The Secret of Dreadwillow Carse (14 page)

“And as for you, Chorister . . .”

But the Chorister was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Twenty-four

THE SUN HAD JUST STARTED TO RISE ON EMBERFELL
WHEN AON AND
Jeniah emerged from the Carse. They hadn't spoken a word to each other on the trip out. The silence itself said all that needed saying.

Aon couldn't stop staring at her hands. They'd returned to normal, as had the rest of her, when Jeniah broke the Carse's power. But even though she was no longer changing, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was still an imp inside her. She liked the idea.

“Are you angry with me?” Jeniah's words came out in a nervous rush.

“Angry? No.”

“But you were.”

Aon chose her words carefully. “I was angry with your family. But they thought they were doing what was best: sacrificing a small number so many more would be happy. And when the Chorister offered me a similar choice, I couldn't make a decision at all. You made a brave choice. I don't know how you did it.”

“That's the decision I made
today
,” Jeniah said. “Yesterday, I may have chosen differently. I can't stop thinking that if I'd agreed to the bargain, I could have saved your father.”

“But then someone else would have to be chosen,” Aon said. “I'd like to believe that if my father weren't under the influence of the Carse, he would never allow someone else to suffer for his own freedom.”

Jeniah shook her head. “There's not always going to be one, true answer. I guess I'll have to get used to that.”

They paused on the corner of Emberfell's town square. Aon could have lain right there on the baker's front stoop and fallen asleep. Exhaustion pulled at her more strongly than the Carse's heaviness ever had. But first, she had work to do.

“Your Highness . . . Jeniah, the dreadwillows fed on the Monarchy's misery. Without it, they'll die out. It might not happen for a while—trees are stubborn and can live a long time—but they'll need someone to ease their pain now that the Chorister is gone. I'd like that to be me.”

Jeniah smiled. “I think that's an excellent idea. But the Carse is very big.”

“The Chorister said the oldest trees aren't people anymore. I only need to care for the ones in the heart. Like Father. And then there are Pirep and Tali.”

“Then, as my second royal proclamation, I name you the Monarchy's Caretaker. You will have everything you need to tend the Carse. Ease their suffering, Aon, in any way you can. It won't make up for what's been allowed to go on there all these years . . .”

“But it means a lot,” Aon said. “Thank you. If you hadn't sent me into the Carse, I would never have found my father.”

The princess lowered her eyes. “Aon—” she started.

But Aon held up her hand. “I'll be okay. The Grandwyns are very nice. Or at least they were. Now that they can feel something more than happiness, who knows what they'll be like? But I'm sure we'll get along fine.”

“When I'm queen,” Jeniah said, “I'll send scouts to explore the lands beyond the Monarchy, looking for your mother.”

It hurt Aon to think about her mother alone, so far away from her loved ones. She prayed her mother had found some sort of peace.

“When they find her,” Jeniah continued, “they'll say how the Monarchy has changed. And they'll tell of the important role
you
played in that change. She'll come back for you, Aon.”

That single thought replenished all the hope the Carse had siphoned from Aon. She imagined her mother back at the forge in the barn. They would stand side by side, blowing hourglasses and vases and sculptures. Maybe Mother would help her tend Father's tree. Or maybe the Carse would be long gone by then, no longer able to feed off misery. There was no telling how long it would take to find her mother, after all. But knowing Jeniah would stop at nothing to find Mother convinced Aon that it
would
happen. Someday.

Slowly, people emerged from their houses. They made their way to work, greeting one another with a nod. Merchants swept away the cobwebs from their windows. To Aon, it all looked like the same Emberfell. But she knew it wasn't and would never be again.

“I wonder what it's going to be like,” Aon said, surveying the town. “To wake up with emotions you never experienced. It would be like having a new sense.”

“Or maybe just learning who you really are,” Jeniah said.

I know now who I really am and who I can never be
. Aon's mother's words returned like a long-lost echo, and Aon understood them at last. Her mother could never be the kind of person to accept what was happening in the Carse.

“It's not going to be easy,” Aon said. “You heard the Chorister: ‘Pain and sorrow will return to the land.' ”

“But the joy will be there, too. They get it all. The good, the bad . . . People will return to what they were always meant to be. People will be like you, Aon.”

Aon laughed. It felt good. “Are you sure that's a good thing?”

Jeniah took her friend's hand. “You're the reason I broke the pact, Aon.”

“What do you mean?”

“People are
supposed
to feel sad. They're supposed to get angry. Being happy all the time . . . It isn't real. But you . . . You're real. And you're wonderful. You have to know fear to be brave. And I think you're the bravest person I've ever met. The Monarchy needs more people like you.”

