The fox gave a lazy yawn.
A voice interrupted my morning solitude. “Queen sounds awfully pretentious.”
I glanced up toward the pergola on the other side of the garden as a gangly pale white boy in threadbare trousers that barely came down to his ankles, a wrinkled button-down shirt, and a brown vest came in. He had two fresh croissants in his hands from the bakery next door, and a wide smile on his face that made his cerulean eyes glimmer. A sliver of long golden hair escaped his newsboy hat, giving him away. As if his grace hadn’t already.
“Shouldn’t you be at the castle?” I asked the princess of Aloriya as she handed me a croissant.
“Shush and eat,” Anwen replied, lifting the fox up from his spot and putting him on her lap as she sat down.
I twirled a lock of her golden hair around my finger. “Your disguise is coming undone.”
“Again?” Wen made a disgruntled noise and took off her hat. Long golden hair spilled down her shoulders, reaching her lower back in soft curls. “It doesn’t matter. You’d recognize me anyway whether I was a boy or, I don’t know, a goat.”
I laughed. “I should hope so; we’ve been friends since we were six—”
“Five,” she corrected.
“Are you sure?”
“It was right after your father caught you cutting your own hair and you had bangs like—” And she angled her fingers slantwise across her forehead. “Do you think I’d forget something like that? My brother wouldn’t stop making fun of you for weeks.”
I shivered, remembering, and handed her the cup of coffee. “Well, I certainly forgot until this very moment. Your brother hated me.”
“I don’t think he did at all,” she replied, and took a sip of coffee to wash down a bite of croissant. “I miss him.”
“Me too.”
We sat and ate our breakfast quietly.
There was still so much to do before the coronation. I had to finish up the rose decorations and tend to the arrangements already in the store, all before I loaded up the wagon and made my way to the castle to help Papa set up for the rest of the afternoon. I felt exhausted just thinking about it. And I kinda didn’t want the coronation to come—ever. Because once Anwen was crowned, everything would change.
Anwen rubbed the fox behind his ears. “Cerys, do you think I’ll be a good ruler? As good as my brother would’ve been?”
I gave a start. “Why wouldn’t you be?”
She let the fox nibble on the rest of her croissant and gave a half-hearted shrug. “What if . . . what if the crown doesn’t take to me? Father died so suddenly, and he never gave me the chance to wear it. It keeps the curse and the creatures of the forest at bay, but how?” She outstretched her hand, and as she brushed her thumb and forefinger together, a flame bloomed in the air. It took my breath away every time she called her magic, the same magic that ran in her ancient bloodline. The same magic that razed the cursewood three hundred years ago. The flame flickered on the tips of her fingers. “Do I do something? I don’t know.”
“You’ll figure it out—you’re a Sunder, after all. It’s in your blood, in your magic,” I replied, and put my hand over hers to smother the flame. “And whenever you need me, I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Promise?”
I was the royal gardener’s daughter. There was nowhere else I was supposed to be. “I promise, Anwen Sunder.”
A small smile graced her lips. “Thank you.”
We shared the rest of the coffee as the cool morning mists that surrounded the Village-in-the-Valley slowly lifted. The sun was bright and golden, and the sky was blue, and spring grew warm and light in the air. Papa was right. It was going to be a beautiful day.
The fox shook his head, having gotten bored with us, and hopped off Wen’s lap. He began to slink around the gardens.
“If you go for those strawberries . . . ,” I warned him.
Wen snorted. “He’s just a fox. He’s not going to listen. Honestly, I don’t see why you put up with him.”
I cocked my head. “He’ll make a great hat someday.”
She gave a laugh, and then, unexpectedly, she turned to me. “Cerys, will you be part of my coronation tonight?”
It took me a moment to react. “. . . What?”
“You and your papa both—I want you with me up on the terrace, not hiding in the back by the garden wall. You’re both family to me. I can’t imagine starting my reign as queen without you. You . . . you’re the only one who really understands.” Her gaze turned hesitantly to the edge of the Wilds, the line of soft green trees that looked innocent, a mask for the curse within. “If I didn’t have you in my life . . . I’d be alone.”
But if I weren’t in your life, your brother might still be alive, I thought before I could catch myself.
Wen smiled hesitantly. “Will you? Please?”
