“Follow me. I know a place.”
Alora pressed forward, deeper into the forest, toward the grove where her childhood had once been sweet and strange and guarded. The ride to her cottage didn’t take long.
Her old home was tucked between two large oak trees. She smiled at the lopsided thatch roof and brick chimney, shutters tightly closed. It looked the same as she remembered.
Lonely and empty.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is home,” Caelum said as they dismounted.
“No one is,” Alora replied with a rueful smile. “This was my home while I lived here.”
He heard what she didn’t say, glancing in the direction of the town they could no longer see on this side of the hill. “Away from the others…”
She shrugged. “I had the birds for company.”
Striding for the door, the knob turned easily beneath her hand. She hadn’t bothered to lock it when she left, knowing the fae weren’t the kind to intrude. And well, none had really come to find her, other than the occasional messenger.
And knowing the Thornbearer, she had already sensed Alora’s presence the moment she crossed the wards.
“You must have been so lonely here.” Caelum murmured, his gaze slowly sweeping over the small room, taking in the simple bed, hearth, and table.
Alora smiled faintly as she looked out the window to her favorite pond. “At times.”
Caelum brushed dust from the lintel. He pulled a stick of silver chalk and traced a sigil in the old tongue over her door. His hand didn’t tremble once.
Alora blinked. She had never seen such script. But it looked like the glyphs on his sword and shield. “What is that?”
“Protection wards. It will keep out all wickedness.”
It might not be necessary, but she let him continue.
A soft tapping pulled Alora from her thoughts. Both turned to the small silver-winged fairy messenger at her door, no taller than a sparrow, its wings shimmering like dew-kissed silk.
The fairy zipped inside, dropped the scroll in her hands, and flew off with a burst of pollen-scented air. It fluttered to Bramble’s shoulder who waited on the path in his little goat-drawn cart. The hedge goblin gave her a stern glower and Alora smiled, happy to see a familiar face. She waved as Bramble vanished into the night.
She turned over the letter slowly. It held a scroll sealed with gold wax, embossed with a zinnia flower.
“Lady Zinnia,” Alora whispered, heart quickening. She broken the seal and unfolded the parchment with trembling fingers. The ink shimmered faintly. The note was a short poem. No name or titles, stripping all formality. Perhaps written in haste, or with caution in case the message was intercepted.
Snakes coil in the thicket,
listening for the lark.
May it sing no songs
nor stray from the nest at dark.
Wings wait for flight,
resting on the bough.
For the wind arrives
when the hour allows.
A warning disguised in silk, but Alora understood perfectly:
Calveron was in the Midlands searching for her. She shouldn’t draw attention and stay where she was. Her godmother would arrive when it was safe.