Aon had never thought of herself as brave. Of all the feelings she'd hidden away from the people around her, courage was something she'd never considered.

Jeniah hugged Aon. The two friends stood there, letting silence speak for their hearts.

Then Aon stepped back and bowed low. Jeniah giggled and nodded regally. Eyes connected, they backed away from each other slowly, neither wanting to be the first to turn and face this strange, new Monarchy without the other. Finally, the princess squared her shoulders and wove her way through the growing crowd on the street, on her way back to Nine Towers.

“Constable!”

The shrill cry from up the street made people nearby jump in surprise. Aon turned to see Laius, still in his nightshirt, running barefoot down the cobblestone. His familiar, friendly smile was gone. Now, his brow was furrowed, and a look of sheer terror twisted his face.

Just before Laius reached the constable's door, he caught sight of Aon and stopped. Aon waved at him. The boy looked dumbstruck. Then he turned and barreled straight at his adopted sister, nearly knocking her over with a powerful hug.

“You're safe!” he cried. “The princess found you. I'm so glad. When I woke up this morning and realized you weren't home, I was . . . I was . . .”

“ ‘Worried,' ” Aon said, teaching him one of Mother's secret words. Well, secret no longer. “You were worried. Thank you, Laius.”

“What happened to you in there?” he demanded. He suddenly seemed quite cross that Aon had worried him. And she loved that.

“I've been to the heart of the Carse,” she announced. “In fact, the princess has placed me in charge of its care. And I'm going to need your help.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Forget about glassblowing. I need your natural talents. Listen.” Aon hummed the strange waltz that the Chorister sang to ease the dreadwillows' pain. The boy nodded, and then he repeated the tune back with his glorious singing voice. “Perfect.”

“How will my singing help?” Laius asked.

“Let's go home,” she said, taking his arm. “I'll explain there.”

Together, they walked back. Aon took a deep breath of air filled with the scents of the baker's scones and hay from the nearby livery stable. Something about this morning seemed more . . . in focus than any other. She felt like she'd finally wiped away a haze through which she'd been seeing life all these years. The reds on the fall leaves now glowed like hot coals. The droning chatter of the villagers starting the day changed to a glorious symphony of voices: happy, sad, and everything in between.

The princess was right. Nothing would be the same. And that was a good thing. This new world came with new feelings. For Aon, they were emotions she'd felt for a long, long time. But even Aon found herself feeling something brand-new.

I'm not broken
.

The words pulsed in Aon's head, foreign and peculiar. Like some ancient tongue that had lost all meaning. And at the same time, they radiated within, thawing all that remained of the Carse's frigid heaviness.

I'm not broken, and I never have been.

Chapter Twenty-five

JENIAH CONTINUED TO WATCH THE SUNRISE FROM
THE BALCONY IN
her bedroom. She ached for sleep, but she
had
to see it. The rest of the Monarchy, much like Emberfell, looked unaffected by what had happened in the Carse. Great volcanoes hadn't erupted. Monsters hadn't crawled up over the mountains and devoured the towns and villages. The Monarchy had not fallen.

And yet, it had. Everything that had made the Monarchy work for a thousand years was gone. The warning had been right after all. But something new would rise from this fall. Jeniah swore to that. It really was a very different place.
And maybe
, the princess thought,
it's time for a very different kind of queen.

The door to Jeniah's bedroom flew open, slamming into the wall with the sound of a cannon's report. Jeniah glanced over her shoulder to find Skonas storming in, a great sack slung over one shoulder, Gerheart, the falcon, on the other. When he spotted her, he grunted and overturned the sack. Mounds of books fell to the floor.

“Well,” the tutor said scornfully, “it seems we have some work to do. The healers assure me your mother doesn't have much time left. You need to learn to be queen and soon. And since you refuse to set the fourth lesson, we'll resort to these books. You like books? Well, grand! Start with that red one. It tells you all about diplomacy. Very dry and boring. Not unlike you.”

It was as if the conversation they'd shared in the servants' tower was nothing more than a dream. Gone was his earlier kindness. This was again the Skonas she first knew: mercurial, cold, and demanding.

Jeniah forgot her fatigue. “How dare you! You have had more than ample time to teach me. Instead, you did nothing. You sat by, wasting time you knew my mother didn't have.”

“
You
wasted that time,” Skonas snapped back. “What thanks did I get for the help I gave? None. No thanks at all from the spoiled princess. You want to be a great queen? I don't see how that can happen until you learn to stop thinking solely of yourself.”

