“And how is the prince?” Caelian asked as she fumbled with opening another drawer that seemed to be stuck.
“Well enough, I suppose. That is, we don’t speak often.” She stepped into the study, and though her face was a perfect expression of serenity, she toyed with the sheer lace sleeves of her gown. “I rarely see him, you know. Less so after Mother’s death. He does not fancy social gatherings, I believe he prefers the quiet of his own mind.”
The very thing that was practically forcing Caelian into a dizzying spiral of delirium.
Absolute quiet.
Who could live in such a manner?
“Well”—Caelian nodded toward Sarelle’s hand and yanked on the drawer once more— “at least you know…he thinks of you.”
Again, she grasped the knob and tugged, but it would not budge.
“Here, let me help.” Sarelle rounded the desk, bending down to inspect the stubborn drawer. “Ah! It’s locked, you see?”
“What?” Caelian dropped down next to her sister. “But there’s no keyhole. How can you tell?”
“Right here.” Sarelle pointed to a tiny button located on the underside of the bronze knob. “Just press there, it should work the same as a latch.”
Caelian did as her sister instructed. Her thumb grazed over the raised button, and she pressed gently. Sure enough, there was the faintestclick,and the drawer unlocked.
“Oh! That was surprisingly easy.” She pulled on the handle and slid it open. “I thought it was stuck and…”
Her voice trailed off.
Tucked inside the drawer were stacks of yellowed letters bound with fraying blue ribbon. Some of them were still sealed, embossed with the imprint of evergreen wax bearing an oak tree with full branches and deep roots, much like the constellation marking her heart. Others looked as though they’d beencrumpled and were ready to be tossed into the trash, but then perhaps whoever read them thought better of it and attempted to neatly refold them. Grabbing the pile of fragile letters, Caelian skimmed the unfamiliar handwriting, but the harsh lines and fluid swirls were illegible, all of it was written in a language she couldn’t understand. Tucked beneath them was a smooth river stone engraved with a triple spiral, a carved oak leaf pendant attached to a strap of worn leather, and a raven feather wrapped in twine. But the most interesting item among everything she discovered was one word scribbled in Trysta’s usually elegant script on a torn piece of parchment.
Wenfyre.
“What is all of this? Feathers? Rocks? And some of these letters look as though they were written hundreds of years ago.” Sarelle plucked the ripped parchment from the drawer and examined it. “And what is Wenfyre?”
“I have no idea.” Caelian gathered up the bundles of letters as well as the other items they found. “But if this drawer was locked all this time, then it must be important. And I can almost guarantee it has something to do with Mother’s unsavory past.”
“Are you going to give all of this to Ariesian?” Sarelle placed the scrap of parchment on top of everything in Caelian’s arms. “I imagine he would want to know.”
Caelian had no doubt that their eldest brother would want to be informed about their most recent discovery, but then an image of him appeared in her mind. His dashing face etched with the hardened lines of added stress, the smudges of color beneath his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept properly in a decade. The way he wore his responsibilities like a crown, the weight of which must have been unbearably heavy.
“Of course I’ll tell him.” The lie slipped off her tongue, leaving a slightly foul taste behind. It wasn’t that she wanted to lie to her sister, but she simply couldn’t fathom causingAriesian any more distress. He had enough to manage without the added possibility that their abysmal mother was even more of a monster than they originally thought. “But first, I am going to find a gown for the Festival of Roses at House Terensel. Apparently Narissa has agreed to play the harp.”
“I do enjoy listening to her play, she is quite the talent.” Sarelle glanced out the window, her eyes taking on a faraway look, as though she were in another world entirely. “I have not thought of what to wear, or if I will even attend at all.”
Caelian gaped at her sister. “You cannot be serious. The Festival of Roses is your favorite. Even more so than the Yuletide Ball. You never miss it.”
Sarelle scraped her teeth across her bottom lip, tugging lightly. Absently, she twisted the silver skull ring around her finger once more. “Yes, I know. But…”
“But what?” Caelian prompted. “Does this have something to do with Prince Aspen?”
“Not exactly.” Sarelle’s gaze swung to the window once more, to the far west, where miles away the palace of Aeramere was nestled in a valley of mountains and the surrounding forest of Terensel. “Maybe.”
Caelian arched a brow in silent question.
“Fine,” Sarelle dragged the word out, her eyes flicking toward the wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. “What if he does not attend? What if this is all for nothing? I’ve not learned anything about him that could be deemed worthy of note, we are hardly afforded the opportunity to spend time together, and then he gives me a ring months ago as a token of…of…”
She threw her arms wide in exasperation.
“Of his affection?” Caelian suggested, gritting her teeth in apprehension.
“Maybe? I don’t even know! But now I have this beautiful, if oddly peculiar, ring, and I’ve heard nothing from him since!There have been no notes, no letters. Nothing. Just absolute silence.” Sarelle huffed, stalking around the study in a circle, wrinkling the delicate fabric of her gown between clenched fists. “It’s obvious I’m incapable of maintaining his attention, which is horrible on my part because I do not wish to disappoint Ariesian. Yet, the Midsummer Season is nearly upon us, and I have no prospects for a match because I’ve been trying, and failing, to court a prince who only wants the pleasure of my company when it’s convenient for him.”
