Forest of Firelight Read online

  My cousin rests his arms on the door. Gage’s expression is gentle, but his eyes are haunted. “It’s cold, Amalia. Come inside before you catch your death.”

  I look down, petting the soft calico in my lap. There are questions I want answers for, maddening things my head begs to dwell upon but my heart knows are best left alone.

  Was Braeton cold when he died?

  Was he alone?

  Was it fast? Did he suffer?

  Braeton has always been with me. He’s the other side of my coin, my twin, my closest friend.

  “I don’t know how to live in a world where he doesn’t exist,” I say softly, looking at the cat as I speak to Gage, wondering yet again why I can’t cry.

  Something must be wrong with me. What broke the day Braeton was attacked?

  I felt it like a knife, knew the news of his death was coming long before we received it. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t be consoled, and yet my eyes have remained dry. I somehow know I’d feel better if the dam broke and I was able to purge this heartache.

  Maybe that’s why the tears won’t come.

  I look up when Gage says nothing. With his palms pressed to his face, he leans forward, letting the door support him. He looks as if he’s aged twenty years.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

  Gage blames himself, says that if he’d been there…

  But we’ll never know if it would have made a difference. Our family might be mourning two deaths instead of one.

  After a long moment, Gage scrubs a hand over his face and looks up, the anguish hidden once more. “Your father has requested your presence.”

  Gently setting the barn cat aside, I rise. Ember stirs and lifts her head. Her eyes are half-dazed, and she yawns.

  “I envy your dog,” Gage says, watching her. “I haven’t found rest like that in days.”

  I nod, understanding all too well.

  “What does Father want?” I ask as we walk through the stable, slipping out the back exit to enter through the west wing of the castle. I pull up my hood to block the steady drizzle.

  “He didn’t say.” Gage looks over, his eyes troubled. “But they’ve had people looking for you all day.”

  “How long did you know I was in the stable?”

  He lets out a soft sigh, an almost-laugh. “All day.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur softly.

  When I’m with my parents and younger brother, I must be strong for their sake. It’s become an exhausting burden.

  Gage leads me to our family’s quarters, pausing in the hall before we reach the doors. Lowering his voice, he says, “Amalia, there is something I’ve been concerned about—”

  “Amalia.” Father stands in the doorway, and his voice sounds as tired as I feel. “Gage found you.”

  I glance at my cousin, taking note of the tense way he’s carrying himself, and then I turn back to my father and slowly nod.

  “Come inside.” Father holds the door open for us. “Both of you.”

  I do as I’m told, fisting my hand inside my cloak, worrying the fabric with my fingers.

  Mother sits on the bench by the fire. Her dark hair is immaculate, as is her dress, but her eyes are red, and the delicate skin around them is tinged with blue from too many sleepless nights.

  Keir stands by the fire, one arm resting against the wall, his face like stone. He’s often sulky, but this is different. He’s angry with the world, and his temper is like the wind—uncontrollable, unpredictable.

  He won’t even look at me.

  “Sit,” Father commands, and I choose the spot next to Mother.

  He stays standing, pacing the room. He’s deep in thought, in no hurry to begin.

  I clasp my hands in my lap, waiting, knowing whatever news he has won’t be pleasant. We’ve had men looking for Braeton’s attackers, but to no avail. Maybe they’ve finally found them.

  Gage stands toward the back of the room. I can feel him behind me, lending me strength.

  Finally, Father faces us. “There are things that must be discussed, no matter how much we wish to avoid them. Braeton’s passing—”

  Mother chokes back a sob, and I feel as if a hand fists around my heart.

  Father fights back raw emotion, his face twisting with the pain only a parent who’s lost a child could know. He clears his throat and hardens his expression. “His passing has left the kingdom bereft of its future king.”

  Keir makes a noise deep in his throat—a growl, a scoff. I’m not sure which.

  I glance over my shoulder, taking in my younger brother. He’s handsome in a way that Braeton was not. He’s tall and striking, and his affinity for the physical activities Braeton didn’t care for has made him strong. I cannot help but compare them.

  As different as my brothers are…were…there are similarities as well. The shape of their eyes, certain expressions. It’s almost painful to look at Keir.

  I’d mourn with him if he’d let me, but we’ve never been close.

  I look away, choking back the lump in my throat.

  “We must think of our people, Amalia. We have a duty to them, even when our family is bleeding.”

  I nod, knowing he’s right. What I can’t quite grasp is why I appear to be the center of the conversation.

  “We will be strong; we will move forward.”

  I search Father’s face, looking for a clue, a hint as to where this is going.

  He stands straighter, but his face is ashen. “The fact is, the fire lilies have bloomed, and my time is coming to an end.”

  Mother grasps my hand, holding me so tightly it hurts. I turn to her, familiar anxiousness tightening my belly. Her eyes are clenched shut, and tears stream down her cheeks.

  “It is the duty of my heir to go into the kingdom…”

  No.

  I shake my head, filled with terrified anger. “Keir is only seventeen! You can’t send him out there, not now…” A sob chokes off the words, and my shoulders begin to shake. Tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill over at the thought of losing Keir too.

  Maybe now I’ll finally cry.

