The Fanged Crown (The Wilds) by Jenna Helland

Author:Jenna Helland [Helland, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780786955862
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

2 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One

(1479 DR)

Kinnard Keep, Tethyr

The path to Evonne’s grave was well tended. The gravel was freshly raked and the grass along the edges neatly trimmed and leveled. As requested, the gardener had planted stands of red and gold flowers—Evonne’s favorite colors—along the path. It was a steep climb to the wooded grove at the top of the hill, and Tresco paused halfway up to rest. From that height, he could see the crashing waves of the ocean in the distance.

“Where is Cardew?” Ysabel asked, as she waited beside Tresco. It was windy, and Ysabel’s hair was escaping from the sky blue cloth that she had used to tie back her hair.

“He rode into town on business,” Tresco replied. “He’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Thank you for taking me,” Ysabel said as they continued up the hill. “It’s been too long since I’ve visited my mother’s grave.”

“Of course,” Tresco said. When Ysabel became his ward after the massacre, Tresco ordered the guards not to let the child go anywhere unattended. There were many would-be assassins and many who would pay good coin for the head of the daughter of Evonne Linden. Technically, Evonne’s grave was on Tresco’s estate, but it bordered land owned by House Lahame, a viciously royalist family. Because of their proximity, Tresco refused to let Ysabel travel to the gravesite without him. While Tresco always made it a point to visit Evonne’s memorial on his rare visits to the estate, he didn’t usually bring Ysabel with him. He liked to be alone with Evonne, after all.

“How was the sanatorium?” Ysabel asked. “Did you have any interesting patients?”

“Not my past visit,” Tresco said regretfully as they crested the hill and crossed under the wooden arch that marked the entrance of the memorial garden. “I think the usefulness of that arrangement is coming to an end.”

A year after Evonne’s death, Tresco suggested that Ysabel design her mother’s memorial. When she came to him with the plans, he was taken aback at the scope of the little girl’s vision. But Evonne had left the girl a substantial amount of coin, which Tresco was happy to spend. Ysabel requested a life-size marble statue of Evonne, her hair loose on her shoulders and wearing a flowing gown like a goddess. The statue stood on top of a marble ossuary where Evonne’s bones were entombed. A hexagon-shaped reflecting pool lay at the foot of the tomb. A master stonemason crafted a red and indigo mosaic of a leviathan curled in a spiral on the bottom of the pool. When the wind rippled the waves, it looked as if the leviathan was swimming in circles along the floor.

“You seem distracted, Uncle,” Ysabel said. “Is something wrong?”

Tresco sighed. Ysabel was a bright girl, but for her safety, he’d kept her innocent about the complexities of not only court politics, but the natural hierarchy of power in and out of Tethyr. Given she was of age to marry, he wondered if he had done her a disfavor by sheltering her from the world.

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