Page 98 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
The picture lined walls of the cozy alcove absorb Alec’s rumbling laugh. An irrational part of myself wants to break down the stone to steal the sound back.
“You were not so concerned with the books in the study,” he reminds me with a grin. “And being around Kraeston is a fire hazard.”
A lilting laugh flies past my lips, and Alec’s face lights up at the sound, as if he were a deaf man hearing music for the first time.
Is this how it always was with us?I can’t help the question stampeding through my mind.
The weight of warm familiarity drenching our interaction slams down on me. The ease of being around Alec is far too indicative of what I may still be missing from my memories; what can no longerbe because I gave into my desire for a familiarity so kindred to what simmers between us now. The thought is too much to bear.
My joyful face falls, becoming guarded once more. Alec notices my shift, his own smile muting. But he doesn’t push, surely afraid that if he does, I will flee.
Swallowing hard, I sink back into my seat, not realizing until now that my body was pulling towards Alec, moving closer still even after I pulled the cigarette from his full mouth.
Nodding towards the book about the willowbane tree laying in his lap, I ask, “Why this one?”
Glancing down at the book, as if he had forgotten it was even there, Alec runs the pads of his fingers over the cover, tracing the lines of the white tree. “I thought you might want to start where everything began. With the willowbane tree. This one pertains more to the science behind the way the tree worked before it died, and focuses less on the Ellhora’s ties to it, though this text does claim her as both the world and the willowbane tree’s creator.”
“Who wrote this book?” I ask, leaning over to take it from Alec to inspect myself. It’s an unused print; the pages are glossy and stiff when I open it.
“A renowned historian simply known as Vellidia. She first published her findings around five thousand years ago. Vellidia was a graduate from a school of acolytes devoted to maintaining the pedestal the world still holds Ellhora on today. This was one of Vellidia’s final works before her newer findings were named blasphemous and she was burned on a pyre outside of the school with most of her works.”
“That’s horrific,” I state, unable to stop myself from imagining the scene.
“It is. Book burnings are still quite common in the Territories, though it is rare for a person to be burned at the stake with them,” Alec tells me as I open to a random page towards the beginning of the book. On the right side is a diagram of the willowbane tree, showcasing the hypothesized flow of life and magic within it before it was petrified. Several large veins run through the center of the tree, reminding me of vital arteries that run through the human circulatory system. Numbered segments correlate to a list of footnotes at the bottom of the page.
My eyes abandon the diagram, shift to the text on the left, and begin scanning down the page, taking in the information.
“Due to destruction of records during the Original War, little is known today about the concrete workings of the tree while it lived. In depth study of the willowbane tree was granted by The Eternal Children of the Mother of Millions, as well as the Ettanelle family, both entities who work in tandem for the preservation of what remains of the tree. Data collection between 112,089 AW and 112,133 AW have given insight to the intricate flow of life and magic from the tree to the earth, previously unknown.”
My throat tightens at reading the Ettanelle name: My mother’s surname.
My head lifts to find Alec watching me, both care and curiosity covering his handsome features.
“The Eternal Children of the Mother of Millions?” I ask incredulously.
“The name of the acolytes that are devoted to praising the Mother.”
Scoffing, I say with some disbelief, “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”
Alec lets out a soft chuckle. “No, it certainly does not.”
“When during the War was the tree said to have been poisoned and petrified by the gods?” I ask, head cocked to the side.
“The tree was killed in the early days of the gods’ arrival, beginning the war,” he responds seamlessly, his words rolling with his thick Quinndohsi accent.
“And the war is said to have ended after the banishment?” My forehead furrows, my vision from the country house again crossing my mind. Ellhora’s memory of killing the tree was fresh, as if it had only just happened.
After I had the vision, my subconscious guided me, fanning my apprehension towards Locane and keeping me from wanting to share this information that very few, if any, hold. But being with Alec now, soaking in his shimmering and pure aura, none of that skepticism I held for his brother makes an appearance. Quite the contrary—my instincts are screaming at me to trust him; to share with him and be honest about what I’ve Seen, the same as they had earlier when I shared this information with Nana.
Taking a deep breath, I speak before I can change my mind and pull back into myself. “The gods didn’t poison the tree. Ellhora did.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ELLYA
Alec sits staring at me for a moment, unspeaking as he processes what I’ve said.
“You have Seen this,” he finally states, not questioning my words at all, only giving me inherent blind trust.
