I thank him and speed-walk to the library, but it’s empty. So is the rose garden. I keep walking, passing Etta’s garden, overflowing with hues of beautiful flowers. I pass another garden, this one with rows of in-season vegetables of carrots, lettuce, and beets. Just past the vegetable garden, I notice a small greenhouse that I haven’t seen before. There’s a single figure inside, bent over a cane as she waters the plants.
I walk toward the greenhouse and see an elderly female inside, a white bun secured atop her head. “Excuse me,” I say quietly, hoping not to scare her.
She straightens, milky eyes scanning the space but moving right past me. “Who is that?” .
“My name is Mae. I’m so sorry if I scared you. Luca told me you might be out here.”
“Mae?” She gasps and dips into a curtsy. “My apologies, Your Highness. My eyesight disappeared years ago.”
I take a few steps closer to her. “Oh, no, that’s okay. You can just call me Mae,” I say, trying to make her feel comfortable. “I hope it’s okay that Luca told me where I could find you.”
“Yes, of course.” She sets the watering can on the ground and stands up straight. Well, as straight as she can, given her hunched figure. “What is it that I can do for you?”
I search for the right words. “I have some questions about the tale of the First Deer Queen, and I was hoping you could answer them for me.”
She smiles. “Ah, Wrena’s tale. How can I help?”
“Are you familiar with the whole story?” I ask, hoping she is. So far, I’ve only heard snippets of the tale. The written version was so much different.
She smirks. “Yes, I am a librarian, dear. As was my mother and her mother, and as was hers. Stories run in our blood. We are the gatekeepers of the stories of our world.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Someone recently told me the story in its entirety, and it was…it was a horrible story. When I originally heard about it, it sounded like a beautiful story. I assumed there would be a happy ending.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
“Wrena’s children were missing when she returned from the forest.”
She bends down to pick up the watering can, then tilts the can over a planter box full of cucumbers. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Terrible tale.”
I move on, trying a different question. “Is it a true story?”
She doesn’t respond. I take a breath to repeat my question, convinced she didn’t hear me. Before I can, she turns to face me, her milky eyes somehow finding mine. A chill passes through me, and I check that my net is cast and alert for any signs of deception.
“Yes. It is,” is all she says. Truth.
“That’s awful,” I say, meaning it. “I knew that witches existed, but I didn’t know they were that powerful.”
She nods. “They’re rare in our kingdom. They practice dark magic, and they’re not welcome around here. Yet, they do walk among us. They hide their true appearance though with powerful glamours.”
I want to get through all my questions, so I change gears again and ask, “What happened to the two daughters?”
She shrugs. “Nobody knows. Some say they also walk among us. Some say they died long ago,” she responds in a melodical voice before slowly shuffling to another planter box.
I step forward, pebbles shifting under my feet. “Why did my friends tell me that this story also said Wrena’s daughter would ascend to the throne, escorted by a great stag?”
“There is a prophecy that states this,” she says simply.
“Can I read the prophecy?”
She focuses her attention on a planter box of red peppers, carefully watering each one before moving on to the next. “It’s an oral prophecy, passed down from generation to generation,” she says, her back turned to me.
I step toward her, eying the precision in which she pours the water over each plant. “Where did the prophecy come from?”
She takes another step away, her gaze fixated on each red pepper as she waters it. “An oracle told of the prophecy nearly one hundred years ago.”
Something is off. Wrena was alive long before the oracle’s prophecy.
“How could the queen be Wrena’s daughter? Surely, she’s dead by now. If she’s not, we can assume she’s not interested in ruling. It’s been a thousand years,” I say.
