Page 35 of To Ride the Wind

A stunningly beautiful girl stared into the distance, her golden hair matching her gown of golden satin. But more impressive still was her hand, which rested on the shoulder of an enormous white bear.

The pose was affectionate on her behalf and protective on his, although Gwen couldn’t have put into words what gave her that impression. The painter had placed them in a spring setting, in a forest, although Gwen could see the edge of a gray stone building that reminded her unpleasantly of the stone that always surrounded her.

She stood still for several minutes, taking in every detail of the painting and trying to make sense of its existence. Why did her mother possess such a portrait—it matched no one Gwen had ever met—and why was it concealed in her bedchamber?

Something about the fanciful idea of a girl with a bear as a companion reminded Gwen of a fairy story. And nothing could match her mother less. Her mother didn’t waste time on imagination or stories for children.

Unless the portrait itself hid something? It wouldn’t explain the subjects of the painting, but it could possibly explain the concealing curtains.

Gwen stepped close enough to touch it, hesitating for a moment before carefully running her fingers along the edge of the frame, feeling behind it. Sure enough, she found a small lever that she managed to pull upward with a single finger.

As soon as she touched it, a creaking sounded, and the entire life-size portrait swung forward. Gwen only just jumped out of the way in time, gaping at the dark space revealed behind. She had been looking for hidden doors but had only half expected to actually find one.

She stepped to the edge of the space, peering into the black. Just as she was considering going in search of a candle, her eyes adjusted. It wasn’t completely dark inside after all—she could see the rim of sunlight around at least two sets of closed curtains.

Within moments, her eyes had adjusted enough to allow her to step inside without any further illumination. Whatever she had expected to find, however, it wasn’t what awaited her.

Several chests rested against one of the walls, their lids thrown open to reveal the sort of riches you might expect to find in a secure treasury. But they weren’t what drew Gwen’s attention.

Scattered around the middle of the room were a series of plinths, each proudly displaying a single item. She had seen an illustration like this in a book once. It had shown a royal treasury, with the positions of honor reserved for godmother objects that had been passed down within the kingdom through generations.

Gwen gasped as her gaze roamed over the room. There were so many of them. And yet, she knew of no recent stories about the godmothers visiting the mountain kingdom. Where had they all come from?

She stepped closer, fascinated. Her fingers reached for the nearest object, but she pulled her hand back. These weren’t like the treasures in the chests. They had power she didn’t understand, and a single touch might be enough to unleash something.

She wanted hours to slowly look through the room, guessing at the powers and original purpose of each object. But she didn’t know how much longer she had. Her fruitless search of her mother’s room had already taken too long. She should have looked for a hidden door first.

Her attention was drawn to a plinth that held two items. They both appeared to be made of gold, but they had a soft, pliable look that didn’t match the metal. She knew why she had been drawn to them—the miniature version of a halter and whip were unusual items to see molded from gold, but they were also familiar. Just looking at them brought back the sensation of wind in Gwen’s hair as she galloped away from the palace.

Without meaning to do so, her hand rose, reaching to finger the halter. The whip made her shudder—she didn’t like them and had never used one—but the halter felt like freedom.

As her skin touched warm, supple metal, the air pressure around her changed. Someone had just entered the room. She jumped, whirling to face Queen Celandine, standing in the doorway of her secret treasury.

Gwen’s face and hands went cold, her breath catching. How had she been so careless? She should have noted what she could and already left. She should have—

“Well done, my daughter!” The queen smiled at her, and for once she actually looked pleased.

“I’m sor—What?” Gwen asked, caught off guard in the middle of her half-formed apology.

Her mother gestured for her to exit the hidden room, but Gwen hesitated. Was there some reason why her mother didn’t want to unleash her anger in this room full of powerful objects?

But staying would only increase her mother’s wrath. So Gwen stumbled out in her wake, watching numbly as the queen closed both the portrait door and the curtains, shutting the girl and bear from view. Gwen almost blurted out a question about the girl’s identity, but she held it in.

When her mother turned to her, Gwen’s surprise grew, however. She still had the unfamiliar look of actual pleasure. If it had been on anyone else’s face, Gwen would have called it pride.

“I wondered when you would find your way here,” the queen said. “Perhaps I should have had that conversation about your marriage with you earlier.”

“You’re…pleased I’m here?” Gwen asked, analyzing her mother’s face for any hint of her true emotions.

“Soon you will be married,” her mother said, “and to an outsider. Some spine and spirit will be necessary if you are to keep him in line. It is a skill you must learn because your husband will not be the last you must control.”

Gwen swallowed. She was not only to have a stranger thrust on her as a husband, but she would be responsible for his subservience to her mother as well? And what was this talk of others? Her mother surely couldn’t mean more lowlanders, could she?

The queen approached her, cupping Gwen’s face in what might have been a loving, comforting gesture from a normal mother. From Queen Celandine, it sent a chill racing down Gwen’s spine.

“Of course, my daughter,” she said, dropping her voice low, “independence shouldn’t be taken too far or else it might grow displeasing.”

She emphasized the last word in a way that made Gwen want to shrink from her hand. She forced herself to remain as still as a statue, however.

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