CEDAR WALKS TO the river after the autumn sun sets. She keeps herself concealed in the brush. It is a half moon, and the skies are cloudless. The moonlight gives shape to the canoe that bobs in an eddy, tied to a tree. There is no sign of Cypress. The water in the swirling eddy of the river creates ripples of reflected light. The slight breeze is enough to create a rustle in the aspen trees high above.
Cedar’s pulse races. At war between her emotions and her reason, her thoughts spiral.
She has a home in the north. She may have time to make it before the winter freeze. Cedar rises from her crouching position, thinking of how she could carry the canoe through the forest. She takes a step forward and the song she plays on her cello sings clearly in her mind. Cypress has her cello. She might be able to give up all else, but to return to a life devoid of music is too much.
“You breathe as loud as a snoring drunk.”
Cedar’s foot gets tangled in the groundcover and she falls to the ground. A flush heats her face and pinecones and twigs prick her body.
“If you want to live to see Ash again, learn to breathe quietly.”
Cedar cringes. She had forgotten Ash in the face of her fears. The near failure, with a glimpse of the regret that would accompany it, brands itself into her memory.
Cedar scrambles to her feet. “Are we ready?”
Cypress leads Cedar to the canoe on the river. She pulls on the rope to bring the canoe closer to the bank.
“I hope you are not sensitive to smells.” Bird carcasses are piled in the boat. Cypress grasps the birds by their webbed feet and moves them aside, motioning Cedar in. Cedar takes one last breath of fresh air before making herself as small as possible in the center of the boat. Cypress drapes rough burlap over her. She arranges the birds around her so that one would presume that the mound is made up of more hunted game.
With the smell of dead animals surrounding her, Cedar keeps her breathing shallow. Out of habit, she offers thanks to the animals whose lives were taken to see her across the river. She hears Cypress speak in her radio. She reports her crossing, but the only response Cedar can decipher is a crackle in the radio. For the remainder of the crossing, Cedar presses her ear against the bottom of the boat. The sound of the water that surrounds the boat fills her ears, calming her. She hears the moment the canoe scrapes against the ground.
“That’s a lot of birds,” says a male voice.
“We could be here all winter.”
Before the man replies, a large explosion echoes through the river valley. Cypress shouts orders to the man and then on her radio.
Moments later, Cedar feels the weight of the bird carcasses lifted off of her. A strong arm pulls her from the boat.
“What was that?” Cedar says.
“Timed explosion. I needed a diversion.” Cypress says.
“An explosion? Are you mad?”
“Relax. It’s just noise. Nearly zero fire risk.”
“Nearly?”
“Lower your voice,” Cypress hisses. She hauls Cedar away from the bank. “If it shuts you up, I covered the area with fire retardant.”
“Thank God,” Cedar mutters.
Cypress does not let go of her until they reach the tree line. The forest is too dense here for moonlight, but both women know these paths. They move with familiar ease on paths strewn with raised roots and fallen logs.
Cypress stops a fair distance from the cabin and withdraws a shovel from the forest overgrowth. She hands it to Cedar. “I’ll hold the flashlight for you.”
“Okay. But look away when I tell you.”
Cedar moves deeper into the forest, leading Cypress to the place where she buried the pots. It looks undisturbed, but she cannot keep her heart from hammering as she removes the dirt. She had nothing left to lose when she had first buried it. Now so much depends on her finding the stone and safely returning it to Sapphire City.
Her shovel hits a metal pot with a clang. She kneels on the ground and moves the remaining dirt aside with her hands. She heaves the pot from the ground. When she looks at Cypress, the flashlight blinds her, but she sees Cypress turn around. She points the flashlight over her shoulder. Cedar removes the lid.
Cedar pockets the stone. She withdraws one of the books.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
Cedar startles. “I told you not to look.”
“We should continue to the city,” Cypress says.
Cedar picks up the heavy pot and puts it back into the ground. She moves dirt back over the hole with her shoe before reaching for the shovel.
“I need to see the Governor there,” Cedar reveals.
“The Governor?” Cypress says.
“I am not sure how…”
“I can get you an audience with the Governor. Can you tell me why?” Cypress fixes her intense no-nonsense stare on her.
Cedar meets her gaze without a quaver. “I have his stone. In exchange, I have a favor to ask him.”
“Tell me.”
“Why do you need to know?”
Cypress pauses. “I want to know what sort of person I’m helping, and what sort of person my brother is in love with.”
