To Scale the Emerald Mountain (The Willowbane Saga #1)

28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ELLYA

A fter Nana leaves, my mind continues to turn over everything I know about Ellhora and the gods. Which admittedly, is very little at the current time. Digging through my still addled memory, I try to find any hint of these earlier visions Nana told me about.

I come up blank.

My brain begins to ache, so I quickly give up and curl into the comfortable pillows of my reading nook with a work of fiction. But my focus refuses to drink in the happy story of friendship evolving into love. My eyes glaze over the words and I find myself rereading the same paragraph multiple times, not absorbing anything.

My stare keeps reverting to the remaining pile of books Alec brought me—particularly the decrepit tome with foreign lettering. All my questions over the gods and the gems that I haven’t been able to bring myself to ponder on are beginning to surface after speaking with Nana, my curiosity rising and refusing to be ignored.

My cheeks puff before I let out a sigh. I finally fling the book I hold to the side in favor of the one I have no hope at reading. Standing to my feet, I straighten my modest navy dress, pulling my mass of chestnut hair over one shoulder .

After working my way across my chamber, I take the ancient text in my hands, sinking onto the edge of my bed to flip through the flimsy pages. I absorb the faded pictures, trying to glean whatever information possible from the images alone.

I learn very little.

A particular page pauses my flipping fingers, perusing it more thoroughly than the ones before. The top quarter of the page’s texture and appearance are like the wings of a dragonfly; delicately thin and holographic, shimmering from the faintest hint of cerise to deep emerald green. Rotating the page again, the colors shift and land on green when the page lies flat. The decorative heading as well as the large curling letters indicate that it’s a title page.

Looking through this particular story, I find depictions of a welcoming green forest and thriving wildlife that steadily morph and turn darker with each page. The trees become skeletal, the chipmunks and birds curl into themselves, sprouting fangs and claws while their coats and plumage lose their colors. The final page shows nothing but a gaping, black pit, effectively swallowing the setting that was once light and living. The pictures are vague and faded, and I’m unable to make any sense of their deeper meaning without their accompanying words.

Tucking the massive book under my arm, I slip on a pair of plain shoes and stride to the door of my chambers, determined to do something meaningful with my time.

Leaving the residential portion of the palace, I begin meandering through endless halls and corridors, getting turned around more than once in my search for the library. Cursing myself for not at least asking Alec where it was when he offered to show me, I consider asking someone to tell me where to go. Instead, I dig deeper into my stubbornness to find it myself. The long walk fueled by singular purpose is having a calming effect on me anyway.

Before long, I turn down a wide hallway that ends in a pair of looming double doors, one slightly ajar. A dry breeze brushes through the open arched windows, blowing in my direction, and I’m hit with the cozy scent of parchment, leather, and the unmistakable undertones of binding glue. A satisfied grin plasters over my face at finding the library in this sprawling estate all on my own. My confident feet bound ahead, the heavy myths still tucked under my arm.

The wooden door opens on silent hinges when I push it wide with my pale hand. Another smile cracks when I take in the cavernous room ahead of me; a curved antechamber covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves with rolling ladders. I crane my head to see them stretch far toward the domed glass ceiling, tinted to keep the sun from damaging the books. Openings to both the right and the left cut into the shelves and lead to different parts of what is surely an expansive library.

It’s quiet.

Only the light clicking of a large armillary sphere in motion at the center of the antechamber gives any noise in the peaceful silence. Walking forward, I inspect the gilded celestial model. A small orb sits in its center, the name ‘ Ellhora ’ etched into its golden surface. Both moons as well as a blazing sun circle the small replica of this world. Tiny dots of precious jewels representing stars are strung throughout the web of the cosmic model, all suspended in the air by some form of incantation.

I pull myself away from the structure and scan the shelves of books. My lip pulls between my teeth as I consider where to begin. Walking across the worn sandstone floor, I opt to start directly in front of me, but all I find are books on science and mathematics; similar to the books sitting on the shelf in Alec’s study off my chamber.

But of course, I wouldn’t immediately find what I’m searching for in an open and obvious area. The texts I seek, if they still exist at all, would be hidden away. If they were easy to find, there would be no false histories believed across the world. Or at the very least, the skewed recordings would be questioned more. Perhaps I would have been more likely to find what I want within Alec’s study, so close to where I was.

