Page 10 of Eternal Thorns

Thorne steadied himself against his oak throne, trying to process this new information while his magic still hummed from contact with the key. “What kind of songs?”

“That's the thing.” Briar wrung her hands, causing sparks of anxiety-magic to fall like stars. “They're love songs. Old ones, about the time before the sundering. About human and fey hearts beating as one. The dryads don't even know why they're singing them, the melodies just keep bubbling up.”

“And the dreams?”

“How did you know about those?” When Thorne just looked at her, Briar sighed. “Right, of course you know. The youngerspirits are all having them. Visions of the old days, of mixed courts where human and fey danced together. Some are even dreaming of” She hesitated.

“Of what?”

“Of you. But not like you are now. They see you laughing, dancing, your power unbound by grief. And there's always someone else in the dreams, a human with storm-gray eyes”

“Enough.” The word carried enough power to make the grove's flowers close. Briar took a step back, her glow dimming.

Thorne paced the grove's perimeter, his form flickering between shapes as he thought. The arrival of an Ashworth with an ancient key was troubling enough. But these other signs suggested something far more dangerous. The very foundations of his realm were responding to the man’s presence, awakening magics better left dormant.

The Elder Willow's warnings about patterns and healing rang hollow now. This wasn't about healing. This was about survival. Everything he'd built, everything he'd protected since the betrayal, was at risk of unraveling.

“Um,” Briar ventured, “what are you going to do?”

Moonlight filtered through the canopy, turning Thorne's markings to liquid silver. His power gathered around him like a storm preparing to break. “I'm going to deal with this directly.”

“The council said to watch and wait.”

“The council doesn't understand what's at stake.” His form shifted fully into his true shape for a moment - antlers of shadow, eyes of starfire, skin of ancient bark. “If this Ashworth has somehow found one of the original keys, if he's already affecting the forest this strongly just by existing, we can't afford to wait.”

“What if the Elder Willow is right?” Briar asked quietly. “What if this is meant to heal things?”

“Some wounds don't heal, little spark. Some betrayals run too deep.” Thorne began gathering the magic he'd need, weaving shadows and moonlight into patterns of power. “I'll test his intentions myself. And if I find any trace of his ancestor's treachery”

He left the threat unspoken, but the grove darkened in response to his resolve. Briar shivered, her glow barely visible now.

“When?” she whispered.

“Tomorrow night. Let him settle in, feel secure.” Thorne's smile held no warmth. “The manor's wards may welcome him, but I intend to show him exactly what it means to trespass in my realm.”

As if in answer, the key's distant power pulsed once, sending ripples through the forest's magic. Thorne ignored the way it made his own power sing in response, the way it called to something buried beneath centuries of carefully cultivated bitterness.

Tomorrow night, he would confront this latest Ashworth. Tomorrow night, he would discover if the man carried more than just his ancestor's face. And if necessary, tomorrow night, he would end whatever chain of destiny the Elder Willow thought she saw unfolding.

The forest's magic swirled around him like a living thing, responding to his intention. In the distance, wolves began to howl - not quite wolf, not quite fey, but something in between. The hunt was coming.

And Thorne intended to make sure this Ashworth understood exactly what kind of power he had wandered into.

4

NIGHT VISIT

Silas sneezed for what felt like the hundredth time as another cloud of dust erupted from the sheet he was pulling off an ancient sideboard. The manor's main hall was gradually emerging from decades of neglect, though “habitable” might be a generous term for their progress.

“If I die of dust inhalation,” Kai called from across the room, “I want you to tell everyone it was something more heroic. Like fighting a dragon.”

“Sure. I'll say you died saving orphans from a dragon. While doing backflips.” Silas paused, studying the newly revealed sideboard. Beneath years of grime, intricate carvings decorated the dark wood. He ran his fingers along the patterns, feeling something strange in their repetition.

“I do love a good backflip,” Kai said. “Speaking of heroic deeds, this fireplace is being a real pain in the ass.” The sound of flint striking steel punctuated his words. “Wood's dry as bones but won't catch.”

The key around Silas's neck had been growing steadily warmer as darkness fell. Now it practically burned as he approached one of the hall's stained glass windows. The coloredpanels depicted forest scenes that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles - or was that just his tired mind playing tricks?

“Maybe we should look for different wood,” Silas suggested, turning away from the window. But as he walked past the fireplace, the key flared with sudden heat. The kindling Kai had been fighting with burst into flames.

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