  Doing his best to ignore my outburst, Father begins again, “It is the duty of the heir to get to know the people. Most importantly, as our tradition states, she must choose the man who will become our next king.”

  She.

  Silence, cold and sharp, blankets the room. It steals the air, making me dizzy. The room begins to spin, and I close my eyes, fighting vertigo.

  When I finally manage to pull myself together, I face my father, barely able to breathe.

  “Do you understand?” he asks me, his tone as gentle as it was when I was young and would wake in the middle of the night from nightmares.

  I shake my head, refusing to accept what he’s saying.

  “You’re our next queen, Amalia. My crown passes to you. It’s your duty to search the kingdom…and find a man suitable to sit next to you on the throne.”

  A man to take Braeton’s place.

  I push my fingers through my hair, pulling at the braid, tugging at the strands. Mother’s arms are around me, but I barely feel them. She beseeches Father to reconsider, to wait—to send Keir when he’s older. She begs him to leave me be. Even Gage pleads my case, asking his uncle to reconsider, at least for a little while.

  Keir stays silent, but I can feel his thoughts, and they mirror my own.

  Why me?

  But I know why. It’s the way of our kingdom—has been for centuries. The firstborn, no matter whether they are male or female, will take the throne. An heir prince becomes king, using the year-long Requeamare to live amongst his people and choose a suitable bride.

  An heir princess, however, is charged with a task far more solemn because her husband does not become a prince consort—he does not stand by her side as a helper while she rules her father’s throne. The kingdom passes to his line, in his name.

  My father has placed his crown in my hands, the future of our ki
ngdom. In short seconds, I went from being a princess to a kingmaker.

  It’s a responsibility I’m not sure I can bear.

  “If Amalia must go—if you won’t reconsider—at least send her in secret,” Mother pleads. “Let her leave under the cover of night; let her protect her identity. Don’t send her with fanfare as you did Braeton. Don’t place a target on her back.”

  Father continues to pace. “People know our properties—they know our ways. How will she hide if she utilizes them? How will she live if she doesn’t?”

  “Give her a month,” Gage suggests, his tone solemn. “In that time, send a man, someone you trust, to buy properties throughout the cities and villages of Renove. Only we will know of their existence.”

  “We?” Keir asks, joining the conversation for the first time.

  I turn to look at Gage over the back of the settee, waiting for him to answer.

  “I will accompany Amalia. We’ll go, just the two of us.” Gage stands tall, daring me to defy him. “She will be less conspicuous if our numbers are few. We will travel as brother and sister, an easy enough cover.”

  “But your wedding,” I say softly. Our sad news has already delayed it, but this will send it back an entire year.

  “Kess will wait for me.” Gage nods, determined, not about to be swayed this time. “I didn’t protect Braeton, but I will not step aside and let you go alone. It is your duty to find our king—it is my duty to protect you.”

  Father turns from us, contemplating Gage’s proposal. After several long minutes of heavy silence, he gives Mother his attention once more. “I will grant you a month, long enough for us to prepare.”

  Mother sags against me, nodding as if he promised her the world. I stroke her hair as she cries, just as she used to do for me when I was young.

  “So, it’s decided,” Keir says, his tone oddly flat.

  Father turns to him, his expression betraying the tension brewing between them. “It was never up for discussion.”

  Instead of answering, Keir strides from the room, tossing open the doors as he steps into the hall.

  He didn’t look at me once.

  3

  Slipping from the castle unnoticed isn’t as simple a task as it sounds. A great many people live inside the lovely fortress’s walls, from servants to courtiers—and they all gossip. If I were to simply vanish, word of my absence would spread like wildfire.

  That’s why, for the last several weeks, I’ve been stuck in my chambers, feigning a dark depression.

  My maid brought me food for the first week, until I listlessly told her not to come again. At that point, my mother began to deliver my meals, attending to my needs herself. It’s been five days since I’ve seen a soul except for Mother, Father, Gage, and my dearest friend and Gage’s fiancée, Kess.

  They will continue the ruse after I leave. Mother will deliver meals that no one will eat, and whispers of my dark melancholy will travel throughout the kingdom like a protective cloak.

  Though the isolation has been difficult for me, Ember is beside herself. The dog whines by the windows and paws at the door. Gage and Kess take her out multiple times a day, but neither has had time to let her run in our meadow.

  I tell myself it’s for the dog’s sake that I leave the castle at dusk, the time when most attend the evening meal. I grew up in these halls, played games of hide and seek with Braeton, Keir, Gage, and Kess when we were young. I know how to avoid heavily trafficked areas—I know how to pass through undetected.

  I step into the evening and breathe in deep. The storms have passed. The smell of spring is in the air, along with the fragrance of cooking fires and the spiced meat pocket pies the vendors sell at their stands.

  The sun has just dipped below the horizon, and soon it will be dark. I walk through the quiet backstreets with Ember at my side, careful to keep my face shadowed even though I know my dog is my biggest liability. She’s too unique.

  But the fresh air is worth the risk…even if my family would disagree.

  I understand the subterfuge is for my safety, but I feel as though I’m drowning in their concern.

