The Reign of Trees Page 5

  “Of course.”

  “Then they will be heading east.” She was not a fool. Even the laymen knew Burchess lay to the east of Deltegra.

  “And east is …?” he asked.

  Illianah knew she must have looked like he had just scolded her. She blinked at him and then turned her head to the horizon. This should be simple. That mountain range must be the one that separated Deltegra from Vieve, which would mean that direction was south. East would be to her left, where Henrick was standing. She turned to face him and pointed past his shoulder. “East,” she said smugly.

  “If that is east, then the sun does not light your bedchamber until midday, correct?”

  No, that was not right. She always awoke with the sun in her eye, causing her to curse at the window’s placement. She looked up at the tower which housed her quarters and found her window. Her window would face east. She looked in that direction. “That is east?” she asked.

  “Yes, and this,” he said, pointing to the mountains, “Is west. That is our border with Ticugua.”

  “And the mountains of Vieve?”

  He strained his eyes to the south. “They are cloud-covered today. But believe me, they are far more majestic than the mountains of Ticugua.”

  “Well, as you can see, I am not spying on you, for I would send the troops to the wrong country.”

  Henrick smiled. “Yes, I told the men you are entirely harmless.” His eyes hardened. “At least in that manner.”

  She turned her head away from him and studied the forest, as if that held her interest, but she was really trying to hide her smile of satisfaction.

  “Pray tell me, what are you at then?” Henrick stepped closer and turned so his back rested against the wall. There was no escaping his vision now.

  “I am forlorn. Hopelessly, miserably forlorn.”

  “You are not here under normal circumstances. This is hardly the time for entertaining.”

  “You do realize that if we were under ‘normal circumstances,’ I would not be here at all?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His face looked subdued. “But of course. I’m certain it would be a cold day in hell before Her Royal Highness, Princess Illianah, descended from on high to visit Deltegra.”

  At first, his words ignited a hatred within her chest, but then the more she studied his solemn eyes, she felt shame at her own haughtiness. “There was a time, Prince Henrick, when a visit to your castle would have been desired.”

  He nodded, ever so slightly, yet her words did not appear to bring him any comfort. In fact, it looked as if it brought him even greater pain.

  Against her wishes, her throat tightened and her eyes filled with tears. She would not let him know that thoughts of what once may have been brought her such sadness. She knew she must hide these thoughts from him, but realizing that brought her even more pain. All her emotions had to be stifled while at the castle of Andoradda. She had no one to confide in. No one here cared one whit about her. “I miss my home,” she whispered. “I am … so lonely.”

  His face softened. “Yes, I should have given that greater consideration. You have been rather isolated here. I hope you will find comfort in writing to your family.”

  “Some,” she said. Really, it brought her no satisfaction filling those parchments with empty words, but she hoped her heart would lift once she heard back from Burchess.

  “I can only imagine the pain it brings you to be separated from your husband.”

  Illianah hoped that the happiness she felt in her heart at that moment was not reflected on her face. No, being separated from Leif brought her no pain. In fact, every morning as she woke to an empty bed, she felt elated she had escaped the drudgery of loving Leif. She debated on what to say next, and then decided her words were better left unsaid. She could not speak ill of Leif to anyone, let alone to her captor and her husband’s rival. Words finally came that would neither paint her as unfeeling nor give Henrick room in her heart. “I would be more concerned about the pain you have caused him. I do worry about the retribution that will befall you.”

  Henrick smiled dismally and said, “As do I.”

  He turned and put his forearms on the top of the wall, keeping his eyes on the forest.

  Illianah broke a long, awkward silence by saying, “The beauty of Deltegra amazes me.” Henrick did not acknowledge her. “I do wonder why the castle was not built to face this direction though; it is a much better view.” The view from her window offered her only the courtyard and a vast green field with a few clusters of aspen.

  “Again, you prove your ignorance as a spy,” he said. At first, she was offended by his comment, but she saw the wry smile upon his lips and she realized he was teasing her. “It is strategic, Illianah. The castle faces east, toward …”

  “Burchess,” she interrupted as the castle’s placement dawned on her.

  “Right. Enemies then, when King Polard built the castle. And enemies still.”

  “So the castle is always watching for attack from your eastern border.”

  “Precisely. A wide meadow gives no allowance for cover if soldiers were to approach from the east.”

  “But from the south and west, you are rather vulnerable, are you not?” The forest began just a stone’s throw away from the rear of the castle. Thousands of soldiers could find cover there.

  “So it may seem. However, within the forest lies the River of Dungess. It is three times wider than the streets of our marketplace and it moves as swift as a team of four horses. Crossing it is nearly impossible.”

  “There is no bridge?”

  “Ah, there is a bridge. Yet it is heavily guarded. The troops stationed there have strict orders to destroy the bridge if ever under attack.”

  “And the river does not freeze?”

  Henrick smiled, but it was not his widest smile. However, it was wide enough to make Illianah’s heart race. “Perhaps I need to reconsider my assessment of your surreptitious mind.”

  “I mean you no harm, My Lord. Just making certain your defenses are adequate.”

