Page 10 of The Curse and the Silver Rose

CHAPTER 5

Amelie held her breath in painful anticipation.

The man stopped, grunting as he undid his pants, and began to relieve himself. Despite her fear, Amelie screwed up her face in disgust, doubly glad he was out of view.

The massive trunk of the yew tree concealed her. As long as he didn’t venture any farther, she might remain undetected. The moments passed with agonizing slowness. Finally, the man finished. He shuffled around as he did up his pants.

Go away now, Amelie begged in her head. Please, please go away.

There was a pause while he seemed to be unmoving. Amelie frowned. What was he doing?

His footsteps crunched over the ground again, heading to the road, and she released a sigh. He was leaving. All she had to do was wait for a few minutes. The group would continue their journey in the opposite direction to her. She would not encounter them again.

Amelie was about to relax her grip on the saddle horn when she heard something ominous. The man’s footsteps halted, then turned around and stomped back toward her.

Amelie froze in fear. “Trésor,” she breathed.

Surely the horse heard him approach. What did Trésor plan to do? The mare was doubtlessly fast, but she couldn’t gallop at full speed through the dense forest, could she? She’d break her leg on roots or fallen branches.

“Hello there,” said the man in surprise as he stepped around the yew.

He wore brown trousers, a stained shirt, and had bloodshot eyes. A hatchet hung from the belt around his waist. He blinked, trying to process the unexpected discovery of a golden horse, upon which sat a young woman clutching a silver rose.

“Oi, fellas!” he yelled out. “Fellas, you’ll never?—”

The man abruptly stopped yelling when Amelie removed the bud from her rose. The exposed Sirenstone brought forth the brilliant blue sword, filling the air with unearthly Sirensong. He winced and cursed savagely yet did not flee, reaching for his hatchet. His friends called out to him from the road.

As he lunged toward Amelie, Trésor reared up, striking at him with her hooves and snorting loudly. He fell and scrambled backward to avoid being trampled. Amelie hung onto the sword and saddle horn for dear life. She barely had time to register what was happening when Trésor took off at a run.

The horse cantered through the forest with the agility of a gazelle, clearing vines and fallen tree trunks with ease. Leaves whipped Amelie’s face and she ducked several times under low-hanging branches. The Sirensong still rang through the air, filling her with a sensation of power and grace.

The men shouted after her, but their voices quickly faded. Trésor angled to the right, toward the road. Amelie frantically used the opportunity to replace the bud on her sword and return the rose to her satchel. She’d need both hands to keep herself from being thrown off the saddle.

Trésor burst through the tree line onto the earthen road, where she galloped at speed. Amelie glanced back at the two raiders who remained with the group’s horses and cart. The men were on foot and could do nothing except watch in puzzlement as she rode away.

Once over the rise, Trésor pushed even faster, her hooves thundering on the flat brown road. Amelie’s hair flew back, her cloak billowing around her. The horse seemed to achieve an impossible speed, trees and stunned travelers whizzing past in a blur.

Trésor took several forks in the road without hesitation, and Amelie felt more sure than ever that the mare knew the route to the castle. She trusted the horse implicitly—especially since Trésor had spirited her away from the raiders. If not for the mare’s keen senses and quick thinking, Amelie would’ve stumbled unwittingly into their clutches.

The landscape became even darker the farther they traveled. The darkness had nothing to do with the time of day—indeed, it was high noon and the sun was radiant. But the trees had become gigantically tall, and the leaves were so dark they almost looked purple. Even the grass and soil were rich, deep hues.

Finally, when the road began to narrow and steepen, Trésor slowed to a gentle canter, and then a trot. Amelie was breathless from the ride but the horse seemed as fresh as ever, her pale mane shining in the sun and her coat immaculately smooth.

“Thank you, Trésor,” said Amelie when she had caught her breath. “I owe you, my friend.”

She leaned forward and stroked Trésor’s neck. If the raiders had given chase, they would’ve been left far behind. Amelie shuddered at the thought of the danger she’d nearly found herself in. Her fear had mostly abated now, yet the ghost of it clung to her, leaving her shaken.

This prompted another nerve-wracking thought.

“We must be nearing the castle,” she said to Trésor.

What fresh terror awaited her there? The raiders had been bad enough. She’d escaped them, only to deliver herself on a silver platter—or rather, a golden horse—to a beast.

Heavy grey clouds gathered, obscuring the sun. A stiff wind picked up and sent dead leaves spiraling in the air, making Amelie glad she brought her cloak, even though it was midsummer. Then, she saw it. An enormous castle loomed through the trees. Made of grey stone, the turrets stretched high into the air, stately and imposing.

Navy and gold banners hung from the towers, and the windows were dark. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the estate and a moat encircled the castle, the drawbridge down. The massive grounds were well-kept but desolate. Built on a secluded tract of land, the forest encroaching on all sides, the castle looked almost haunted.

And yet, it was beautiful, in an arresting sort of way. The design was intricate and unique, showcasing an architectural style that Amelie had only ever seen in books. How strange that such a magnificent structure was hidden away in the middle of a dark forest.

---