Sean looked around the room, his gaze catching on the sunlight peeking through the curtains and shimmering on the floor. “Could I maybe go outside? Just for a little bit? To clear my head.”
She hesitated. “Your father?—”
“Please, Bel.” He used his softest voice, pleading with her to see how much he needed this.
Her eyes met his, and she studied him for a long moment. “Alright. Normally the brownies help us prepare for our days, but I figured you’d prefer a familiar face.” She pointed to a pile of clothes on a nearby dresser. “I found those for you, and your wardrobe will be filled this morning.”
He nodded and swung himself out of bed while she retreated from the room.
Clothed in a billowy linen shirt that made him feel like a pirate and pants tight enough to constrict things that didn’t particularly want to be constricted, Sean met her in a large common room. He threw out his arms, drawing attention to his swashbuckling attire. “I look like my name is Tristan and I’m either heading to an archery contest to win the hand of a princess or I’m planning a mutiny against the captain of my ship.”
She blinked. “No. You look like you belong.”
With a sigh, he took in the space. Regal couches and chairs bracketed a square table in the middle of the room. Leaded glass windows overlooked the forest. Anywhere there wasn’t a shelf or artwork, the walls were like the rest of the Tree—covered in vines and flowers. Crystals dangled from the ceiling, their light dimmed by the morning sun. This suite was vast, and he hadn’t explored even a portion of it, but Isobel with her immaculate hair and her spiderwebby dress eclipsed it all.
Instead of peace, the growing obsession only bred disquiet. Why couldn’t he shake this feeling?
“I sent a message that we will be delayed this morning,” she said. “Would you like to see the training grounds?”
“Yes.” Anything to postpone the inevitable.
Funny how he’d been so desperate for answers. Now he just wanted to hide from it all like a turtle retreating into its shell.
Sean followed her from the suite. Last night, a squat woman in a blue vest had guarded the antechamber. A brownie, he’d been told. The caretakers of the Tree, which felt a little classist until Isobelexplained their magic was rooted in the home, their Light stitched into every piece of clothing, bottled inside every decanter of wine.
Plus, they were paid handsomely for their services.
A different brownie stood guard now. The entire race must have run on the short side as this one barely reached his chest. Her chestnut eyes glimmered as she took him in, her blue vest playing nicely against her fair skin.
She bowed and touched her temple, murmuring, “Blessed be,” as they passed.
Unsure how to respond, Sean said nothing and offered his best smile.
It didn’t take long before they met others on the large stairway, and like the brownie, they all bowed, touching their temples.
At least none of them kneeled.
So uncomfortable.
On the bottom floor, between each spoke of flowing water that coalesced in the middle, people stopped to ogle them. Isobel didn’t seem to notice, but Sean jerked to a stop. He took a moment to look around—glitter in the air, sloshes of water echoing through the open spaces, strangers who stared in awe.
It was so beautiful, so familiar, but he was adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
And miles upon miles of linen sleeves.
Was this supposed to be his home now? Was he really meant to become a Sovereign to these people? What did that title even mean? Would he be expected to rule over them?
Then came the harder questions.
How could his mother do this to him?Whywould she do this? She’d taken him from his home and kept him in the dark.
He wasn’t adrift. He was utterly lost.
So what now?
With her arm looped around his, Isobel steered him toward the Tree’s entrance. Her hesitant voice barely rose above the clamor ofthe voices and water around them. “I know this is all overwhelming, but you will need to meet the Council at some point.”
“I haven’t even been here a full day. I need a minute.”