It was an honor, not to mention a breaking of tradition. Only those most important to the royal bloodline were allowed on the coronation steps with the anointed, and my papa and I were simple gardeners. We didn’t command countries or save villages from disaster. We tended to flowers. We helped them bloom.
Anwen was asking me to be one of those most important people—and my heart swelled at the thought. I wanted to cry.
But when I looked back into her eyes, I could only see the wood, as it surrounded us all those years ago. On the day she and I survived.
2
The Wildwood Knocks
Cerys
ON THE DAY my mother died, there was a shadow at the edge of the wood.
I had pricked my finger on a rose stem that morning. Back then, my blood didn’t bloom flowers. It didn’t raise forests. It was just a small cut that Mama kissed before she sat me on the counter and braided daisies into my hair. She hummed along as Papa sang in the garden out back. It was a song about a man urging the woman he loved to leave the comfort of her life and sail away with him, and the woman asked the man to stay and put down roots with her instead. My mother had always loved the song.
I missed the way she hummed softly as Papa howled the words. He was a terrible singer, but she loved it when he sang anyway. It was a soft, warm day at the end of the summer, and the shop had been slow.
My mother kissed me on the back of the head and said, “All done, my sweet sprout. I think your friends are waiting.”
She motioned to the front of the window, where two children smashed their faces against the glass—siblings with golden hair, barely a year apart. Anwen and her brother. Behind them, a blur through the window, was the shadow of the captain of the guard’s squire, tasked with looking after them. I excitedly hopped down off the counter. “Bye, Mom! Be back in a bloom!”
“In a bloom!” she called back as I tugged open the door and sunlight spilled into our quaint shop.
“Papa’s got a new gelding in the stables,” Prince Lorne said excitedly.
Anwen nodded. “It’s black!”
The squire gave a tired sigh. “We’re not going back up there.”
“We are!” the siblings proclaimed. Anwen grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the road that led away from the edge of the village, where my family’s shop was. Golden wheat fields surrounded the valley that fall. It was the beginning of autumn; still warm enough to not need a jacket, but the evenings brought a crisp chill. The Wildwood trees had already begun to turn orange and red, and it was between those trees, at that moment dashing toward the center of the village, that I saw it.
The shadow. It lurked at the edge of the Wildwood, and then it seemed to turn and stalked back into its depths.
“It’s nothing,” the squire had said, squinting where I’d pointed. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Just your imagination, Cerys. The crown protects us from the wood, you know.”
“But what if it’s not my imagination?” I asked.
Wen brandished a wooden sword that she pulled from her belt. “Then we’ll fight it!”
We were nine, and therefore invincible. The squire turned his gray eyes toward the sky and gave a long sigh. He was tall and fit, with tanned skin and calluses across his hands from years of sword fighting. His name was Seren—seventeen, the age I am now—and while he was tasked with the daily watch of the young prince and princess, he often seemed more like our peer than a caretaker. He certainly was a terrible babysitter, now that I think back on it. He liked to think he was tougher than everyone else, and smarter, even though I once saw him cry over a raven that had collided with the castle wall and broken its neck.
Anwen’s brother, who had just turned ten, was different, though. He was anxious and quiet. “I think we should tell Father.”
Seren grinned at him. “You scared or something, princeling?”
“No, I just think—”
“That there’s something scary in the wood?”
“I’m not afraid!” Lorne snapped, and as if to prove it, he puffed out his chest and reached out his hand. He brushed his thumb against his forefinger, and a small flame burst to life. It let off a soft orange glow that made the trees tremble at the sight. He steeled himself and marched toward the wood. “I’ll show you. Come on.”
Wen prickled. “Wait! But what if there really is something in the wood? What if there’s . . . an ancient?”
Her brother replied, “I’ll burn it.”
“Right, like you could kill anything—you can’t even beat me in a duel,” replied Seren, following him up the King’s Road toward the beginning of an old trade road. “You wouldn’t last a minute against an ancient.”
“How do you know?” Lorne shot back, the flame in his hand flickering brightly. “When was the last time anyone even saw one?”
Someone should have stopped them—I should have, but I simply followed behind them, bound toward the edge of the Wilds.
The leaves on the trees we approached were a molten gold, like an artist had taken a sunset and poured it over the forest, and the crisp smell of the coming winter floated on the autumn breeze. It was early afternoon, and the birds sang bright and loud in the treetops.