  Instead of hiding, I could use this time to learn a skill I might need—like how to shoot a bow or wield a short sword. Something useful.

  But no.

  I’m still as unprepared to take off into the world as I was the day I learned I am to be queen. But that’s not what’s truly plaguing me. My stomach ties itself in knots every time I think about choosing our king. There are people far more qualified to seek out our next monarch.

  Father’s line has been fortunate. For the last six generations, since before the creation of the Chasm and the separation of our kingdom, a male heir has always been born first. My paternal family’s rule has been long.

  Now it seems that reign has come to an end. It’s time for another family to write their name in the leather-bound ledger that documents our kingdom’s thousand-years. Yes, Father’s bloodline will endure through me, but it’s not the same.

  Ember tugs at her lead as we grow near the city gates, excited to be so close to freedom. I keep my head low, shielded by the hood of an old cloak I rarely wear. I’m hoping the guards will think I’m someone of no consequence taking Ember for her evening walk—a maid and nothing more.

  They mustn’t recognize me. Rumors of the princess sneaking away from her sanctuary would undo all that my family has built up in these last few weeks.

  I’m almost to the gates when I glance up, hoping to find the guards talking to each other instead of paying attention to the people passing in and out of the city.

  But instead, my eyes fall on a man.

  He has just walked through the gates, and he’s coming my way, with a large leather bag slung over his shoulder. His pace is brisk, and the solemn expression he wears gives him the look of a man who has no patience for smiles or good humor.

  Despite that, he’s very handsome.

  His hair is brown, a rich, earthy shade and thick. He’s tall—taller than Keir even—with broad shoulders and a trim waist. Judging from the unadorned, sleeveless leather doublet he wears laced over a simple cream-colored shirt, I would say he’s common-born. He carries himself with so much authority, however, that I find my eyes following him.

  As if sensing me, he suddenly glances my way. To my chagrin, our eyes meet. His eyebrows twitch, and I know I’ve been caught.

  Our gazes hold for several long seconds, and embarrassment heats my cheeks. I should look away, keep moving like I wasn’t staring at him. For that matter, he should smile and graciously forgive me for the slight.

  He doesn’t.

  Thankfully, Ember whines and nuzzles my hand, begging for the run I’ve promised. I rip my attention forward and continue toward the gates, my cheeks on fire.

  Whether the guards recognize me or not, they let me pass without a word. Once I’m outside the walls, I give in to the impulse to look over my shoulder.

  As expected, the man is gone.

  My stomach twists with the remnants of my embarrassment as I take a right, following the narrow footpath around the city. By the time Ember and I reach the meadow, the first evening stars dot the purple sky.

  With a twinge of unease, I remember the last time I was here alone. But there is no mist today, no mysterious figure lurking at the corner of my vision. There is also no brother to save me should I require it.

  The memory of our last visit is bittersweet. In the days that followed, Braeton was busy with preparations. Everyone vied for his attention. Our official goodbye was surrounded by half the court.

  This was the last place we truly spoke.

  “We must return soon,” I say to Ember, giving her permission to run. “Don’t go far.”

  She gleefully takes off, stretching her legs, occasionally stopping to sniff bushes and patches of new grass. I stay on the path near the wall, not about to venture into the meadow in the night. Knowing my luck, I’d trip on a gopher hole and fall on my face.

  A co
ol breeze blows from the west. I breathe it in, wishing it carried the scent of the distant sea on it. The ocean is only a day’s ride away, but I haven’t been there in ages. For a moment, I close my eyes, remembering my last trip with my family.

  Keir was young, only three. Braeton, Gage, and I played on the shore, building castles surrounded by moats, streams, and lakes. We stayed on the beach all day, until our skin was red and our hands dry from the sand.

  It was a good day.

  Slowly, I open my eyes, and the memory vanishes…much like my dog.

  “Ember?” I call, scanning the darkened meadow. Where did she go?

  There is no response.

  “Ember!” I yell again, but my only answer is the sound of the breeze moving through the meadow grass.

  A tiny shard of fear pierces my core, and my heart beats a little faster. Where could she have gone?

  I leave the path, hurrying into the heart of the meadow. My cloak snags on bare bushes and last summer’s dry weeds. They pull me back like hands warning me not to venture into the night alone.

  It’s fully dark now, with just a blush of pink on the horizon. More stars have appeared, though their light is too dim to see by.

  “Ember!” I holler again, my pulse racing now.

  She’ll come back; she will.

  She’s never taken off completely. She probably found a rabbit or a bird, and she chased it a little farther than she should have. I’m sure she’s realized her mistake already, and she’s on her way back.

  The orchard lies at the end of the meadow, and I pause at its boundary. It looks darker inside. Surely, she didn’t go in there.

  I call the dog’s name again, but it’s no use. Glancing over my shoulder, I look back, hoping to see her bounding through the grass. For a moment, I swear I spot something out there, but it has become too dark to see well.

  Hesitantly, I turn back to the orchard. Ember must have come this way. It’s the only place she could hide.

  Wrapping my cloak around me, I leave the meadow. The moon has just risen, and its meager light shines upon my path, cut into jagged lines by the trees’ budding limbs.