“I hope there was a babysitter,” I joke. “Otherwise, you’re admitting you left a one-year-old by themselves.”
“Your grandmother was staying with us at the time, rest her soul.”
Grandma O’Connell passed away when I was five; though I don’t remember much, I know I spent a lot of time with her in those five years while my father was away. “What happened when you followed Mom?”
He closes his eyes. “What I saw has been burned into my mind ever since.”
I take his hand, silently encouraging him to continue.
“I watched your mother walk deep into the Briarwood Forest. She loved to walk among the boughs, but it was so late at night. At one point, I thought I lost her. But then, just barely visible in the light of the full moon, I saw her kneeling on the ground. Before her was a single red rose.”
Red roses… like on the thornbush that led me to the Enchanted Vale. “And then?”
“And then it was like the moon had fallen from its perch in the sky.” My father’s voice grows deep and haunted. His eyes close, and I squeeze his hand to let him know I’m here. “A luminous glow erupted, so bright I could barely see. It was all I could do to stay standing. In that burst of light, I caught sight of it.”
My father screeches his chair back and storms to the window. “For a single moment, I saw a being of terrible power, one not of this realm. And then your mother was gone.”
My heart thuds. I know better than most mortals the horrifying capabilities of the fae. But what would one have wanted with my mother?
“I must have passed out because I woke up at dawn. All that was left of your mother was that single rose and this necklace.” He looks back to the broken moonstone.
“I’m sorry, Papa.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry you never got to know her. She was magnificent.” A soft, sad smile creeps up his face. “You’re a lot like her.”
“No.” I get up and walk over to him. “I’m sorry for never believing you. For never standing up for you. But I have your back now.” I feel that thing inside my chest, that tightly wound courage I unleashed on Lucas. It draws me toward the necklace. “And we’re going to return together.”
Papa nods and sits down, immediately getting back to work. “I was no father of the year. You deserved better than I gave you. You still do.”
“Enough mushy stuff,” I joke. “More gluing.”
Papa laughs under his breath, but before he picks up his tools, his eyes grow distant. “Rose?”
“Yes, Papa?”
“I know I haven’t done anything to gain your trust, but please…” His voice cracks. “Trust me when I say I know your mother is still alive. Iknowit. In here.” He thumps his heart.
“I believe you.” And it’s true. Because there’s something in that exact space telling me Ineedto get back to Castletree. Even if no one wants me there.
But as much as I want my dad and I to get the answers we seek, I can’t give myself hope yet. Even if Papa crafts the necklace back together, the princes each wielded their own magic that connected to Castletree.But that magic answered to me too. Castletree showed me the memories hidden within its bark.
I need to try again.
Another few tense moments go by before Papa says quietly, “Okay. Everything’s reattached.”
I hover over his shoulder, staring down at the glittering relic. Though it’s cracked and dripping with glue, it’s still beautiful in a broken way.
“It has to be you, Rosalina,” Papa whispers.
“I know.” My eyes squeeze shut. “I need to give myself as good of a shot as I can.”
With careful, delicate hands, I build an altar of magic: everything I have that once belonged to the Enchanted Vale. First, I lay down Keldarion’s mother’s necklace, remembering who I was when I last donned it.The Lady of Castletree.Then I carefully place the thorn crown, a gift from the Prince of Thorns, the fae man draining Castletree of its magic. But his thorns had answered me: they helped me save Keldarion’s life. I run a gentle finger over the dagger-sharp thorns. The crown had become a dagger when I needed to break the ice but had returned to this shape.
My only remaining items are the ones I wore on my back the day Kel banished me: Ezryn’s old clothing we’d found in his cache when we took shelter for the night. I bring the shirt and pants up to my nose, inhaling deeply. Despite the many months, I can still smell him: the earthy scent of the Briar, deep and woody like a dense forest, tempered by a gentle sweetness.
I look out the window. Dandelions burst under the late morning light. Green grass has fought and won against the frost. I even saw a crocus out back two days ago. Winter is gone, and spring has come.
I do not know how I will face a new season without them.
