Prologue

The pains came more frequently now. Even with the help of Edwina, it was a struggle to run. In the cramped darkness of the tunnel, she tried to maintain her footing, an impossible task with the burgeoning weight of her belly. Time was of the essence. They must not be caught, but the spasms were nearly unbearable.

“I can't go on,” she gasped, a sharp pang taking her breath away.

“Just a little bit further, Your Highness,” the enchantress coaxed.

Every step down the seemingly endless passageway was sheer torment. Queen Ivy willed herself to continue. She was the last hope for her people, and she must not fail.

Edwina stopped so abruptly; the queen stumbled into her back. The enchantress pulled the weakened monarch through a narrow gap in the wall. They crossed the threshold of a doorway into the depths underneath the forest. A tangle of tree roots filled the cavern, their sinuous forms dwarfing the fairies. A robust scent infused the air with bark, stone, and earth. Queen Ivy, a Volant used to the skies, reeled at the unfamiliar smells and fell to her knees.

The enchantress, more experienced with Groundling habitats, remained unaffected and surveyed the area. She assisted the queen in a nook hidden between the sides of two large tree roots, which soared overhead out of sight to meet the tree's trunk somewhere way above.

“Wait here,” she instructed, a moot directive to her incapacitated companion.

While Edwina disappeared the way they came, Ivy settled down her awkward frame. How had it come to this? The past few months had turned her world upside down. Having one's sister hunt you like prey was horrifying enough, but having  her baby targeted for death, rocked Ivy to her very core. Instinctively, her hand flew to her stomach, the muscles again tightening with the tremors of labor.

Her friend returned, hair disheveled, wings drooping, and announced, “As far as I can tell, we may have lost them in the maze of tunnels. I have used cloaking measures along the way and put a spell on the door to keep others out. But your sister's powers are strong. If she were to find us…”

“She will find us. It is only a matter of time,” the queen declared. Dahlia was learned enough in dark magic to track even a covered trail.

“Well, it is time for this baby, so here must do.”

Queen Ivy sighed, resigned to the situation. When she discovered she was with child all those months ago, she had not envisioned giving birth in a dark hole underground. The enchantress spread a blanket on the earth for the queen to lie down. She checked the progress of the baby and nodded. 

“It is time. You need to push.”

Above all, the baby must survive. Otherwise, the prophecy would remain unfulfilled, and the kingdom would never be restored. The monarch braced herself against one sturdy root, its surface surprisingly warm and smooth. Under the calm direction of her lifelong friend, she delivered the child.

Edwina laid the baby girl into her arms. Ivy admired the feathery blond hair and the round little nose. Tears welled in her eyes at the sheer perfection of the infant. The enchantress finished tending to the mother and turned her attention to the newborn. After a quick examination, she ripped a length of fabric off Ivy's skirt to wrap her. “You could not have asked for a healthier daughter. Now, what shall her name be?”

“Her name?” the queen pondered. "I’ve not thought of one. All I have thought of is her safety.

Before Edwina responded, they heard it—the rattle of armor. Soldier’s footsteps approached, their faint clinking unmistakable. Both women froze in terror.

“She has found us,” Ivy whispered in dread, her arms tightening around the baby.

“Perhaps not. Perhaps it is King Theros on his way to tell us he defeated Dahlia.”

The footsteps grew louder.

“No,” the queen affirmed. “It is my sister. I feel her presence. You must take the baby to the other world and keep her safe until the time is right. Dahlia cannot follow you there.”

The soldier’s armor rang loudly in their ears. They came to a halt right outside the doorway.

“Come then,” the enchantress conceded, holding out a hand to help her friend rise.

“No. I must stay and try to defeat Dahlia. Take her.” She thrust the infant into Edwina’s arms. “Go now.”

Loud hammering filled the air with the enemy’s attempt to break the door down.

“But My Queen, she will show you no mercy. I will not leave you here to die.”

Queen Ivy leaned forward and placed her hands on her friend’s, which cradled the child. She slipped the crystal-bound amulet inside the swaddling. “Yes, Edwina, you must. I command it. Take her now and keep her safe.”

The enchantress desperately tried to think of another way. Axes and spears crashed upon the door, weakening her spell with every stroke. Sadly, she stepped back and conjured the words to transport her between the worlds, a power only she possessed in the entire kingdom. 

The new mother watched the toss of the seeds, and Edwina’s frantically whispered spell. A cloud of dust encircled her friend and her baby. Too weak to even stand, she blinked through her tears. Just before the two vanished, she said, “Lina. I want her to be named Lina.”

Edwina nodded, the final wish heard, and with a poof, they were gone.

