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Rest from your hunting and go another day.
The lightning is flashing, the wind is yet fierce,
but sleep in your cave, safe and unpierced.
Had Auntie Shou written this? She could almost hear Auntie Shou singing it. Raela flipped through another few pages, enjoying how, in some small way, they connected her to her long-lost auntie. Yawning, she turned the last page. Her eye caught on the final poem.
Silent forest, blackened clouds, a squealing wind, then thunder sounds.
Coming, coming, coming fast. I do not think that I will last.
So bind the window, catch the latch, our little frame cannot be matched,
I will stand within the storm. I will go, she’ll not be torn.
Ice trickled down Raela’s spine as she finished the poem. She read it a few more times but then heard Auntie Mo’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. Blowing out the candle, Raela tucked herself under her covers, hiding the book beneath her pillow. Auntie Mo passed by after a brief pause and the rapid, shuffling steps of Auntie Toru followed behind.
Raela opened her eyes and stared into the dark. She tried to shake the feeling, tried to remember that the auntie who wrote poems about terrifying storms also licked pansies—that she was crazy, unstable, goofy, and odd. But even though Raela planned to rise before the sun, it was several hours before she finally drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 9
Never enough
Killian
Foraweek,thepile of books that Phineas left for him continued to grow daily. Each book added to Killian’s guilt over ignoring and avoiding his friend. Each one also served as a reminder that Phineas didn’t think Killian was ready to lead Norwood. By the second week, the books had stopped coming. Excuses filled his mind, but Killian knew Phineas wasn’t being petty. Killian was embarrassed that he might be.
His days were spent with Raela in the morning, Lady Zalina at teatime, and afternoon meetings between nobles, the head chef, the tailor, and the head butler—all of them bombarding him with questions about his quickly approaching wedding.
He tried and often failed to focus on his kingdom’s issues. The Isle negotiations were going well, but crops of Norwood were still struggling this harvest, worsened by a recent hot wind from the west that resulted in even lower than usual rainfall. Thankfully, the ships in the north were finishing their final trades without delay. The harbors should be ready to close safely before the harsh winter season. Just last week, Killian had instructed the messenger to gather seven of the best soldiers to go prepare the docks and secure the ships.
His father, of course, still ran the meetings, refusing to let him lead, but Killian idly threw in ideas, even if he’d left his heart behind the gate. His suggestions garnered nods from the other advisors. Unfortunately, there was no sign of affirmation from his father.
His mind drifted toward the forest. Raela was learning Common at an impressive pace, rapidly applying all he taught her. This morning he had brought a book of words and his favorite children’s books so she could keep practicing. Her wide eyes and bouncing heels were enough to express her delight, but his skin still tingled from her sudden hug hours later.
If his father didn’t think him an adequate prince, at least he was a good teacher.
Once the final meeting of the day adjourned, Killian grabbed his papers and skirted around his father’s chair to go study more of Raela’s language. As he passed, the king held up his hand to stop him.
“Killian, hold for a moment.”
The room emptied quickly as Killian slowly spun on his heel, his throat tight. “Yes, Father?”
The king signed another document and passed it to the servant with a tilt of his head. The man bowed and skittered out of the room. With a sigh, the king stroked his beard and turned toward his son. “As you know, the harvest is coming to an end. And it has been eighteen years since your betrothal was first signed into being."
Killian’s heart sank, and he shifted his hands behind his back. “I’m aware.”
“The king and queen of Walworth are coming in two weeks’ time. For the wedding.”
Killian blinked. “Has the princess returned then?” Killian stepped forward, his brow furrowed and his skin icy. “The king and queen have brought her back from hiding?”
The king pushed his pen to the top of a paper, squaring it off. Seconds passed. “No.”
Killian started to speak, but hesitated. “So … are we to go through the ceremony without the bride?” Killian couldn’t stop the scoff. “Am I to marry the paper the treaty is written on? Perhaps the feather pen. The desk? How can I be betrothed, much less married, without a princess in the flesh?”
Glaring up through silver, wiry brows, the king pointed at him. “Don’t be rude. It doesn’t become a prince. She will be here. They said she would.”
“How can you say that?” Killian tossed his papers onto the table. “Eighteen years, she’s been gone. Not hours. Years! How can you trust that they haven’t lost her?”