  He smiled again; this time he appeared to bite down on the inside of his lip to keep his smile from growing too large. “It does freeze, but only where it is slow and shallow. If one wanted to attack us from the south, it would be best done in the winter.” His eyes bore into hers. He had just offered her a valuable piece of military information. He knew exactly what he was doing; he was giving her his trust.

  “I shall keep that in mind if I ever decided to lead an attack against you with my armies of thousands.”

  “Now that would be a sight to behold,” he said with a playful look upon his face.

  He righted himself, taking his forearms off the wall; he turned to the now-empty courtyard. “It looks like they moved-out without me. You have already proven to be dangerous.”

  She smiled at his flattery and said, “You came up here of your own free will.”

  “Speaking for the entire male race, I would say that there is no such thing as free will when Princess Illianah is involved.”

  Her face fell, along with her heart. “Then this world is ridiculously ironic, as Princess Illianah has neither freedom nor a will that belongs to her and her alone.”

  Her words produced the same appearance in Henrick: his face looked solemn. She did not intend to say he had taken away her freedom, although that interpretation was fitting as well.

  Once the air around them had long since grown uncomfortably silent, he said, “Perhaps I have something that will help you pass the time.”

  ***

  The tower opposite Illianah’s housed the bedchambers for the royal family. Prince Henrick took her halfway up the tower and into a bedchamber much grander than hers. A four-poster bed with intricately carved wood dominated the room. The curtains were drawn on the window, making the room feel eerie and cold.

  Illianah was instantly drawn to the hearth, which her room lacked, but it did not look like it had been used for many years. Above the
hearth was a painting of a beautiful woman with black hair and eyes of coal. Queen Sophia. “Your mother’s bedchamber?” Illianah asked.

  “Yes,” Henrick replied. He went to the foot of the bed and knelt before a large chest, also beautifully carved from Deltegran wood.

  “I never had the chance to tell you how sorry I was to hear of her death,” she said. Queen Sophia had been too ill to come to Burchess two years ago when Henrick had come with the intent of claiming Illianah’s hand; the queen had succumbed to her illness just months after King and Prince Henrick had returned to Deltegra. Illianah had wished to send her condolences to the king and his son, but her father forbade it. Relations between the two countries, which had always been tense, had escalated to a dangerous new level. In fact, had Deltegra’s forces been greater in number, it was certain that they would have attacked. It now appeared that Deltegra was finally getting its war, and on their home territory too. The attack on Freidlenburg must have been many years in the making.

  “Thank you,” Henrick said without looking at Illianah. “It is obvious that this castle is still haunted by her absence, as you pointed out earlier.”

  “I am sorry for not being more sensitive. I was being selfish.”

  He smirked. “’Tis a common trait we royals possess.”

  She smiled as well.

  Prince Henrick began pulling items out of the chest. Lavish gowns were carefully folded and placed on top. Underneath those were books, candlesticks, and a large circular loom with loose threads hanging from the fabric. “My mother started this after Katherine died. Katherine was the third child my mother lost, and we believe it is what contributed to my mother’s ill health. Her heart had been broken one too many times. The border,” he said, grabbing the edge of the fabric, “is our family crest, woven into a chain that is to be unbroken by death. And each of these,” he pointed to the flowers inside the border, “represents the members of our family. My father, at the center, is the orchid.” Underneath the orchid, a tiny script was legible. “Henrick Da Via.”

  “I am next, the eldest son—the elderberry—signifying that through me, the fruit of Da Via will blossom.” Underneath the elderberry, was the script “Donovan.”

  “Donovan?” she asked.

  “My mother called me by my Christian name. She said that I was too unique—too special—to have the name of another.”

  “Donovan,” Illianah repeated. She liked how it sounded on her tongue: like a river rolling down a hillside brimming with large rocks. “It is fitting,” she said. Henrick always seemed so bold a name for someone as gentle as the prince. Even though she had known him as Prince Henrick her entire life, her heart changed his name to Donovan the second it rolled off her tongue.

  He continued to show her the needlework. Two flowers represented his younger brothers who had both died in their infancy, and delicate yellow roses represented his sister Katherine. In the upper right corner was a pink flower—a weeping cherry blossom to represent his mother. Only it was not finished. There were just three small blossoms; many more were needed to cover a space of over a foot. “Perhaps you would like to finish it for her,” Prince Donovan Henrick Da Via said.

  “Your family tapestry? I cannot.”

  “I know I am most certainly not going to try my hand at it. And the king is too … well, perhaps you have noticed how his hands shake? We are the only two Da Vias left. It may never get finished.”

  She wanted to suggest that someday he would have a bride and finishing the tapestry should fall upon her, but Illianah could not bear to speak those words.

  “You are in want of something to keep your hands from being idle, and this would fill my mother’s dying request. She was very fond of you, Illianah.”

  “She had not seen me since I was a child, not even thirteen.”

  “Which would explain the fondness,” he teased.

  Illianah carefully studied the complex needlepoint. In addition to feeling certain she should not be the person to finish the tapestry, she did not know her skill matched his mother’s. “I really do not feel qualified to complete this task,” she said, hoping he would hear the desperate uncertainty in her voice and reconsider his offer.