The door finally gave way, a multitude of soldiers pouring in, their armor dark as night. Queen Ivy turned to see her sister step through the broken threshold. Dahlia scrutinized the scene, the queen’s deflated belly and the cloud of dust on the ground. Her eyes narrowed in malice. The baby was beyond her reach—for now. She met Queen Ivy’s eyes and despised the look of triumph in them.

“Kill her,” Dahlia ordered.

The queen whispered one last anguished prayer for her daughter before an arrow pierced her heart.

Sixteen Years Later

Chapter One

Lina pushed her hair out of her face and wrote her list with great care. She did not make as many trips to the healer’s since her mother’s health declined, and she wanted to make sure nothing was forgotten. Lina’s parents were in their older years when they had adopted her, at an age when they were more likely to be grandparents. When a sudden illness took her father at the end of last fall, her mother’s strength suffered. At sixteen, Lina took on the role of caretaker. She was determined to act with the same love and devotion they showed her.

“Don’t forget to ask Winnie for more turmeric. My knee has been acting up,” the older woman called weakly from her bed.

“All right,” Lina replied. She scribbled another line onto her list.

In the darkened bedroom, she refilled a glass of water on the nightstand. The room brightened when she pulled open the curtains. “You should let some light in. It’s not good to keep them closed all day.”

Her mother smiled at her but said nothing. The winter stole much of the older woman’s vitality, arriving right on the heels of her husband’s death. Lina hoped the coming spring might lift her spirits. With one last glance to make sure all was in order, she fetched her shawl and headed out the door. Her snug cottage was nestled on the border of a rambling forest. The healer’s cabin sat a good way into the woods.

On the path through the trees to old Winnie’s house, Lina pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. The steel grey sky guarded against the sun’s warmth. Though lovely signs of spring stirred in the forest, winter was loath to release its relenting grip. A few squirrels stirred in the underbrush, but there was still no birdsong in the trees. With a sigh, she reminded herself they would return soon— especially her favorite swallow. Her springtime friend’s arrival was always a source of comfort for her.

According to the townsfolk, Winnie was not a healer but a witch. Lina’s mother did not encourage using the word witch. Her mouth pursed into a small circle when someone used it. Yet, the girl could not think of a more appropriate word to describe the strange woman. With long grey hair and a hunched back hidden under long, black robes, she certainly looked the part. Though Lina had to concede, Winnie did not act it. She was odd but kind. Without her knowledge of herbs, Lina’s mother would not have outlasted her illness this long. At this thought, Lina quickened her pace.

Eventually, the small cabin appeared, the brown structure blending seamlessly with the barren woods. The nearest town was a mile or so off. Lina’s family did not get many visitors at the forest’s edge. The townspeople ignored the cabin, save for the few who did take advantage of her healer’s knowledge. In the warm months, a multitude of climbing flowers covered its walls and roof; today, their empty limbs wrapped the house in a skeletal grip.

The infamous wind chimes rang all year round despite the weather. Their tinkling could be heard long before the cabin came into view. Dozens of tiny bells clanked with every movement of air, a tannic iron smell drifting from them. They overwhelmed the low-lying branches outside the house like ripe fruit waiting to fall. Why Winnie had so many was anyone’s guess. Absently, Lina twisted the amulet around her neck, a plain, clear stone she wore since she was too small to remember. Sometimes she swore it vibrated every time she came around the chimes. However, she knew this was a childish notion.

Once on the porch, chimes cluttered every available space. Lina ducked around several to find the front door. It stood ajar, so she leaned inside a bit. “Winnie?” she called out.

“Come in,” the familiar voice answered.

She entered the large main room, its space aglow with the light of so many candles—small, thin, and white; they littered all surfaces like counterparts to the chimes outside. Lina took a few steps around the chaos of mismatched furniture and overflowing bookshelves. Bottles, papers, and unrecognizable trinkets covered every surface—most layered with a thick film of dust.

The witch shuffled into the room, her stooped posture slowing the process. In her hands was a tray of cookies. She motioned the girl to sit, the long black sleeve of her robe swaying softly. “How is Hazel feeling today?”

Lina perched on the edge of a ratty old chair; the fabric was worn to nothing in the seat and the arms. She found it difficult to relax in the woman’s presence as if she was intensely scrutinized, but for what she did not know.

“She is still weak. Her appetite failed to increase despite the gentian you gave her last time,” Lina answered with a frown between her brows.

“Oh, I had hoped the herb would help, but the death of Felix hit her hard. They were together for so many years,” Winnie stated. She pushed the tray of cookies toward Lina, who took one.

 “Yes,” the girl agreed between nibbles, “she hasn’t been herself since Papa passed. Hopefully, the warmer weather will perk her up.”

The old woman nodded and went to her workbench, where she gathered some vials, her crooked body an awkward array of motions. The strong scent of herbs filled the air as she poured liquid and ground leaves into powder. After depositing the completed remedies into a burlap bag, she shuffled back and, with a smile, dropped two cookies inside before handing it to the girl.