Ask him . The thought is accompanied by a sudden tug pulling in my gut, nudging me to find him.

Swallowing the idea and the crippling weight on my chest, I stride towards one of the openings into deeper portions of the library, determined to both push him from my mind and learn something; anything . I quickly find a section of shelving holding books on history and begin pulling out whatever I can find that may pertain to the gods, the gems, and the Original War.

My aching neck protests the bent angle I’ve held too long.

Cracking it, I try to ease the strain built from looking down at a book for what must have been hours. Glancing back down at the text in my lap, I reread the same portion for the third time.

“ Fifty years into the Original War, Ellhora took a final measure in her desperation to end the death and destruction, accepting her defeat in convincing the cruel gods to leave her world and return to whence they came. Both armies having suffered terrible casualties, Ellhora offered a magically bound peace treaty to preserve what was left of both the gods’ gifted armies and her own pure people, blessed by the Fates in their favor of the Mother and her children.”

I scoff to myself, my eyes skimming down the page to see this historian only mentions the banishment in the most vague sense, as if it were a divine blessing from the Fates, and not the haunting act reeking of despair and decay I had witnessed in my vision.

The sun is beginning to dip towards the horizon, light streaming through the tall windows dimming in the approaching twilight. The only texts I’ve found at all so far consistently glorify Ellhora as the loving and virtuous Mother of Creation. Nothing about the gems; nothing noting the foreign language of the old book mocking me on the corner of my table; nothing about Ellhora’s treachery against her siblings or any of their purposes in coming to this world. Certainly nothing claiming Ellhora was the one to kill the willowbane tree. I barely find anything mentioning the other three gods at all other than in passing.

All the while, I can’t shake the niggling questions in my mind, questions Locane encouraged me to ask myself.

Five gems, but only three gods.

If Ellhora’s magic was tied to the tree, why would she create a gem? Was it required after she petrified it? And who might have created the fifth gem?

Circling back to the same questions endlessly, I come up with no answers.

I’m nearly ready to drop my search for information for the day when quiet shuffling sharpens my senses. Unhurried footsteps pull my eyes towards the entryway leading into the antechamber of the library. My heart rate ratchets higher as that familiar presence comes closer. Steps echoing across sandstone floors falter then pause, their owner surely as aware of my presence as I am his .

I swear, Alec’s breath hums through the walls, trying to drink me in.

Alec’s tall frame is barely visible where I sit, sinking lower into my seat. Blazing heat embedded in my heart flares, growing despite my attempts to douse it. I watch Alec barely begin to turn his head in my direction.

Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I wait for him to turn to me fully; to come to me. But instead, he stills. His shuddering breath of defeat vibrates towards me before he turns and walks away from where I sit—never facing me at all.

Alec’s easy cadence dims with each step in the opposite direction.

In the agonizing silence, I try to quell the disappointment that I have no right to hold, squeezing around my mangled heart. A sheen of sweat coats my brow as I try to catch my hurried breaths.

It’s as if I’ve just run up an infinite flight of stairs.

Our last interaction was tense. My words I used to push him away in my fearful rage echo through my head, telling him I wouldn’t choose him; a hot sting pricks the backs of my eyes as my ever increasing guilt coils tighter.

That gentle tug in my stomach pulls at me again, tight and insistent. My skin tingles and itches, my very being trying to gravitate towards Alec’s retreating form. A physical need to be near him—to accept his safety and comfort—screams at me.

Simultaneously, my endless questions that I’ve pushed to the back of my mind since I returned to The Capital race through me, knocking furiously and demanding answers.

Closing my book between my fingers, I chew my lip, my eyes pivoting from the mysterious book on the desk to where Alec disappeared on the other side of the library, knowing that he holds at least some of the answers I seek.

Before I can rethink, I throw the history book down with a thunk , grab the old collection of myths, and hurry my way through the antechamber. My desire for knowledge momentarily outweighs everything else. My running feet echo loudly as I breeze past the armillary sphere and rush through the opening into an even more spacious portion of the library. Skidding to a halt as soon as I’m met with Alec’s back, black fabric pulling smooth against his broad shoulders, my resolve instantly crumbles.

My blood freezes in my veins.

This was a bad idea.

I’m about to turn on my heel to leave, when his head quickly snaps around to face me. His warm, dark eyes are painted with joyful surprise when he finds me at the end of a long row of shelves, heart pounding, eyes wide, and mouth parted with no words coming out.