Cedar wishes she could see Cypress’s face. She has so many questions. The sounds of men’s voices carry through the dense forest, and Cypress switches the light off. She grabs Cedar’s arm and leads her south. When they stop, all is quiet around them.
“I’ll tell you,” Cedar says. “But not to prove myself worthy. I owe you, for your help.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Cypress says. “But tell me anyways.”
They walk south to retrieve the hidden canoe while Cedar tells Cypress of her plans.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR AND CYPRESS lie in their sleeping bags on the hard floor of a barren room. Cedar’s body aches from their long journey. Cypress claims this apartment in Sapphire City is hers, but she has not bothered to make the impression that it is inhabited.
Heavy curtains cover the windows, blocking out the obnoxious lights of a busy city. Packs of preserved food and a tea kettle for boiling water are in the kitchen cupboards. A lamp sits on the floor, casting an orange glow about the room. Otherwise, the place is barren.
“How well do you know the Governor?” Cedar breaks the silence.
Cedar lies with her torso facing the ceiling and her face towards Cypress. The back of her head rests in her palms. Cypress glances at her.
“I should know him better than I do. He is my birth father.”
“And your mother?” Cedar says.
“My foster mother died when I was eight. I have never known who gave birth to me. As a little girl, I imagined a love story. I would visit the Governor, and his housekeeper would tell me that he never loved another woman since he loved her. I never once heard him mention her.” Cypress’s voice is tinged with bitterness until she speaks of Queen Azalea. “Ash was only a year old when I was adopted as a baby. His mother was there for me, in a way my birth mother wasn’t, and my foster mother couldn’t be.”
“You seem so much older,” Cedar says.
“If you’d done the things I’d done, you would be older too.”
“What have you done?”
“One of the things I admire about Ash is that he would sacrifice his own life before doing something he thought was wrong.”
Cedar is used to Cypress’s habit of ignoring her questions. “I admire him too. But it can’t be easy, trying to decide the fate of an entire country. More lives than his own are in his hands.”
“I can’t imagine you doing the same things I’ve done,” Cypress says.
“If I had the skills, there was a time when I would have done anything my Grandma asked me to.”
“Ash worries about you. I think he underestimates you.”
Cedar shakes her head, fatigue beginning to set in. “No. I think it’s more likely that I’m growing into his opinion of me.”
“Most northerners would not dare to trust the Governor of Danbarrah with what you plan to ask him.”
Cedar feels herself beginning to doze. “I wouldn’t either, if not for the abbess.”
“The abbess?” Cypress’s speech is thick with sleep.
“At the monastery…” Cedar mumbles.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR AND CYPRESS arrive at the golf course early the next morning. Cedar takes in the immaculate green landscape. Freshly cut grass masks all other scents. At the entrance, Cypress flashes her identification. They are let in without a word. Cedar’s head is covered with the grey baseball cap Cypress had instructed her to wear. She keeps her face down. Cypress approaches a man standing behind a podium. He is dressed in black and white formal wear and his hair is slicked back. His nametag reads ‘Pine.’
“Is the Governor in?” Cypress says.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Who is he with?”
Pine wrinkles his brow. “I will check the register.” He pulls out a book from a shelf and steps around the podium. Cypress leans forward to read the name he points to.
“We will take a table while we wait. Please alert me when the General has left, and let the Governor know I will see him then.”
The man shelves the book and leads them into a desolate dining area.
The dining room is fancier than Cedar has seen in pictures.
The tables are set with floor-length cloths and fragile china. Even the chairs are covered in the softest, cleanest, whitest material she has ever touched. She is painfully aware of her faded jeans and worn long-sleeve shirt as she takes the seat Pine pulls out for her.
Cypress, her features strongly visible with her hair pulled tightly back, exudes the air of a queen deigning to visit a back alley pub while wearing army cargo pants and a black t-shirt.
A tall, fresh-faced young man, dressed in the same clothing as the one who had escorted them to the table, approaches with menus. With a flourish, he lays one in front of each of them.
He clears his throat. “What can I get for you ladies?”
“I’ll have a scotch. What’s the special?” Cypress says.
“The chef has created a truffle potato soup, paired with his trademark cucumber and watercress sandwiches.”
Cypress picks up the menu. Cedar follows her lead. Her eyes go wide at the style and quantity of dishes described within. Cypress tosses the menu to the side a moment later and returns her attention to the waiter in front of her.
