ROOTS OF RUIN

  Chapter 2

  Aria dashed from the tower, her hunger quickly forgotten. She took the spiraling stairs two at a time, bounding downwards like a deer. The expedition would have to first cross the outer fields and the refugee camps, through the main gates and the grand bazaar before even setting foot or hoof upon the bridge and gaining access to the Royal Citadel. In short, she had time; time she would most definitely need, as she’d climbed to one of the tallest towers of the citadel and would still have to hurry through the maze-like array of corridors and passageways, no doubt thronged with people, that made up the Royal Citadel of Thornspire.

  If the expedition had returned, she thought, then things might not be as bad as the whispers amongst the soldiers and servants and cooks; that the Verdant Wild, as the druids had named it, was consuming everything in its path – devouring civilization one stone, one beam, and one life at a time.

  She was so engrossed in her thoughts, that she nearly collided with the figure in front of her as she dashed from the landing at the bottom of the stairwell.

  “Apologies,” Aria said, before fully realizing who she had almost bowled over. “Lady Elara, I did not-“

  The tall, willowy woman before her turned to fully face Aria, her face betraying no hint of anger, annoyance, or beratement. Instead, her eyes, deep, emerald green and flecked with gold, studied Aria for a moment. A ripple of luminescence crossed her gaze.

  “You have been watching the woods again,” said Elara.

  Aria nodded, her eyes fixed on the choker of woven roots wrapped around the slender woman’s sun-kissed throat. Aria knew better than to let Lady Elara stare too long into her eyes. She had a way of uncovering things you might not want uncovered. Of knowing things she should not know. The fact that she knew Aria had been watching the woods though, was a matter of obvious conjecture. After all, Aria had just spilled forth from the tower steps and why else would she be up there if not for the commanding view?

  “Yes,” said Aria. “I often go there after training. The cool breeze is invigorating.”

  Lady Elara smiled and adjusted the mantle of dark leaves and raven feathers she wore draped over her black and forest green robes. Thorns of silver filigree, like twisting brambles, had been embroidered along the sides.

  "The breeze brings with it tidings as well,” said Elara. “Whispers from the wild.”

  Aria caught the scent of Vareth, Lady Elara Valcoris’s pet stalker, before it emerged from behind her. It was the scent of fresh rain on warm cobblestones, of rich earth, and rotting leaves. The sleek, panther-sized feline, stalked out from behind Elara, its coat of moss-laced evergreen and rich autumn hues seemed to break from the very shadows of the corridor, of Elara’s robes. Its branch-like horns were just beginning to sprout buds, the sign of spring, and its thick, prehensile vine-tail gently wrapped itself around Elara’s delicate wrist.

  Vareth was beautiful. But beauty aside, those glowing, amber colored eyes, like sap catching the light, unnerved Aria. They were hypnotic and unsettling. It was a creature of the Verdant Wild.

  “What…what do the whispers say?” Aria asked. “The wild. What does it say?”

  Lady Elara toyed with one of her dark braids. Streaks of green and midnight black strands of hair formed a multitude of elaborate braids. Aria had wondered many a time how long it took Elara to have her hair braided like that and if it was at all comfortable. It seemed rather unnecessary and perhaps painful.

  Elara’s lips curved into a knowing, almost sorrowful smile. Her fingers brushed over Vareth’s moss-laced fur.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “It says the roots remember. The branches reach. And the storm will come whether you hear its warning or not.”

  The hair on the back of Aria’s neck stood on end and she suppressed a shudder.

  Elara tilted her head slightly, watching Aria.

  “And you, princess,” said Elara, “must decide whether you stand against the winds – or let them carry you to where the wild wills.”

  Aria thought of Elandril; of his laughter and stories, of his songs and poetry, his grey eyes and cheerful smile. She thought of his playful banter and teasing about duty and expectation and courtly responsibility. Of gowns and dances and the affairs of noble houses. None of which interested her in the slightest, much to her father’s chagrin. She’d rather dance to the ring of steel upon steel, to plunge her fingers into the soil and lay the seeds of gooseberry bushes or eldersconce vines. She’d rather dip her toes in the River Fryna and watch the fish try to nibble at them than hear nobles drone on about this affront or that. And, she thought, she’d rather do all of those things with him. Elandril. Her best friend, who even now could be making haste for the Grand Hall with Sir Callian and the rest of the expedition, eager to report their findings.

  Aria exhaled slowly, her hands involuntarily balled into fists at her side.

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to decide quickly,” she said. “Before the storm makes the choice for me.” Before Lady Elara could respond, she said, “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Aria hurried past Elara and down the corridor, not daring to look back even though she could feel two sets of eyes upon her: One gold-flecked green and the other of amber hue.

  She had just reached the Grand Hall when the doors began to close.

  “Pardon me, my apologies,” she said, pushing her way through the throng of nobles and officials who had gathered to discover what was happening beyond the borders of Thornspire. The corridor, as large as it was, was packed with murmuring people.

  A line of Thornwardens formed a wall between the gathered crowd and the Great Hall’s towering double doors. They stood, resolute, in their dark steel breastplates and reinforced leathers. Intricate, vine-like carvings edged their armor and their forest green cloaks lay, uniformly, draped across one shoulder. The swords at their hips, hilts wrapped in dark, green-dyed leather, were enough of a reminder to the throng that no disturbance would be tolerated.

  Aria pushed through people lined a dozen deep until finally reaching the front, coming face to face with a Thornwarden. The guard stood like a tree, rooted to the ground. Only the thick, black of his beard was visible from the visored, half-helm he wore.

  “Good morning. Sergeant,” she said, perking up on her tiptoes to see over his shoulder. The five interwoven vines across the brow of his helmet had told her his rank. The cloak pin on his shoulder, a thorned, iron fist, marked him as part of the Ironbriars, 1st Legion.

  “Good morning, princess,” he said. Not a muscle moved. He stood, resolute, watching the crowd.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I must attend the-“

  “The council has called a closed meeting,” he said. Aria could not tell if he was looking at her or not. The shadows of the helm, the narrow visor, made it nearly impossible.

  “Understood, sergeant,” she said, “but surely that does not apply to me.”

  “I’m afraid it does,” he said.

  She leaned left. The doors were nearly closed. She could just make out Archmage Merris’s flowing silver robes through the narrowing gap.

  “Under whose orders?” Aria huffed, crossing her arms.

  “By the orders of Queen Elaena,” he said. “I’m sorry, Princess Aria, but she made it very clear that should you try and attend the council meeting that you be escorted to your quarters and kept there, under guard.”

  “Under guard?”

  “She was quite firm on the matter,” he said.

  She considered ducking past him. Surely, she could reach the doors before he caught up with her. But then what? The doors were about closed anyway.

  “There was only one,” he said, suddenly, catching her off guard.

  “Only one what?” she asked, not quite sure what he was referring to.

  “Only one returned from the expedition,” he said. “It was not Elandril. I’m sorry, princess.”

  “But I must speak with him,” she said. “Surely he can tell us the fate of the others.”

  The Ironbriar sergeant turned his head slightly towards her and spoke under his breath.

  “He says only one phrase, over and over,” said the sergeant. “The roots remember.”

  Aria’s knees almost buckled. Lady Elara had said the same thing when asked what the wind whispered.

  The roots remember.

  “What is your name, sergeant?” she asked.

  “Corwin, my princess,” he said, slightly bowing his head. “Corwin Hallow.”

  The roots remember.

  “Thank you, Sergeant Hallow,” she said, stepping back into the crowd.

  Behind her, the doors of the Grand Hall closed with an ominous boom.