CEDAR TAKES A STEP back. She cannot reconcile Ash with the man who stands here.
The man who greets her every morning in the workshop, bent over whatever project they are working on, is Ash. The man she jests with in the afternoons over dinner, the one who reads to her well into the night, the one who held her moments ago, is Ash.
Then there is this man, toweringly tall, with strength in his body and power in his station. She finds her mind drifting, in some sort of detached survival mode, absently trying to work out if those with power only use it for their gain.
“Can we talk inside?”
The vulnerability in the man’s voice reminds Cedar that this powerful, foreign body in front of her is Ash.
Cedar grabs a chair from the porch and carries it into the house. Ash follows with his chair. She sets hers against the farthest wall. It is a warm day, but she is chilled to her bones. She moves to the fireplace to light a fire.
Ash puts his chair nearer to the kitchen door. He is giving her space, but it does little to lessen her panic.
She builds a fire. The smoke stings her nostrils before it begins to consume the dry wood. She remains on the floor in the growing warmth.
Ash sits hunched over in his chair, his head buried in his hands.
“I am sorry. I should have told you sooner,” he says.
She does not look at him.
She sees past her emotions to understand why he had said nothing in the beginning. The northern people are hostile to their royal rulers. She wants to make excuses for him regardless of all the opportunities he had afterward, but she stops herself.
She is used to being used, to justifying others’ betrayals and dozens of tiny transgressions. She does not know what she wants from her relationship with Ash, but she does not want to resent him the way she resents Grandma. She does not know what that means she should do, but ignoring her own hurt cannot be right.
“Yes,” she mummers.
“It is not enough, I know. I wish I could make it up to you…if I could do it differently, I would.”
Time moves as though working against gravity.
“To lie is to underestimate another’s intelligence. You said that once.” Fear and hurt morphs into anger. There are daggers in her glance.
He winces. “I never questioned your intelligence. I thought I’d find a good time to tell you.”
“Of all the things I should know about you, don’t you think that you are a prince qualifies?” Her voice is loud to her ears.
“Yes.”
The remorse in his voice softens her, and curiosity edges out some of her anger.
“Why did you keep it a secret?”
He shifts in his seat, glancing away before looking back at her. “I did not think I had a chance of being with you if you knew I was a prince.” He hesitates. “I cared about you from the start, but I couldn’t tell you then. And once I knew you better…well, I thought you would push me away if you knew.”
His words unsettle her. She wrestles with the truth of what he says.
She knows a prince, especially a prince as likely to do battle as Ash is, will need a fighter by his side. There is a sinking feeling in her stomach, but Ash’s next words distract her from facing more unpleasant truths.
“From here on, I will make sure you know what you are taking on if you ever decide to let me closer.” He pauses, watching her averted face. “If you do decide to let me in, I will not hesitate, but I could never be happy having you if you were not happy to be mine.”
Her reaction to his words, from the acceleration of her pulse to the weakness in her limbs, scares her in its unfamiliarity. The fire’s crackle is the only sound in the silence that follows.
“You can keep me at arm’s length forever if you need to Cedar, but I’m not going anywhere unless you order me away,” Ash says.
Cedar rises from the floor and turns to her chair. She brings it closer to Ash. His expression brightens.
“I forgive you.” She looks down at her hands on her lap.
“That’s it?” he says, relief visible in his expression.
Cedar shrugs. “An apology is more than I’m used to. Should I make you work harder for it?”
Ash laughs. “Oh, you won’t have to make me. You’ll see soon enough how hard I’m willing to work for a lot more than your forgiveness.”
Cedar blushes. “Well, I suppose it helps that I’m not too surprised. You’re not very good at housework.”
Ash laughs again and the gulf between them narrows. They settle into a contented silence.
This is the first argument she has seen through to the end. With Grandma, she simply accepted what her elder had told her. She had never brought up annoyances with her friends and would shrug off any they brought up with her. Star made half-hearted attempts to hash out disagreements, but she had always shut him down early.
“I have something to show you,” Cedar says.
She walks to her room, returning with something wrapped in a bit of fabric.
She hands the object to him.
“It’s heavy.” He unwraps it until he sees a glint from the sunlight that streams through the window. He continues unwrapping more slowly until the fabric falls to the floor, and all that remains is a small jagged stone.
“I found it in the spring. Before I met you. I’m sorry I never told you-”
“It’s different, Cedar,” he interrupts. “You are allowed to have your secrets. I am a ruler’s son. You deserved to know that.”
Cedar nods as she bends down to pick up the discarded fabric. “They say the Governor of Sapphire City is still looking for it. Is it true? Will he grant a wish to whoever returns the stone?”
“Yes. I know the Governor.” He moves the stone from palm to palm. “I will take you there.” He fumbles the stone. “If you want me to. To be sure you are treated well.”
“Thank you,” she says.
He turns it over in his hand, playing with the reflections of light on the wall. “What will you wish for?”
