The Story of the Trees - Sword, Ring, and Crown Book One

Chapter Eleven

A ray from the sun that dared to shine through my window forced my eyes open. I had wished for it to blot away, but it cheerfully refused, mocking me as it poured light into the room. I squinted at the alcove where the offending sunlight filtered in through a set of three recessed windows. The largest in the center had a transom above it, flanked by two smaller ones. They were bare of curtains, leaving me no escape from the brightness.

I shifted my gaze around the room, noticing a mahogany desk sitting beneath the windows, with a horse-shaped lamp and an incongruous thin computer monitor perched on top. It felt out of place in a world that was supposed to be magical, a touch of modernity amidst the archaic surroundings. My eyes drifted to the arched ceiling, slats of redwood tracing the curve of the walls, leading down to a wide fireplace made of brownish-gray stone. And in front of it, in an oversized chair, sat my aunt.

I quickly turned my face back into the pillow. I couldn't bear to look at her—an impostor wearing my mother's face.

"Our apologies for telling you that way." My aunt's voice was flat, almost bored. I reluctantly pushed myself up in bed to look at her. She didn't seem sorry in the least. Her expression was as distant as her tone, but she held a small box on her lap.

"Where are my friends?" I didn't care about anything else but that. My grief for my mother sat heavy in my chest, but my concern for Luis, Dom, and Adrian clawed at me with equal intensity. If they had been harmed... if I lost them too...

Athalia ignored my question, her cool gaze fixed on me. "Luke only thinks about duty. Honor above all—that is his way. He does not mean to be heartless, but I must admit this situation is highly irregular."

I thought back to my kidnapping, the slap Luke gave Erick, and his arrogant declaration that I would have to marry him if I didn't win some sort of trial. Irregular didn't even begin to describe it. I sat up fully in bed, flinching as another beam of light assaulted me through the large windows. Beyond them, I could see a redwood balcony overlooking a landscape of frozen mountains and forests.

"Where are my friends?" I repeated, my voice colder now.

Athalia sighed, as if my persistence bored her. "I do not know where Luke is keeping them. That is not why I'm here." She stood, placing the box on the bed beside me. "This belonged to your mother. She left it in my care as her closest kin, but now it belongs to you."

"I don't want it." The words slipped out, sharp and immediate, before I could stop them. I turned my body away from the box, bile rising in my throat. I didn't want my mother's possessions. I wanted her.

"You must take it," Athalia said, her tone hardening slightly. "The contents are things only the daughter of the Brigid should possess."

They kept calling my mother "The Brigid". Brigid was her name.  But I didn't feel like arguing that at the moment.

I wanted to hurl the box at her, but instead, my trembling fingers traced its surface, painted with intricate trees in a circle. My grief and rage swirled together, but I couldn't act on either. "When can I see my friends? I want them safely away from here."

Athalia's voice softened just slightly. "That is my hope as well." She hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on me, as if she wanted to say more. But then her lips pressed into a thin line, and she turned away. "I will send some maids to help you."

"I don't need maids," I snapped, but she had already disappeared through the door.

Left alone, I stared at the box, half-expecting something to spring out of it—perhaps a snake, or worse, some creepy doll. But nothing moved. Slowly, cautiously, I lifted the lid. Inside were three layers of velvet, each carefully displaying a collection of jewels. My hands shook as I picked up a necklace made of golden daisies. It was delicate, beautiful, and completely out of place in this world of ice and death.