“Sorry,” I barely manage to choke. I turn to run, forgetting entirely my magical abilities to simply disappear and land where I wish in my crushing panic.

“Ellya.” My name on Alec’s whispered voice is a plea, a prayer, the warmth of it brushing against my retreating back. “Wait.”

The desperation in his tone gives me pause; my neck swivels slowly to meet his eyes again. The same panic I wear is mirrored in his face, only for a different reason. We stand, unspeaking, our stares connecting across the space between us. My mouth doesn’t work, nor does my voice. I can’t find any words to say or work my muscles to keep from gaping at him silently.

Alec schools his expression, his palpable longing disappearing in an instant. He repeats more gently, “Wait.” He glances at the book in my arms and chuckles, his sudden ease cutting the momentary tension into something less… alive . “I am assuming we are here for the same reason.”

A harsh, painfully audible swallow is my only response.

Alec continues, shifting to face me fully, leaning against the smooth surface of a shelf partition. He holds up his hand, showing me a small notebook bound in dark blue leather. Alec pops it open, scans his eyes down the page, and then snaps it closed, offering it to me in a swift motion.

“What’s this?” I ask, my voice hushed. My heart beats in my throat, making it difficult to breathe.

“It seems I forgot an important accompaniment or two in my haste to deliver your books.” Alec offers me a small smirk, the corner of one eye crinkling.

My hand reaches out to take the book, our fingertips barely grazing, a zap of both peace and fire racing through my spine.

Alec subtly wets his lips, his smile widening as I accept the book.

“It is a book of annotations. Though not a full translation, it gives some clarity to the core stories told.” He indicates his head towards the large book that I clutch against my chest like a shield.

My arm loosens, and I tilt the book to glance down at the words printed across its front. “What language is this?” My voice is slightly choked. I cough, attempting to dispel the emotions clouding me.

“The old language of the gods. Ancient Rayveesh.”

Raising a brow at him, I ask incredulously, “You keep a record of annotations for myths written in the language of the gods in the palace library?”

Alec gives me a wide smile, showing me his straight white teeth. “No, I do not.” He then turns back to the shelf he was previously leaning on, scanning the titles on the spines. He pulls one from where it rests, smiling down at it. “I came here to find this.” Alec nods his head, and I follow its direction, towards a colorful couch and matching plush chairs tucked in an alcove. “May I show you?”

We turn back to each other, his stare piercing through me with endless hopefulness.

Glancing at the book he plucked from the shelf, I’m met with an image of a white tree with flowing branches stamped across its front.

The willowbane tree.

Swallowing my nerves, I give a shallow nod, my hair brushing against the small of my back. Alec pushes his lips together, trying to hide his gleeful smile at my acceptance before leading me to the seating area. I plant myself on the couch, its velvet cushion sinking slightly under my weight. Alec nearly sits next to me, but his brows draw in before he thinks better of it and instead takes a chair to my right.

Watching him get comfortable, I wait for his elaboration on why he wanted to give me this particular book—whatever information it may hold, true or false. Alec reaches a hand into his pocket and produces his silver case, his deft fingers pluck out a black cigarette and place it between his lips. He’s preparing to strike a match when I suddenly scowl at him.

Without thought, I reach out and snatch the spicy smelling onyx cylinder from his mouth, tossing it across the room. It lands somewhere out of sight with the lightest tap against the floor.

Alec looks at me, brows raised and hands still poised to strike a match. “You told me you were unbothered.”

He hastily hides the matches and cigarettes back into his pocket. It’s now that I notice he’s dressed for comfort, his black shirt void of buttons or embellishments; his cotton pants are loose and casual, starkly different from the leathers or more formal attire I can recall seeing him in recently.

Something about the sight has heat creeping across my chest.

Clearing my throat and shaking away my thoughts, I say, “You can’t smoke in here.”

Alec glances around, a soft amused smile crossing his face. “Can I not?”

“No!”

His grin spreads further at my indignation. “It is my library.” He cocks an arrogant, dark brow at me.

Giving him a scolding stare, I cross my arms over the navy fabric covering my chest. “I’m sure smoking does not do good things for books. How old and priceless are some of these pieces?” Alec opens his mouth to defend himself, a playful gleam in his dark chocolate eyes. Before he can speak, I continue, my head held high. “Besides, it’s a fire hazard.”

