upset about that or not.” I grin.
Rinni bristles. “I—” she clears her throat “—Your Majesty, guarding you is an honor.”
“Is it?” I arch my eyebrows and walk to my closet. I leave the door open while I change so I can talk to her. “I still can’t tell if you like me or not.”
“It’s not my job to like you, it’s my job to serve you.”
“Yes, but—” I pop my head out and Rinni promptly glances askance at my bare shoulders. “I would much prefer if you liked me. If not, I’m sure we can find another guard who does.”
She huffs and purses her lips. “I think I’ve told you already; I like you fine.”
“Oh, good. And you’re sure I’m not keeping you? You seem like you’re someone pretty important.”