I slowly turn to Bard.
“There’s something else.” After taking a deep breath, he says, “She slit her own throat, Your Majesty. Eyleen... chose her death.”
25
A GARDEN OF BLUE ROSES
“When the air stills, and white weeps upon the wind—not snow, not ash, but something softer still—you will know. The earth will hush, the stream will silence its song, and she will walk where balance once broke. You will not chase her. You will wait. And when the braid is whole, you will kneel, not only in body but in soul.”
—Elder Aïna, to Theron
Noël
Itry to focus on the preparations for the welcome ceremony. Mina has been by my side all morning, guiding me through each step.
“We want to honor your customs as well,” she says, presenting me with a gown unlike anything I’ve ever seen. “Elder Aïna made this for you herself.”
Elder Aïna. She had lived for thousands of years, though she’d long since stopped keeping count. I’m still struggling to wrap my mind around it. How does someone even live that long?
“We know humans prefer to be covered,” Mina adds, her tone kind. As though she hadn’t bathed me with at least two dozen nýmphí running around mere hours ago.
The gown is stunning. The fabric is airy and light, a pristine white that feels ceremonial. Mina explains that white symbolizes new beginnings for the vólkins, which feels oddly familiar. It does in Tárnov too.
Blue patterns are embroidered along the edges and seams. They depict the flora of Ávera—vines, flowers, and leaves—all woven together like a story. The threads shimmer when the light catches them, giving the gown an ethereal look, as though it belongs to this land more than I do.
The fitting takes place in a spacious room within one of the ancient trees. I finally walked along one of the branch bridges that connect the trees.
The walls are made of intertwined branches and leaves, allowing the sun to gleam through and create patterns on the wooden floor. The air is filled with the rich scent of fresh flowers and pine. In the center of the room, a large, shallow basin filled with clear water acts as a mirror, making the room look even more spacious.
Mina and two vólkin females with the same soft gray fur as her, Naïa and Essin, circle me. I stand in the center, unsure whether to be grateful or embarrassed.
“Raise your arms, Your Majesty,” Mina says, her voice soft but firm, leaving no room for debate.
The last time someone dressed me was my mother. The last time anyone bathed me, brushed my hair, or did anything this intimate... it was her. It makes my chest tighten.
I hesitate, but Mina clicks her tongue and shakes her head at my resistance. “It’s our honor to assist you,” she says, holding the gown out of my reach. “Please, trust us.”
Reluctantly, I lift my arms to let Mina slide the gown over my head. The fabric feels cool against my skin as it falls into place. The bodice is fitted but not restrictive, hugging my figure enough to feel secure while also not limiting my movement. Small silk blue roses are sewn into the fabric, their vibrant color standing out against the white. The neckline is modest, dipping just enough to be flattering without making me self-conscious, with a button to secure the cleavage.
The sleeves are wide and bell shaped, flowing past my hands with beautiful embroidery along the cuffs, and the skirt flares out from the waist to fall to just above my ankles. As I move, the fabric sways, making me want to run around with bare feet and watch the gown flow behind me.
Mina adds a final touch, a sash of deep green, made to resemble a leafy vine. She wraps it around my waist, tying it in a loose bow at the back. The ends drape over the skirt, mingling with the blue embroidery.
Running my fingers over the patterns, I trace the shapes of leaves and flowers. It’s beautiful. Here it is, waiting for me to step into a role I still don’t understand.
Naïa steps in without a word. Her paws smooth the material down over my shoulders and back with a touch so light, it’s as though she’s afraid I might shatter.
Essin crouches to adjust the hem. “Hold still,” she says with a smile. Her tone is playful, almost teasing, and it helps ease some of the tension knotting my stomach.
Mina fusses over the neckline, tilting her head to examine every detail. Her paws move quickly as she makes tiny adjustments I can’t even see. “Perfect,” she declares at last before stepping back with a satisfied smile.
Naïa and Essin follow her lead and stand back to admire their work. “You look beautiful,” Naïa says.
Essin’s smile widens. “Better than we imagined.”
Naïa stands calm, composed, her posture steady and confident. I’ve noticed she doesn’t say much, preferring to observe. Her green eyes are as beautiful as nature, like Mina’s. Around her wrist is a band with small, bright green crystals that match her eyes. Essin, on the other hand, is her opposite—lively and full of energy—with eyes like amber, even leaning toward yellow. She’s about the same height as Mina, her mane woven with dark purple flowers. Her laugh is light and bright, and it fills the room like a spark of life wherever she goes.
They’re both so sweet to me.