“I've been thinking of the people of this Monarchy,” she said. “In fact, I—”

“You
risked
the Monarchy. You knew the dangers of going into the Carse, but you went anyway.”

For a moment, Jeniah was stunned. How did he know what she'd done? No one but Aon and Laius could possibly . . . And then she realized.

“You knew I would go to the Carse,” she said. “From the day you met me, you knew.”

“Of course I knew. My every moment in your presence has been spent preparing you for it. And what good did it do? You never set the fourth lesson. And you never will. You don't have it in you. The princess who burns with a thousand questions! You will never be more than the sum of your curiosities.”

Jeniah could hold her rage in no longer. “And I'm proud of that! My curiosities are the very best of me. They keep me exploring. My curiosities led me to understand that Isaar had chosen poorly.”

Jeniah's words shot out in fast, furious bursts. Her temples ached. She glared at her tutor.

“You told me I was my own best teacher, but I needed the guidance of others. You told me I could trust only what I'd seen and heard myself. But the shades in the Carse showed me I couldn't even trust that, because some things are not what they appear to be. You taught me that helping more people was better than helping a few. But I've seen what happens when one person knowingly suffers so many can thrive, and it made me sick. It was wrong. It was all wrong! The only thing I know for sure about being a queen is that I need to
question everything
!”

Skonas pursed his lips. Jeniah waited for his retort, but he didn't speak. He seemed unable.

Then a slow, slick grin arced above his chin. Tight and lipless, but also wide and knowing. His eyes lit up with something there was no mistaking: pride.

“You know all you need to rule,” he said, turning to go. Then he stopped and added, “Your
Majesty
.” As he left, he hummed that same tune she had always heard him singing everywhere he went.

A sad, haunting waltz.

IT WAS TIME.

The Chief Healer collected Jeniah and brought her to the queen's bedchambers. The first thing Jeniah did was open the curtains to let the sun in. The queen would want to see the Monarchy once more. As sunlight filled the room, Jeniah slid into the bed and lay next to her mother.

“You lied,” Jeniah said. She wasn't angry. She wasn't hurt. She was merely looking for answers. “About the Crimson Hoods. About the Carse. About everything.”

The queen drew a long, rattling breath and didn't respond for quite some time. When she did, she said, “Parents only ever lie to their children to protect them.” Then she sighed. “I have yet to see it actually work.”

Jeniah took her mother's hand. It burned hotter than ever.

Queen Sula wheezed. “Forgive your foolish mother who thought she could spare you from it all. Tell me what happened.”

Jeniah confessed everything: her deal with Aon, how she'd risked the warning to save her friend, and how she'd ended the pact with the Chorister. She told her mother all about Aon, how the girl would be tending to the Carse and how Jeniah planned to send a party to search for Aon's mother, the woman who left because she'd learned the cost of the Monarchy's happiness and refused to be part of it.

Jeniah stopped when she spotted tears swimming below the queen's eyelids.

“I never wanted you to find out,” the queen said, her voice cracking. “My mother didn't want me to find out. Every monarch, since Isaar, has passed on that warning and prayed their children would finally be the ones to heed it.”

“But I needed to know.”

“If you never knew, then the guilt could never eat at you. You would live a good long life. I tried so hard to keep you from that cursed place.”

“Because you didn't want me to face the choice.”

The queen nodded. “And because I didn't want you to know what I had chosen. I'm ashamed I allowed the pact to continue. At any time, I could have returned and ended it. But my people were content. And they thanked me for that. I put my desire to be loved by the people above my duty to see that all are protected.

“But you, my dear sweet Jeniah, knew better. I am so very proud. You have righted an ancient wrong.”

“I only did what I thought you would want me to do,” Jeniah admitted.

“You were brave, doing what I could not. What no monarch before you could do. You will be the best queen the land has ever seen.”

Jeniah moved closer to her mother and laid her head on the queen's shoulder. Her mother had been encouraging her for a long time, telling her she had what it took to be a good queen. For the first time, Jeniah suspected that might actually be true.

“I'm still afraid, Mother,” the princess said quietly.

“That makes two of us,” the queen said. “Maybe, just maybe, if you hold my hand, we can both find the courage we need for what comes next.”

And they sat quietly, the queen and the Queen Ascendant. They fended off the autumn cold with love, spoken and unspoken. They watched the sun hit its zenith. Hands held tight, they shared all the courage both would ever need.

As twilight embraced the Monarchy, Jeniah left the bedchambers alone. She slid the second opal onto her finger, reuniting the twin rings. She was still afraid. She still had no idea what lay in store for her reign. There were many questions left to answer.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.