Chapter 122 The Journal 1

Chapter 122: Chapter 122 The Journal 1

Talia’s POV

The celebration in the Gathering Hall lasted well into the afternoon.

Wolves approached me one after another, each one wanting to congratulate me, to thank me, and to look at me with new eyes. Some of them I recognized from the healers hall, and some of them I had never spoken to or seen before. They all had the same soft look on their faces, and the same warmth in their voices.

I did not know how to respond to any of it.

I just nodded and said thank you and tried not to let my exhaustion show on my face. But Kaelen saw it anyway.

He always saw it.

He pulled me away from the crowd, with his hand wrapped around mine, and he led me out of the Gathering Hall without saying a word to anyone. The wolves parted to let us through, and I felt their eyes on my back as we walked toward the door.

The hallway was quieter. The sounds of the celebration faded behind us, and I let out a breath I did not know I had been holding.

Kaelen walked me to our room. He opened the door and led me inside, and I sat down on the edge of the bed. My body was in a lot of pain, and my wounds were aching, and I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep for a year.

But Kaelen did not sit down beside me.

He stood in front of me, looking down at my face, and his gray eyes were soft.

"There are things I need to attend to," he said. "I have warriors to debrief, and reports to review."

I nodded. "Go, I’ll be fine."

He hesitated. His hand came up to cup my cheek, and his thumb brushed across my skin.

"Rest," he said. "Do not leave this room."

"I will not," I replied.

He kissed my forehead, and then he was gone. The door closed behind him, and I was alone.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, just breathing.

The room was quiet. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the shadows danced on the walls, and I could hear the wind outside the window, soft and distant.

My eyes wandered around the room, the bed, the desk, the wardrobe, and the chair by the fireplace. Everything was in its place, neat and orderly, just the way Kaelen liked it.

Then my eyes landed on the corner of the room.

My mother’s trunk was sitting there, right where I had left it when I first arrived at Blackmoor Valley. It was old and worn, with scratches on the leather and dust in the creases. I had not opened it since I came here, because I had not been ready.

The trunk had been there for weeks, sitting in the corner, and waiting. I had walked past it every day; every morning, and every night. I had looked at it countless times, and looked away.

But today, something felt different.

Today, I was ready, or maybe I was just tired of being afraid.

I stood up from the bed. My legs were heavy, and my wounds pulled at my skin, but I walked to the trunk anyway. I lowered myself to my knees in front of it, and I ran my fingers over the worn leather.

My mother’s hands had touched this same trunk. Her hands had packed these same belongings, and her hands had closed this lid for the last time, fifteen years ago, before she walked into the fire and never came back.

I blinked back the tears that were burning in my eyes.

Then I opened the trunk.

The smell of old paper and dried flowers drifted up to meet me.

Inside were my mother’s clothes, folded neatly, and stacked in rows. These were dresses I had never seen her wear. There were shawls that still held the faint scent of her perfume, and a pair of soft leather boots that looked like they had never been worn.

I lifted the clothes out carefully, one by one, and set them aside on the floor.

Each dress was a memory, and each shawl felt like a whisper. I could almost see her wearing them, and I could almost hear her humming while she worked. The clothes still smelled like her; filled with Lavender and something else that I could not name, that was just special to her.

I pressed one of the dresses to my face and breathed her in.

Beneath the clothes were books. So many old books with cracked spines and yellowed pages. Some of them were written in a language I did not recognize, while others were in English, but the words were strange and ancient, like nothing I had ever read before.

I flipped through them, searching for something, anything, that would tell me where my mother had gone or why she had left.

But I found nothing.

I set the books aside and looked back into the trunk. There was nothing left except a few dried flowers pressed between sheets of paper, with their colors faded to brown, and their petals crumbling at the edges.

I was about to close the trunk when my fingers caught on something.

It was a loose board at the bottom.

I pressed my hand against it, and it moved. I pulled it up, and beneath it was a hidden compartment, shallow and narrow, just big enough to hold one thing. And in it was a leather-bound journal.

My breath caught in my throat.

I reached in, and I picked it up.