Page 40 of Upon the Riven Throne

Strange emotions rolled through her as she stared on, each as unsettling as the last. The tree had been real, and inside her dreams. Alder had taken her to the heart of Rivenwilde. She moved closer, taking in the scene in the light of a lowering sun. The boughs hung heavy, brushing her shoulders as she walked beneath, her palm itching to touch the bark. It might be devastating if it were only a tree, if the magic had been only a dream, but she had no choice but to try.

When her hand brushed the bark, its warmth spread through her, and with it, emotions even sharper than she’d felt during her dreams. Norcliffe was there, safe and stable, and her father, too. But while sensing him offered the comfort that he was well, she could feel that he worried for Mireille. He worried for her, and for Thomas, for his kingdom, and for so much more.

He prayed they’d done right to send her away. His wished Mireille’s mother was still alive.

“Oh, Papa,” she whispered, and it was as if, somehow, he heard her speak. A spark of joy snapped through the tree, feeling of relief and confusion and the fear that came with the unfamiliar. “Papa,” she said again. “It’s me. I’m in the fae lands and I am safe. I wish you could see it. I wish I could see you. But I will one day, and all will be well.” Her fingers curled against the bark, and her chest tightened with the desire to weep. “I miss you, Papa. And I love you. Please do not worry over me.”

The tree seemed to sigh, then the warmth slipped away, and all that remained beneath Mireille’s palm was the smooth bark of a tree she was fairly certain was a type used to concoct poisons. She drew her hand free, stepping back with a chest so tight she felt as if she could not get enough air. Uncertain she would be able to find it again, she tore the ribbons from her gown and tied them along the path until she reached the palace walls.

But the archway she’d entered before was gone. All that stood in its place was a pair of plain tall columns. The ribbons fell from her hands.

When she turned again, the garden was gone, and only an empty lawn stretched before her.

* * *

Noal arrived preciselyon time to escort Mireille to Alder’s study. There was no talk of the prince being too busy, or of her taking her meal in her rooms. It had become routine. Until Nisha stormed out of the study door, nearly barreling into them.

She was dressed like springtime, pale pink satin with trailing violet ribbons and what might have been actual, living flowers attached at the hem. Her focus narrowed on Mireille and Noal. “You, the pair of you. Talk sense into him. The proper rites must be observed.” Her tone dipped. “I will not be robbed of this.” She marched off, leaving Mireille and Noal to stare after.

Noal said, “I’ll just… Fetch your meals, shall I?” then turned and walked the other direction.

“Traitor,” Mireille hissed at his back.

Straightening her spine, she strode into the study.

Alder stood behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, face downcast. He lifted his gaze upon her entry, then crossed the room to shut the door, sealing them alone inside. “My sister.”

She turned to him. “Your sister.”

He stepped closer, letting out a tired breath as his dark eyes met hers. “My sister is insisting on ceremonial rites. Traditionally, three nights before a Riven Court marriage ceremony, the bride is taken to a sacred pool where ancient fae rites are performed.”

“Oh.” Her hand wanted to clutch at the fabric of her dress, but she forced it to still. “I’m not certain I like the sound of that.” Pools were excellent places to drown.

“The rite must be completed by another female,” Alder continued. “Nisha has decided it will be her. She has vowed your protection, and she will do as she’s vowed. She would not misstep when it would cost her title.”

“You make it sound as if it’s already decided.”

His expression was pained. “It is your choice. But, as it’s sacred tradition among all of court, it would look especially suspicious for the bride of a prince to not participate.”

Mireille crossed her arms over her waist, feeling suddenly vulnerable. She had agreed to cooperate with Alder’s plan. Suspicion would not do. But there was still one issue. “Three nights before the ceremony is?—”

“Tonight,” Alder finished.

A sacred rite at some fae pool with only Nisha to keep her safe. The queen had ceased her attempts at stealing into Mireille’s sleep, and Nisha would not be bent by the fae magic the way it came over Thomas. But they would be outside the protections of the palace. “Is there another reason this ritual so important to Nisha?”

Mireille must have said something wrong, because he straightened. “She may be scheming and duplicitous, but she is still my sister. And she will regard you as a sister the moment we are wed.”

The words hung heavy between them. It did not matter that there would be no marriage, because Nisha did not know Alder’s plan. It mattered that she believed, the same as the queen. Mireille nodded. “And what of protections once I leave the palace?”

Alder’s posture eased, hinting that the ritual was not important only to his sister, but to him as well. “Nisha has given her vow. It is a bond that can be trusted nearly as much as my own.” Chin dipping, he gave her an especially dark look. “But I will be near, nonetheless.”

“It sounded as if you were not invited.”

“I am, as of yet, still the prince of Rivenwilde. I may go where I choose.”

She didn’t like that it felt as if Nisha would not be aware of his proximity, or that she would be forced to rely so thoroughly on trust, or that she did not seem to have a choice in the matter. There was a great deal not to like about the entire ordeal. “Very well,” she said. “The matter is decided.”

He seemed at once relieved and on edge. On impulse, Mireille touched his arm. Her mouth opened to ask him why he’d ever agreed to bargain with the queen in the first place. She wanted to ask if the terms had been twisted, if he had thought to marry a princess of Westrende, to fall in love. She wanted to ask about the curse clock, and why it seemed he no longer believed he might fulfill the queen’s price.

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