She shakes her head, and blushes. “I don’t know. How can I ask for something for myself when there are so many people who go without? Yet, what can I ask for that will help?”
“Maybe those who can have joy, should.”
“Maybe,” she says, not convinced.
He holds the stone out to her. She returns it to her room, coming back a moment later. Ash looks lost in thought.
“I lost a friend,” Ash begins. “Shortly before I came north. His name was Quartz. He was killed, while I was spared.”
Cedar can see what he is doing, and she treasures the gift of knowing his burdens.
“Quartz reminded me of what it was like to work for something outside myself. We were trying to discover what King Marcus wanted with Danbarrah. The last words he said to me were, ‘I am sorry to leave you with the hard part.’” Ash pauses. He continues only after several moments. “After he died, I came north to be with my brother. We had been growing apart. He is preparing to be the next ruler.” He stops again and resumes with difficulty. “He is a good man. Or at least, he cares about his people. James and Father do not believe contesting the ordinances is worth the risk to lives. I doubt, too. Only Mother kept her certainty that we should make no compromises.”
Ash rises and stokes the fire.
“I have to try to live in a way that honours the sacrifices of people like Quartz. Only, I do not know what that looks like.”
Cedar has no words for him, but they sit there together until the fire dies away to embers.
CEDAR IS GREETED with a bouquet of crocuses arranged in a jar on the table. The table is prepared with extra care, and Ash pulls out her chair for her.
She spoons a dollop of honey into her mug and attempts a light tone. “I had not noticed how princely you are.”
“I usually save it for the cocktail parties.” His eyes sparkle before he turns serious. “You already know the parts of me I am most at home with. I want you to see this part of me too. I don’t want to hide anything.” He pauses. “I want to be sure you know the less desirable parts, like the spoiled proper prince.”
“I wouldn’t call this your worst side. The flowers are pretty.” She gestures with her mug towards the delicate purple blooms.
Ash raises his brows. “I half expected you to reprimand me for striping the meadows of them.”
“Maybe I should have…” she trails off. Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “They look pretty, that’s all.”
Ash leans forward, studying her. His voice deepens. “What else do you like?”
“Oh, you know, the usual I suppose. You’ve covered most of it. Poetry, dancing, breakfast, now flowers.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Ash says, his voice dropping lower.
Cedar shifts her chair closer and leans over until her mouth is mere inches from his ear. Each word is deliberate and unmistakable.
Ash almost falls out of his chair. Cedar pulls back and chugs the rest of her tea. She heads to the door before he regains enough composure to reply.
Outside, she admonishes herself, regardless of the satisfaction of having upended him as much as he did her. She should not encourage him.
Would she need to tell herself to hold back if she could see a world where they could be together for longer than a season at an isolated cabin?
Cedar pulls open the workshop door. She begins to sand the canoe by hand, preparing it for a final coat of sealant. Ash comes in and grabs his own sandpaper. He stands at the opposite end of the boat applying light pressure in a circular motion.
“The boat is almost ready,” he says.
“When do we leave?” she asks.
“Our food stock has held out well. Spring strawberries will be out soon. I made some cold frames last week so we can start some seeds early. With your hunting and gathering skills, we will be well fed.”
She stops sanding. “You mean it, don’t you? You think we can stay here all summer?”
He shrugs. “Maybe longer.”
“You think you can hide away in the forest forever?”
“We’re not hiding. We will go to Sapphire City once you decide what to ask for from the Governor. We need to replenish the gasoline in case we need the generator. I’ve been thinking of a fruit orchard on the south side. We’ll need saplings. Stock up on extra food supplies too. I can get us anything we need.” He returns to sanding the boat.
“Are you daft? What about the soldier we saw?”
“My father wants to know I’m alive. I’ll send a note with the next man we see and that will be the end of it. He will be glad to have me out of his way.”
“You’re going to give up your royalty? Your responsibilities?”
He stops his work again and leans against the wall. “My brother is the crown prince, Cedar, not me.”
“But what about your people? Our people? Everything that gives them hope is being stripped away, and you won’t do anything?” She seizes the one thing she knows will hit the mark. “What about Quartz?”
He looks out the workshop’s sole window. “Will you go with me? Help me, Cedar. Please.”
His words pierce the armour she has barely reconstructed around her heart.
“You will have a better chance without me. I’m not like you, Ash. I’m not someone anyone will respect, or welcome.” She wishes she could control the tremble in her voice.
“Then we stay. I don’t know what I can do to honour Quartz, but it doesn’t involve leaving you.”
Cedar looks at the canoe, an uneasy feeling eating away at her.
“Come on.” Ash takes the sanding block from her and places it on the table. He takes her hand before she can tuck it into her pocket and leads her outside.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“I planned something for us.”
He picks up two sackcloth bags from the front porch. He hands her the smaller one, and she follows him out of the clearing onto a northern path. She has been this way while hunting, but she cannot imagine where they are going.
