“You carry more with you than when you left.”
“They are friends,” I say.
“Friends?” Tovar repeats, his tone laced with disbelief, startling me. He quickly softens, his usual composure returning. “Friends are always welcome, as long as they assure us no harm will come to The Grove or its people.”
Zyphoro shrugs, a lazy smirk playing on her lips. “Don’t mind me. I’m just along for the ride.”
Solena rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed by Zyphoro’s flippant attitude. Every word from her seems to grate on Solena’s nerves.
“This is Solena,” I begin, gesturing to her. “And this is Princess Zyphoro Phaedren.”
Tovar’s eyes widen in surprise. “Phaedren… you are the princes…?”
“Sister,” Zyphoro cuts in smoothly. “And Zyphoro is fine.”
“I did not know he had a sister,” Tovar says, his voice betraying a flicker of unease.
Zyphoro sighs dramatically. “You’re not alone. But don’t worry. I’ll fix that.”
Tovar forces a tight, polite smile, but his weariness is clear.
The Grove’s Keeper, always composed, is unsettled by Zyphoro’s presence.
“Amara, your friends are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of The Grove,” he says. “Our home is your home. Make yourselves comfortable.” He steps aside, motioning toward the entrance of the hall, his staff tipping slightly. The runes etched into the wood catch the light, glowing faintly. “Come, Amara. There is much we need to discuss.”
I glance back at Solena and Zyphoro. “I won’t be long. You’re safe here.”
Both of them look around, clearly skeptical. The serene surroundings, the towering trees, sunlight shimmering through the leaves, and rabbits bounding freely through the village—all of it seems to baffle them. I’m not sure whether they’re more perplexed by the idyllic scenery or the warm smiles from everyone who passes by.
Leaving them behind, I follow Tovar through the vine curtain and up the wooden stairs that spiral around the great tree at the heart of the village. His familiar scent, earthy and comforting, and the reassuring hand he places on my shoulder as we ascend, threatens to bring tears to my eyes again.
“You look different,” he says softly, studying my face with concern, as if trying to read the changes etched into my features.
“I feel different,” I admit, my voice quiet, burdened with the weight of everything I’ve endured.
Tovar nods knowingly, his sharp eyes never leaving mine. “The price we paid was great. But if the Fae sent you back, what does this mean for The Grove?”
“I wasn’t sent back,” I correct him, a flicker of nervousness in my voice. “I left. Ran away, actually.”
Tovar’s brow furrows deeply. “What? And those Fae helped you?”
I nod. “And one other, Arax. He’s with the Blades guarding the entrance.”
Tovar’s calm demeanor slips. His movements grow swift as he ushers me through the arch and into the hall, another vine curtain closing behind us with a soft rustle.
The hall is carved into the great tree, its walls intertwined with thick, twisting roots and blanketed in soft moss. A large, round window on the far wall offers a breathtaking view of The Grove. Tovar’s staff taps lightly on the floor as he leads me deeper inside, his expression tight with the questions that now hang heavily in the air.
Gathered around a recessed table are eight men and women, all draped in cloaks similar to Tovar’s, though less intricate. When they see me, they rise in unison, my name whispered like a prayer on their lips. Keeper Erania rushes to me, her arms enveloping me before I can even breathe, her hand smoothing over my hair as if she needs to confirm that I am real.
“Jewel,” she gasps, holding me so tightly I can hardly breathe. “You’ve come back to us.”
“She ran away,” Tovar cuts in, his voice sharp and disapproving. His demeanor, which was once warm and reassuring, has grown colder, harder and it startles me.
Erania stiffens, glancing at him with a raised brow. “If she did, it must have been for good reason.”
“It was,” I say quickly, desperate to defend myself. “Keeper, the things they had planned for me… You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I can barely believe it myself.”
Tovar shakes his head, his expression distant, as though my words aren’t even reaching him. “I must speak with King Kaelus. We must put things right.”
