Page 3 of Eternal Thorns

“I understand,” Silas said carefully, “that you're choosing the most convenient way to hide your shame. Not exile, not disownment, but a quiet dismissal to a worthless estate where I can't cause any moreproblems.” He put just enough emphasis on the last word to make several council members shift uncomfortably.

“Mind your tone,” his father warned.

“Why?” Silas felt reckless heat rising in his chest. “Isn't that exactly what this is? You can tell everyone I'm 'learning estate management' while you do damage control. Keep up appearances. That's what matters most, isn't it?”

A muscle twitched in Lord Thomas' jaw. “You will leave for Thornhaven tomorrow morning. This discussion is concluded.”

The council members began to disperse, their silk clothing rustling like dead leaves. Some shot Silas disapproving glances, others pretended he'd already ceased to exist. Regina paused just long enough to whisper something to her mother while staring directly at him, her smile sharp as a knife.

“Silas.” Lady Evangeline's voice cut through the emptying hall. “A word in my study, if you please.”

It wasn't really a request. Silas knew his grandmother's commands when he heard them, even when wrapped in courtly politeness. He followed her through the winding corridors of Ashworth Manor, watching how she moved with fluid grace despite her age and the cane she carried. The portraits seemed to watch them pass, their painted eyes following their progress through the dim halls.

Lady Evangeline's study occupied the manor's east tower, a circular room lined with towering bookshelves and cluttered with curiosities from her decades of travel and collection. Silas had spent countless childhood hours here, exploring the glass cases filled with strange artifacts and poring over maps of places he'd never heard of. The familiar smell of old books and his grandmother's rose tea usually brought comfort. Tonight, it just made his stomach twist.

“Shut the door,” she instructed, settling into her favorite armchair by the crackling fireplace.

A half-finished game of chess sat on the small table beside her, the pieces carved from some dark wood Silas had never been able to identify.

He closed the heavy door and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling like a child about to be scolded. The firelight caught on strange objects around the room—a crystal skull that seemed to watch him, a collection of curved daggers with jeweled hilts, maps marked with symbols he'd never learned to read.

“Your father,” Lady Evangeline said carefully, “is an idiot.”

Silas choked on a surprised laugh. Of all the things he'd expected her to say, that wasn't one of them.

“Sending you to Thornhaven.” She shook her head, silver hair catching the firelight. “He thinks he's being clever, teaching you a lesson about isolation and hardship. He has no idea what he's really doing.”

“What do you mean?” Silas moved closer, dropping into the chair opposite her. An ancient tapestry hung on the wall behind her, its threads dulled with age. He'd never paid it much attention before, but now he noticed it showed the Eldergrove, its trees reaching toward a strange, starless sky.

“Did you ever wonder why we kept Thornhaven, when it's so far from our other holdings? Why no one lives there, despite the size of the estate?” She leaned forward, her pale eyes intense. “Why the family never sold it, even when we needed funds?”

“I assumed it was worthless,” Silas said. “Because of the Eldergrove.”

“Worthless?” She laughed softly. “Oh, my dear boy. That land is anything but worthless. It'spriceless. And that's precisely why it's dangerous.”

She rose suddenly, moving to one of the many cabinets that lined the walls. Her fingers traced the wood until she found whatever secret catch she was looking for. A small drawer popped open with a click.

“The stories about the Eldergrove aren't just stories,” she continued, retrieving something from the drawer. “Your great-great-uncle Edmund disappeared there. They found his horse at the forest's edge, but never a trace of him. Your cousin Marie, when she was just a girl, wandered too close. She came back changed. Never spoke again. And Marcus…”

Silas felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter night. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to understand.” She returned to her chair, something clutched in her hand. “The forest remembers the Ashworth name, and not fondly. There are old wounds there, old promises broken. Old magic that doesn't forgive easily.”

“Magic?”Silas fought to keep his voice steady despite his racing heart. The word itself felt dangerous here in his grandmother's study, where shadows seemed to move against the candlelight. “We've spent generations denying its existence. The official stance is that magic died out centuries ago.”

His grandmother's laugh held no humor. “Official stances rarely align with truth. You've felt it yourself, haven't you? In the gardens at night? In the way certain books call to you from the library shelves?”

Silas's mouth went dry. He'd never told anyone about those moments - the way plants seemed to reach for him during his midnight wanderings, how certain ancient texts made his fingers tingle when he touched them.

“Those are just stories,” he said, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears. “Tales to frighten children away from the Eldergrove.”

“Is that what you truly believe?” She opened her hand, revealing a key unlike any he'd seen before. The metal seemed to shift in the candlelight, its engravings moving when he wasn't looking directly at them. “Or is that what you've been taught to say?”

“Gran, you're not making any sense.” But his eyes kept being drawn back to the key. Something about it called to him on a level he couldn't explain.

“Take it,” she said. “It belonged to your grandfather. He meant for you to have it, though he never told me why.”

Silas reached for the key hesitantly. The metal was indeed cold, and it seemed to hum faintly against his palm. “What does it open?”

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