Page 4 of Eternal Thorns

“That's not the right question.” Lady Evangeline's gaze drifted to the tapestry. “The question is, what will it show you?”

“Gran, you're not making any sense.”

“No, I suppose I'm not.” She sighed, suddenly looking every one of her years. “Promise me something, Silas. Write to me. Every week, without fail. And stay away from the forest's edge, especially during the full moon. The barriers are thinnest then.”

“Barriers?” He leaned forward. “What barriers? What aren't you telling me?”

But she was already waving away his questions, her sharp mind visibly retreating behind the aristocratic mask she wore so well. “Just promise me. Weekly letters, and no wandering after dark.”

“I promise,” he said, though his curiosity was already burning. The key seemed heavier in his hand, like it was made of secrets rather than metal.

Lady Evangeline stood, smoothing her skirts with practiced grace. “Good. Now go pack. The road to Thornhaven is long, and the weather won't wait for you.”

“Gran,” he tried one last time, “please. Tell me what's really going on.”

She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame. For a moment, he thought she might actually answer. Instead, she said softly, “The forest remembers the Ashworth name, Silas. Make sure you're worthy of what that means.”

Then she was gone, leaving him alone with the strange key and the watching tapestry. In the firelight, the threads depicting the Eldergrove seemed to move, like branches swaying in a wind he couldn't feel. The crystal skull on a nearby shelf reflectedthe flames in its empty eyes, and somewhere in the darkness outside, an owl called.

Silas looked down at the key in his palm. The engravings definitely moved now, flowing like water across the metal's surface. Whatever his grandmother wasn't telling him, whatever waited for him at Thornhaven, he had a feeling his exile was going to be anything but boring.

He pocketed the key, its cold weight pressing against his chest through his shirt. Tomorrow, he would leave everything he'd ever known for a cursed estate on the edge of a haunted forest. And somehow, despite the fear and anger still churning in his gut, he felt more alive than he had in years.

The owl called again, closer this time. Through the study's window, Silas could see the snow falling harder, blanketing the world in white. Somewhere in the distance, barely visible through the swirling flakes, the Eldergrove waited. And for just a moment, he could have sworn he heard it whisper his name.

2

JOURNEY TO THORNHAVEN

Dawn painted the stable yard in shades of gray and pink when Silas led Midnight from her stall. The black mare snorted, her breath forming clouds in the frigid air. He'd chosen this early hour deliberately, hoping to avoid any dramatic farewell scenes. The last thing he needed was Regina's smirking face or his father's disappointed stare following him north.

“Well, you look like shit.”

Silas nearly dropped Midnight's reins. Kai lounged against the stable wall, a packed horse already waiting beside him. He wore his usual crooked grin, the one that had gotten them both into trouble countless times growing up.

“What are you doing here?” Silas asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion he knew. His grandmother's efficiency was legendary.

“Thought I'd take a holiday up north. Hear it's lovely this time of year.” Kai pushed off from the wall, his worn leather jacket creaking. “Complete coincidence that I'm heading the same way as you.”

“Kai.”

“Fine.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Your grandmother might have mentioned you could use some company. And I might be between jobs at the moment.”

“Between jobs or between heists?”

“You wound me, my lord.” Kai pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I'm totally legitimate these days. Mostly. Sometimes.”

Despite everything, Silas felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Trust Kai to show up exactly when needed, pretending it was all coincidence. They'd been doing this dance since they were kids - Kai, the servant's son with sticky fingers and a silver tongue, and Silas, the noble heir who'd rather spend time in the stables than the ballroom.

Silas remembered when their paths crossed.

He'd been twelve, desperately trying to prove himself worthy of the Ashworth name. The hunt had been going terribly - he'd missed two shots and nearly fallen from his horse. Then he'd heard someone laughing.

He'd found Kai perched in an oak tree, watching the noble hunters with barely concealed amusement. The servant boy had known every animal's trail, every hiding spot in those woods. More importantly, he'd had no interest in pretending to be impressed by titles or family names.

“You're holding the bow wrong,” Kai had called down. “And you're too stiff. Animals can sense that.”

Instead of being offended, Silas had asked him to teach him. That afternoon, hidden from the main hunting party, a servant's son taught a noble heir how to properly track and shoot. They'd ended up missing the rest of the hunt, too busy swapping stories and discovering shared interests.

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