Page 72 of A Trial of War
We waited until the last cart rolled by before moving again, the night pressing close around us. The farther we went, the more the terrain shifted. The grassy pasture thinned, replaced by rich, dark soil with tree roots and overturned earth.
Skylar held up her hand, and we stopped.
“What is it?” I whispered.
She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes narrowing on something beyond the next rise. “Do you see that?”
I followed her gaze. At first, I thought it was just the light. But then I saw it—the trees. Their trunks arched overhead. Each one bent toward the next, forming a natural arcing canopy that reminded me of rainbows in the sky after a rainstorm.
“The Rainbow Woods,” Skylar murmured. “This is it.”
“Looks like a trap to me,” Gunnar said. “Those trees are unnatural.”
“Good thing we have you with us if it is, Gunnar,” I said quietly. “But I don’t believe this forest is enchanted or meant to harm us.”
“How can you tell?” he asked, suspicion threading through his tone.
I touched one of the smoothed lower branches as we passed beneath it, a chill running through me at the contact.
Not hostile.
“Because this forest is old. Untouched by the dark magic of the wilt. My magic does not recoil from it.”
Skylar tilted her head, her expression softening with something like recognition. “Let’s go,” she said.
Her pace quickened, the firelight in her hair sparking brighter as if answering an unseen call. I followed closely, senses alert, magic coiled tight beneath my skin. The deeper we ventured, the thicker the forest grew until the world beyond it ceased to exist.
Then, through the veil of trees, I saw a glint of gold, a clearing waiting ahead. Lanterns hung from the branches like tiny suns, illuminating a circle of figures. Human soldiers stood in polished armor, their insignias gleaming faintly with the sigil of Zircon and the royal house of Avermont.
And at the center stood the princess herself. She wore a radiant gown of deep crimson and gold threading and what looked to be a silver feather pendant around her neck, with a familiar captain with salt-and-pepper hair standing protectively at her side.
Her eyes, a deep cerulean, contrasted with a braid of midnight hair falling over her shoulder, found Skylar first. “Cousin,” she began, “I had begun to think you would not come.”
Skylar inclined her head. “Your directions were a bit vague. But here we are.”
Réalta studied her, then flicked her gaze toward me. “Thank you both for coming.”
“Don’t forget me,” Gunnar said with a smirk. “I’d be happy to demonstrate the might of the Silver Meadows armies if this meeting turns out like the last.”
I eyed our general, signaling for him to stand down until they gave him a reason not to. He followed my nod, crossing his arms and staying close to our backs.
“Minaeve’s actions began with our people. If you’re claiming you wish to overthrow her, then I believe you’re owed a chance to convince us of your cause.”
A faint, knowing smile ghosted across Réalta’s lips. “Then we are all bound by a common enemy.” She gestured to the circle. “Come and speak freely. We’re safe in these woods.”
We stepped into the crackling firelight. Gunnar stayed near the edge. His posture was taut. Réalta’s captain—Wyndfall, who I remembered from Zircon City—stood at her back, a silent wall of steel.
Réalta’s voice carried the calm confidence of someone used to being in command. “Tell me what happened. Thetruth.Not the stories that survived Minaeve’s lies.”
Skylar drew in a breath, her fire sparking along her fingertips and in the depths of her amber eyes. The colors of the forest seemed to bend toward her, drawn by the gravity of what she was about to say.
“Minaeve sought unity once,” she began. “At least, that’s what she wanted us to believe. She came to the shifter lands preaching an alliance to save our dying world from the wilt and the trials to unlock the Heart of Valdor. However…” My mate paused, and I sent her a flood of strength through our bond to ease her racing heart. “However, Minaeve was the true cause of it all. The wilt was a byproduct of her dark magic.”
Réalta’s hands folded at her waist. “How did no one know of her treachery? That the wilt was caused by her?”
“The memory stones,” I answered plainly.
Réalta blinked rapidly in surprise but still kept her composure.