  “Nonsense. It would make my mother very happy to have you do this for her.”

  As Illianah continued to carefully study the needlepoint, Donovan left her side. She noticed one section, just below the cherry blossoms, where it was obvious that threads had been clipped and removed. Only a few white threads remained. “My Lord?” she asked, “what was here?”

  He looked on her with eyes deeply pained and seemed to hesitate before answering. His mouth moved once without producing words, and then the second time he opened his mouth, his voice was not soft as she had expected. It was hard and edged with bitterness. “A lily,” he said.

  A lily. Her flower. She was meant to be on that tapestry.

  Chapter Five

  It took Illianah two days before she gathered enough courage to work on the tapestry. But before she could begin her stitches, she had to make certain the remnants of the lily were removed. At first, she was angry about the flower. Queen Sofia should never have been so presumptuous to assume that Illianah would become a part of the Da Via family, even though the marriage had been in the works since she was eight. Her father valued the wood imported from Deltegra more than any other commodity, and Deltegra needed the protection a bond with Burchess would bring. But apparently, the two kings could not look past their differences even though a union would profit them both greatly. And neither king took into account the fact that the young prince and princess seemed to be fond of each other and would actually have been very happy in marriage. Illianah’s anger over the lily was then replaced with sadness; sadness for what may have been, as well as sadness for the losses within the house of Da Via. Illianah considered herself to be privileged that she had been spared the pain of losing loved ones. Her own mother had died during childbirth, and while Illianah often felt the emptiness in her heart from not having a mother, she never had shed tears over her mother’s death.

  Illianah had another reason to be sad for Prince Donovan: she knew the pressure of providing an heir and she wondered if it loomed over Donovan with the same bleakness that seemed to cast a shadow across her womb. Although, she did realize she had one less concern than Donovan did; Illianah no longer had to worry about whom she would be forced to marry. She wondered if Donovan would have any say in the matter, and if he did, who would he choose to provide him with offspring?

  After just minutes of thinking along those lines, Illianah became angry again and realizing her own jealousy made her blood boil even hotter.

  Illianah carefully drew a sketch of the weeping cherry blossoms before she began her embroidery. She decided that there needed to be enough cherry blossoms to cover the remaining space on the tapestry, covering the spot where the lily had once been. This made her smile with satisfaction. It did not leave a space for whomever it was that would become Donovan’s bride. Her deliberate pattern on the tapestry was the only vengeance she would be allotted.

  Three days after she began stitching the cherry blossoms, she felt brave enough to work on her needlepoint in the solar. She sat by the window and busied her hands, and after quite some time, Donovan entered the room, just as she hoped he would. He approached and said, “I see someone has stolen my favorite seat.” But a soft smile was upon his lips as he said this, indicating he had no real objection to her sitting there.

  “I need good light,” she replied.

  He came close enough to take one corner of the tapestry in his hand. Having him stand so near left her breathless, but she was also holding her breath in hopes that he would approve of her handiwork.

  “It is lovely. Your stitches are every bit as elegant as mother’s,” he said, almost in reverence.

  “Thank you, Donovan,” she replied.

  He righted himself and looked as if he had turned into a ridged wooden beam. She quickly panicked. “Is
it all right that I call you by your Christian name? Your mother was right, you are not a Henrick.”

  The corners of his mouth tugged at a reluctant smile, but his eyes still held an immense sadness. “Only my mother called me Donovan. It is a bit shocking to hear it fall upon my ears after such a lengthy silence. But you may call me whatever you wish, as long as you do not use words like barbaric, or say that you hate me.”

  She fought the urge to smile freely, yet her heart overpowered her face. “Ah, so you do remember how to smile,” he said. This made her smile even more, although her mind was telling her she was behaving foolishly and in a manner very unbecoming a married princess—a married princess who was being held captive by her enemies, nonetheless.

  Donovan sat in a chair near the hearth and began to read some parchments. He continued to smile as he read. “Good news?” she inquired.

  “Yes. Very. The battle at the border has been entirely in our favor.”

  His good news should have been her bad news, but she felt no pain inflicted from his words. She bowed her head and pretended to be immersed in her work.

  “Does this news trouble you, Princess Illianah?”

  “Yes, greatly,” she lied. “You are distressing my father and his kingdom, therefore you are distressing me.”

  “But of course,” he said. “Then why do you still smile?”

  “I do no such thing.” She tried her best to force her mouth to frown, but it seemed to have no connection with her will.

  Donovan pursed his lips, as if he were trying to keep from smiling as well. His eyes studied her carefully, as if he thought staring at her long enough would gain him entrance to her thoughts. Her heart fluttered within her chest like a giant butterfly trying to take flight. She was certain he saw her inhale deep enough to try and squash the butterfly. “Perhaps you smile because you are thrilled that you will have time to finish your needlepoint.”

  “Exactly. I never like to leave something unfinished.” She regretted the words once they passed from her lips. She should have said “leave a project unfinished,” but the way she had worded it was full of implications.