A Forest of Secrets

Chapter 33

A month had passed since she came back to life. Jo was cleaning the sticky surface of the bar, filled with appetizer debris and spilled drinks: same as all those months ago, now so distant in her memory, but clinging to her as she performed the exact same chores she had been doing back then. The patrons of her grandmother's new inn were better behaved, in general, than the men back in the village. She had managed to score a spot in the area surrounding the College of Magi, which meant most of the men and women frequenting the inn were either students or professors, with the occasional pilgrim looking to visit the famed Cathedral of Mist.

Ontur. They were in the City of Ontur, Jo had to remind herself occasionally. She clutched Alaric's ring, now hanging around her neck by a golden string to bring herself back to reality: it had happened. It hadn't been a bad dream.

She and grandmother had had a long talk, the morning after Alaric left for his spiritual getaway. The city threw a parade and a party in honor of the future anointed knights the day he left. The inn had been packed and busy, making it impossible for them to have a proper chat. The next morning, after breakfast, Grandmother sent Wyn to get herbs from the market at the feet of the College; Laurentius took the opportunity to accompany her and try his luck at enrolling himself in the College. Of course he succeeded in his endeavor, Jo never doubted it: he was skilled, smart and very powerful. He'd do well among all those books, she had gotten a feeling she wouldn't be seeing much of him in the future... and she'd been right. In those four weeks, Laurentius only came around a couple of times for dinner, bringing sweets and trinkets for Wyn, looking happy and tired, his College robes wrinkled, and his satchel filled to the brim with books. Every time he came to dine, his inked fingers tore apart the bread and took the soup bowl to his mouth urgently as if he'd forgotten he had to eat to survive during the day. He'd taken up a room at the College dorms, with mages from other provinces. He was happy. Jo was happy for him too, even as she pretended to roll her eyes in boredom whenever he talked about his classes and professors.

Ontur, she thought again as she cleaned up. After Grandmother listened to her angry questions, after all the blame and finger-pointing, she deigned to answer all her inquiries. She chose Ontur, naturally, she claimed, because Volstad and his thugs for hire were looking in all the wrong places. She hid under their noses. She needed to be there, she claimed, to keep an eye on him, and she happened to like the city: the ocean air was very invigorating, she claimed.

Jo didn't believe everything Grandma told her, she'd learned not to: she could tell there was something more, she could've hidden anywhere. It wasn't just about Volstad, but what? She scrubbed the wood harder, chipping a bit of its polish in the process. She'd have to slather some beeswax on the table, that'd make her job easier the next time. When Jo asked about her mother and the forest, Grandmother didn't even have the decency to look a little guilty. She didn't even look up from her cross-stich, a bouquet of red roses with the Onturian Symbol holding it together by the stems. Grandmother admitted to lying as to how she got there in the first place, she never really got lost: she had gotten a letter from Koldo. She had, however, gotten hurt when she got there— the hamadryads hadn't been very welcoming to her either. She didn't apologize for making Koldo erase her memories of her mother, it had been for her own good she claimed.

Jo scrubbed so hard she chipped a piece of wood this time, sinking a splinter in the lower part of her palm. She removed it with her teeth, a dribble of blood went down her wrist: flashbacks from the ritual flooded her mind, making her lose her balance for a second. She decided to sit down for a moment in the tall stool behind the bar. She rubbed her temples, trying to make the mental images go away, the cold, the prickles, the fear. Her little gemstone prison haunted her every time she closed her eyes, making her wake up thrashing and gasping for air: she could've sworn she could see that pair of yellow eyes in the dark sometimes, staring her back. She hadn't found a good moment to ask Laurentius about them, maybe, if he happened to show up that evening, she'd ask him for a stronger sleeping draught and she'd tell him about the eyes. She looked down to her wrist: the wound was gone. But --