The picture lined walls of the cozy alcove absorb Alec’s rumbling laugh. An irrational part of myself wants to break down the stone to steal the sound back.

“You were not so concerned with the books in the study,” he reminds me with a grin. “And being around Kraeston is a fire hazard.”

A lilting laugh flies past my lips, and Alec’s face lights up at the sound, as if he were a deaf man hearing music for the first time.

Is this how it always was with us? I can’t help the question stampeding through my mind.

The weight of warm familiarity drenching our interaction slams down on me. The ease of being around Alec is far too indicative of what I may still be missing from my memories; what can no longer be because I gave into my desire for a familiarity so kindred to what simmers between us now. The thought is too much to bear.

My joyful face falls, becoming guarded once more. Alec notices my shift, his own smile muting. But he doesn’t push, surely afraid that if he does, I will flee.

Swallowing hard, I sink back into my seat, not realizing until now that my body was pulling towards Alec, moving closer still even after I pulled the cigarette from his full mouth.

Nodding towards the book about the willowbane tree laying in his lap, I ask, “Why this one?”

Glancing down at the book, as if he had forgotten it was even there, Alec runs the pads of his fingers over the cover, tracing the lines of the white tree. “I thought you might want to start where everything began. With the willowbane tree. This one pertains more to the science behind the way the tree worked before it died, and focuses less on the Ellhora’s ties to it, though this text does claim her as both the world and the willowbane tree’s creator.”

“Who wrote this book?” I ask, leaning over to take it from Alec to inspect myself. It’s an unused print; the pages are glossy and stiff when I open it.

“A renowned historian simply known as Vellidia. She first published her findings around five thousand years ago. Vellidia was a graduate from a school of acolytes devoted to maintaining the pedestal the world still holds Ellhora on today. This was one of Vellidia’s final works before her newer findings were named blasphemous and she was burned on a pyre outside of the school with most of her works.”

“That’s horrific,” I state, unable to stop myself from imagining the scene .

“It is. Book burnings are still quite common in the Territories, though it is rare for a person to be burned at the stake with them,” Alec tells me as I open to a random page towards the beginning of the book. On the right side is a diagram of the willowbane tree, showcasing the hypothesized flow of life and magic within it before it was petrified. Several large veins run through the center of the tree, reminding me of vital arteries that run through the human circulatory system. Numbered segments correlate to a list of footnotes at the bottom of the page.

My eyes abandon the diagram, shift to the text on the left, and begin scanning down the page, taking in the information.

“Due to destruction of records during the Original War, little is known today about the concrete workings of the tree while it lived. In depth study of the willowbane tree was granted by The Eternal Children of the Mother of Millions, as well as the Ettanelle family, both entities who work in tandem for the preservation of what remains of the tree. Data collection between 112,089 AW and 112,133 AW have given insight to the intricate flow of life and magic from the tree to the earth, previously unknown.”

My throat tightens at reading the Ettanelle name: My mother’s surname.

My head lifts to find Alec watching me, both care and curiosity covering his handsome features.

“The Eternal Children of the Mother of Millions?” I ask incredulously.

“The name of the acolytes that are devoted to praising the Mother.”

Scoffing, I say with some disbelief, “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

Alec lets out a soft chuckle. “No, it certainly does not. ”

“When during the War was the tree said to have been poisoned and petrified by the gods?” I ask, head cocked to the side.

“The tree was killed in the early days of the gods’ arrival, beginning the war,” he responds seamlessly, his words rolling with his thick Quinndohsi accent.

“And the war is said to have ended after the banishment?” My forehead furrows, my vision from the country house again crossing my mind. Ellhora’s memory of killing the tree was fresh, as if it had only just happened.

After I had the vision, my subconscious guided me, fanning my apprehension towards Locane and keeping me from wanting to share this information that very few, if any, hold. But being with Alec now, soaking in his shimmering and pure aura, none of that skepticism I held for his brother makes an appearance. Quite the contrary—my instincts are screaming at me to trust him; to share with him and be honest about what I’ve Seen, the same as they had earlier when I shared this information with Nana.

Taking a deep breath, I speak before I can change my mind and pull back into myself. “The gods didn’t poison the tree. Ellhora did.”