After some time, she hears the roar of the rapids, the same ones that had fated they spend their winter in this forest. They emerge from the tree line and climb a short distance to the top of a limestone cliff that overlooks the river. The water is a churning mess of spring runoff, complete with debris from the melt.
“It’s slippery, so watch your step,” Ash says, descending the cliff towards the river. He takes a step and vanishes.
Cedar’s panicked shout is cut off by his reemergence. He grins playfully up at her. “Come on.” He gestures with his head, which again disappears from view. Cedar cautiously looks over the cliff edge. Ash crouches on a rock shelf a few feet below her, his bag resting beside him. She returns his ingenuous smile and drops her bag down first before joining him. The shelf is large enough for them and their bags but not much else. Ash turns and drops onto an even more narrow shelf below. He walks sideways along the cliff wall, bag clasped in his outstretched hand, until he vanishes into some sort of crevice. Cedar follows him. They stand inside a large, hollowed-out cave that overlooks the river.
Ash takes a blanket from one bag and spreads it on the cavern floor.
“How did you find this place?” Cedar sits on the blanket and arranges the food Ash pulls from the bags.
“The old man had a few notes scattered through his garden journal. He mentioned this place. I went looking for it a few days ago.”
“Really? What else is in this journal?”
Ash plops onto the floor, lying on his side. He props his head up with his bent arm.
“A few notes about the best places to forage, some notable animal sightings. Stuff like that.”
Cedar passes Ash a sandwich before biting into her own.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asks, closing her eyes as the sweet taste of the last of their chokecherry jam wakes up her senses.
Ash chuckles. She opens her eyes to see him watching her.
“Tell me,” she says.
“I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”
“Maybe I’m getting to know you better.”
“And what’s the verdict?” Ash maintains his casual sprawl but he watches her closely.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
He laughs. “I can be happy with that. For now.”
Cedar blushes.
“He mentions an old myth. Your mother’s cello reminded him of a childhood story about a boy who played the flute.”
“Did he write that? About my mother? What’s the story?”
“Yeah, I’ll show you when we get back.” Ash rolls onto his back and tucks his hands under his head. “The island came under an attack by a fleet of ships. There was a boy who gathered animals together and led them in an attack against the invaders. He played his flute, the animals fought, and he won. The sight of their fellow warriors being decimated by an army of wild animals led by a boy playing the flute was strange and terrifying enough to make the rest of the ships change course and sail away.”
“Really?”
Ash stretches and rises to a seated position. “Danbarrah’s history is full of stories like that.”
“I’ve never heard anything of the sort.” What else had Grandma kept from her, out of fear that Cedar would leave, as her mother had? “Do you think it’s true?”
“My mother believed the stories. There is one that claims that a musician, a cellist, will begin the fight that will end in Danbarrah’s freedom. My mother spent more than a decade looking for the cellist.” A strange expression comes over his face.
“That’s a beautiful idea.”
“Yes, and a terrifying one.” He gives her a strange look she does not understand before shaking his head. His playful expression returns. “Besides, can you believe something just because it’s a beautiful idea?”
Cedar considers his question, regardless of the mischievous delivery. “Why not? Maybe beauty and truth go together.”
“Well, either way, it seems music is worth having. Even with the risks being what they are, there are networks of underground musicians.” Ash frowns. “At least there were. I’ve been gone a long time.”
“I can’t imagine much has changed in a year.” Cedar picks cranberries out of a dried trail mix.
“I’ve been gone a longer time than that. My father sent me overseas after my mother died. I was home for less than a month before going north.”
“Oh right.” She remembers that she is speaking with Prince Ash. “I remember the rumors, years ago. Where were you all that time?”
“Anywhere and everywhere. Most countries were open to hosting me. I would visit for a few weeks, sometimes months if it was going well, and then move on.”
“That must have been exciting.”
“You think so?”
“What do you think?” Cedar waves her hand at him.
“I’m going to sound entitled. And I am.” He hesitates. “At first I was angry about being sent away. Later, I was lonely.”
“It’s a long time to not have a home. Going from place to place.”
“You get it.”
“Suffering seems universal, no matter what you have going for you.”
Ash appraises her with obvious admiration. “You would have got along well with my mother.”
“I admired your mother,” Cedar says warily. “But I’m not like her, Ash.” She looks down and traces her fingers over the stone of the cavern floor. It is a long time before she says, “I can’t be what you need me to be.”
Ash moves closer to her. He reaches for her hand and wraps it between his two larger ones. “I’m not trying to make you into someone other than who you are.”
“What if I’m not enough?”
“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. But even if you weren’t, you are enough however you are.”
Cedar shakes her head.
Ash leans forward, getting in her line of sight. “Would you try to stop me from being who I need to be?”
The question carries a reminder of one of their earliest conversations.
“Of course not,” she says.
“Then that is enough.”