“This letter is old but not archaic,” I conveyed. “It’s been waiting years for someone to discover it.”
“Any other intuitions?” Aspen inquired.
I shook my head as Nicu pried open the seal, his fingers shaking with enthusiasm. Strictly used to offshoots and leaves occupying the trees, that he’d noticed the envelope at all was a marvel.
The paper’s lip cracked, opening to reveal lines of regal script. Astonishment stalled my outtakes, and Aspen gasped in recognition.
The eloquent writing. The bronze ink. The poised calligraphy.
Only one person possessed such a refined hand. Someone who had once been banished. A woman who fled to this enclave ages ago, prior to her return to the throne.
“It’s from Mama,” Nicu whispered.
38
Aspen
Briar. The letter had been written by Princess Briar.
We flanked Nicu in silence. Multiple stories below, a deer promenaded through the understory, its brass antlers glinting. Up here, the treehouses threw shadows across every bridge, and the scents of apples and parchment ghosted across the vista like a forgotten memory.
Since we got here, I’d been viewing this ancient haven through the princess’s eyes, wondering which cabin had been hers, on which terrace she and Poet reunited in a flurry of passionate fucking, and all the things that happened while she lived here with Eliot and Cadence. She told our clan about the oak tree incident, plus other stories about her, the minstrel, and the lady.
But she never mentioned this letter.
It could have landed in the branches, swept up by some force of wind. Either that, or she had placed it here strategically.
Nicu’s eyes sparkled like jade as they raced across the handwriting. Love, devotion, and melancholy softened his pretty face. As his finger caressed the handwriting, my heart went out to him. No matter how much he relished exploring this place, separations triggered my friend. At least, when someone else was doing the leaving.
He missed his family. Thinking of my own mother, I cupped his shoulder.
Briar couldn’t have known her child would eventually end up in The Lost Treehouses, so this missive couldn’t have been intended solely for the Royal Son. And based on Lyrik’s earlier comment, he’d never noticed the letter.
We kept silent while Nicu soaked in the contents, his pupils racing across the paragraphs. At one point, his eyebrows furrowed in thought, then his mouth quirked.
Suspense gripped my chest. Finally, Nicu reread the message aloud.
The trees have welcomed you. Trust their wisdom to forge your way. For we are nature itself, and nature is us. One heartbeat. One fellowship. We are forever tied like a ribbon, in truth and spirit. So heed this: Your reigning path will appear when the leaves speak, your soul listens, and the stars align.
A breeze rustled the paper. I never knew Her Highness to be cryptic, but I did know her to be intentional. She hadn’t written this note out of emotional or symbolic release, the way people dispatched their wishes to the sky with floating lanterns. No, this pragmatic princess meant for these words to be found.
Aire draped one finger across the missive. “This letter has not moved from its resting place,” he mused. “It has endured every storm and gust of wind, untouched by the elements.” Nodding to himself, he confirmed, “Briar left this note where Nicu found it. Like a steward, she bestowed these words upon the next person who dwelled here.”
We swerved toward Lyrik, who raised his palms. “I didn’t find a thing.” He clicked his chin to Nicu. “The songbird did.”
I puzzled together the rest. “If she meant for the letter to be discovered by an enclave resident, she must have written it shortly before returning to the castle. From then on, the treehouse protected the note.”
“The forest approved, wishing for the recipient to find these tidings as well,” Aire agreed. “It’s a manifesto about following one’s destiny.”
I would have expected Lyrik to call this hocus pocus. But instead, he reached around Nicu and tapped the final line. “It’s more than that. If this really came from a Royal, it sounds like an endorsement.”
Not a bad guess. Nicu had been marveling at the letter, but Lyrik’s suggestion brightened my liege’s features like a constellation. Not for the first time, he seemed to recall an old memory between him and his parents.
“The fate of a leader,” he breathed.
Aire gave him a fond look. “Then it has chosen a worthy recipient.”
Nicu folded the parchment and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Because he said nothing more, neither did we. Whatever it meant for my friend, that mystery would unfold later.
