Page 111 of Crowned By Roses

“Did you drown?”

She shakes her head.

“And what about when I was teaching you how to track?”

“You mean when you dumped me who-knows-where in the Briar and made me find my way out with only a broken compass and an empty canteen?”

“Did you find your way out?”

“Caspian, enough⁠—”

“Answer me,” I say sternly.

She huffs a breath. “Yes. But this is different. I can’t⁠—”

“Yes, you can.” Tenderly, I wipe a tear away. “We are survivors. You might not know who you are, but I do. You are brave and smart, and most of all, you are good, Birdy. And that’s why this army is going to follow you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “I hate you.”

I step back and give her a grin. “Yeah, well, you’ve always gotten over that before.” Shadows trickle up my legs. “Good luck, little sister.”

The last thing I see before the shadows swallow me is Birdy collapsing to the ground and pulling her knees to her chest.

My throat grows tight, but I have to turn my focus to my own mission. As much as I always detested my mother’s magic, its transportive power is vital now, especially when all my briar trails have withered away.

The shadows carry me deep, deep within the earth.

Now, for the first time since we all parted ways at the Celestial Landing, I let myself feel fear.

Wrenley is right. Some good things grow in the dark.

I just have to hope they don’t kill me before I remind them of it.

46

Rosalina

As soon as I slip into the war tent, a wave of heat envelops me. Though I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to shake the chill in my bones. The southwestern outskirts of Winter are a barren snowscape, pressed between a mountain range that borders Spring and the wasteland of the Briar. The people of Winter and the Elderblood seem equally unaffected by the clouds that roll in over the mountains, carrying with them a mix of icy rain and slushy snow, so I do my best to hide the shivering.

But as it’s only Keldarion inside this tent, I let loose a dramatic sigh and rush to the fire, burning gloriously within the brazier. I drop my soaking furs to the floor and hold my hands up to the warmth.

Kel’s leaning over a map, spread atop a wooden table. His long, white hair falls in a sheet over his shoulders, his brow furrowed. I guess the cold doesn’t bother him because he’s shirtless, wearing only loose pants. The muscles of his arms clench as he grips the sides of the table. Thick, dark hair covers his chest, but I can see the rapid movement of his breath.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” I say.

“This is me resting,” he mumbles.

I drift over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and peer at the map. It depicts the mountain pass we’ll be marching over tomorrow as we lead Winter’s army. With the full moon coming in only two days, there wasn’t time to muster the entire realm, but word was sent to the nearest outposts of Tundrafolk, nearby strongholds, and soldiers’ camps. Winter’s force is ready to march.

And the Elderblood will stand with us. I think of the previous few days, watching Keldarion and Faustrius lead side by side. Two rulers that history willed to be enemies, choosing peace instead.

They won’t be taking the mountain pass with Winter’s army. It’s essential Sira doesn’t learn of their changed allegiance until the last possible moment, or she could use the rose to capture their wills—an effect she has on all the creatures she’s ever created with that power stolen from the Gardens of Ithilias.

But Faustrius has devised a plan, involving the giant moles that mill about camp. I’m starting to come around to them. They’re almost so ugly, they’re cute.

But that’s beside the point. The Elderblood will always be vulnerable as long as Sira has the rose. That’s why the majority of Faustrius’s forces won’t attack with the first wave; they’ll wait until Sira’s ritual is underway. We’re counting on Sira being too consumed by her ritual to steal any more wills. It’s a risk, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Faustrius has already gone ahead to Castletree with a garrison under the pretense of reporting to Sira. What if he betrays us? Though the thought is logical, I can’t make myself believe it. Not after I looked into his eyes. Not after seeing how strong the call to the light is.