Part of Lina wanted to stay and talk to the healer. After all, she must be lonely out here all by herself, yet she did not know what to say. While the woman’s eyes studied her intently, she rose to leave, grasping the parcel close to her chest as she navigated her way to the door. Winnie hobbled slowly to see her out.

“You are a good daughter,” the witch praised, watching her from the porch. “Remember, I am always here if you need me,” she concluded and winked.

A gust of wind blew, and the cacophony of chimes drowned out Lina's reply of, “thanks.” Once on the path home, she again pulled her shawl tight around her; though the air was fresh and crisp, Winnie’s stare gave her the chills. When the chimes faded into the background, Lina shook off the eerie feeling Winnie always evoked in her.

The medicine helped ease her mother’s pain but did little to restore her health. Day by day, as spring roused the earth, drawing forth the plants and animals, Hazel faded, her strength not improved by the awakening of life around her. Despite all her efforts, Lina could do nothing to stem the tide.

One afternoon, she bundled her mother up, though the air was warm and balmy, and assisted her to a rocker on the front porch. Side by side, they sat content in the silence of each other’s company. Flowers bloomed all around, their aroma carrying softly through the air. The girl threw some seeds down so they could watch the birds flutter and peck in front of them.

“Look,” Lina cried at the sight of a particular bird, “It’s Knox. Our swallow has returned.”

Swallows were not common in the area, but this one had been coming to roost every year since the girl could remember. So distinct were his markings, he was recognized immediately and celebrated as the true herald of warm weather’s return. As with most swallows, his head and wings were blue and most of his body white, except for his red face. Yet, Knox was unique, with a spray of red feathers shaped like a heart on his chest. Never had Lina seen another swallow like him. When she was quite little, Winnie suggested the name Knox, which sounded as regal and handsome as the beautiful bird.

Knox landed on the porch rail in front of them, a happy song trilling from his beak. Hazel smiled, a relieved look crossing her face. Perhaps this would be the very thing to pull her back to health. He hopped around a bit before soaring to a nearby tree hollow where he always nested.

After a long silence, Hazel said, “Go inside, look under the bed and bring me the small purple bag from the chest.”

“The small bag?” Lina repeated, disbelief in her tone.

Her mother nodded a firm assent.

The girl went to the bedroom and crept to the bed. She pulled a rowan box out from under it. With a certain amount of awe, she lifted the lid. To others, it would merely look like a jumble of papers, a few keepsakes, and a small velvet bag. Still, they were precious relics to their family—a marriage license, adoption papers, a tiny handprint stamped in clay, a drawing Felix made of his beloved wife, and the bag. These items told the story of their lives.

Lina picked up the bag, a slight shudder passing through her. What lay inside was a mystery to her. When she was younger, on a rare occasion when the box was opened, she picked it up, fascinated by the luxurious fabric and shiny golden cord. Both her parents called out in fright for her to put it down, which she did without question. It was the only time she remembered either of them raising a voice to her. And now, her mother asked for this very thing.

Back on the porch, she carefully handed it over. Hazel took it hesitantly. Again, they sat in silence, Lina too nervous to ask any questions. For a long while, the only sounds were the old rockers and Knox’s bird song while he happily built his nest.

“Lina, when I am gone, you must promise me something,” Hazel finally said.

“Yes, Mother, anything,” Lina agreed readily.

“You must take this bag and give it, Winnie. Do you understand?”

“Winnie?” Lina replied, confusion in her tone mixed with unease.

“Yes, promise me you will do this,” her mother said sternly.

“Of course. I promise.”

“Good, sweetheart. Now put it back where it is safe,” she requested in a now softer tone.

Though bewildered, Lina did as her mother told and placed the bag inside the chest and pushed it carefully back under the bed. When she exited the bedroom, her mother, who suddenly seemed invigorated by the conversation, came inside and sat at the dinner table. For the first time in many months, she cleaned her plate. The unease Lina felt over their strange conversation disappeared, replaced by hope for her mother’s recovery.

That night, Hazel embraced her daughter a little tighter before settling into her bed. Lina quickly noticed a new sense of calm regarding her. She sat with her mother, softly singing until the woman drifted off to sleep. Even then, Lina found it difficult to pull herself away to her bed.

Lina rose the next morning to the sun streaming into her room. Birds sang sweetly outside, and Knox’s tune was easy to pick out. With a good stretch, she rose and dressed. After lighting the fire, she set the kettle over it for their morning tea.

Lina opened the bedroom door with a smile on her face, but quickly froze. With one look, she knew. Her mother lay still, flat on the bed, an expression of peace on her lifeless face and the velvet bag clutched to her heart.