“I’ll have a steak sandwich with soup.”
Cedar sets aside the fascinating menu.
“The special sounds good?” she says. She ignores Cypress’s quirked brow, focusing on her water glass. The waiter smiles at Cedar, but before he can say anything, Cypress clears her throat and he retreats to the kitchen.
“Do you often do that?” Cypress says, eyes intent on Cedar’s face.
“Do what?”
“State what you want as a question. If Ash asks you if you love him, is your answer, ‘yes?’” Cypress says, that last word inflected upward in a high mocking pitch.
Cedar scowls, playing with the utensils in front of her.
“Look, I’m a piece of work in my own way, but what happened to the Cedar who told me without a doubt that she would sacrifice everything for Danbarrah?”
“She comes and goes,” Cedar murmurs.
“Well, find her. You’ll need her if you want to make your deal with the Governor.” Cypress gives her a look of disgust before she shifts her attention to the approaching waiter.
He gingerly places a scotch in front of Cypress.
“A gin and tonic for my friend,” Cypress says.
“Right away ma’am.” The waiter spins back towards the bar.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR IS NO less ill at ease when Pine approaches their table.
“The Governor has invited you to join him in his private rooms.”
They follow the man to the lobby where he presses a button to summon the elevator. He motions them in, and enters behind them, touching the top button on a panel of numbers.
Cedar distracts herself from the novelty of her surroundings by rehearsing what she will say. For a moment, she entertains the thought of what she would have asked for had things turned out differently. She might have come here as planned with Ash, intending to return to their cabin together. The thought of Ash helps her summon her courage.
When the elevator opens, she is too focused to notice the extravagant hallways covered in soft carpets, walls papered with vibrant colors, and outfitted with expensive light fixtures.
Pine leads them to a door. He knocks and they hear a muffled, “Enter.”
Pine ushers them in then closes the door behind them, leaving Cypress and Cedar alone with the Governor.
The Governor rises from his desk. He is not a handsome man, but there is a dignity about his appearance. He gives the impression of a man used to having his way. But his eyes are soft and curious.
“Cypress. It is good to see you, my dear.”
She returns his greeting with a nod, her face as expressionless as ever. “This is Cedar. She has something for you.”
Cedar holds the jagged stone tightly in her hand, reluctant to hand it over. Its monetary value means little, but it feels as though it belongs with her. The thought surprises her, and she reprimands herself. If the Governor grants her request, it is well worth the trade. She uncurls her fingers to reveal the glittering blue stone.
There is no need for him to examine such a unique stone. They both know it is his to have, either by force or trade.
“What is a fitting reward?”
Cedar inhales a deep breath. “There is a girl living in Eastern Danbarrah. She will die without the proper medicine. I want her condition treated, and to see her safely settled. She has an older sister as well, who will want to be near her sister.”
The Governor looks startled for a moment, but a politician long used to negotiation is an expert at masking his reactions.
“This girl, she is a friend of yours?” the Governor says.
“Yes,” Cedar says.
“How long have you known her?”
“A few months, sir.”
“Perhaps you underestimate what this stone is worth to me.”
“I have grown up surrounded by treasure hunters and stories of what they hoped to ask for as a reward.”
“Very well. It will be done.”
Cedar reaches her open hand across the desk. The stone is cool and sharp in the sensitive skin of her palm. The Governor watches her, but he does not reach out for the stone.
“My family has been searching for this stone for generations. What else would you ask for? For yourself?”
Cedar shakes her head. “Everything else I want is not yours to give.”
“I have the King’s ear,” he says, making no move for the stone.
“Do you have influence enough to overturn the ordinances? Or to give the prince back his freedom?”
Cypress moves closer to her. Cedar knows she has spoken recklessly, but she does not regret her words.
The Governor rocks back on his heels. He gives Cypress a cheeky grin. “My daughter has been the only one to speak to me so frankly. Alas, you have hit upon the two things that are unattainable even by one in my position.” He studies them both, his gaze going from one to the other before resting on Cedar.
“It has been some time since I have had the pleasure to meet one such as this,” he says.
Cedar sees Cypress move her hand to the hilt of her dagger. The Governor looks back at his daughter, his eyes sad.
“I will not harm you.” He takes a steadying breath. “I wish I’d had your courage in my youth. Much might be different.”
No one moves for several long moments.
Cypress steps back once again, and the Governor resumes. “Were you acquainted with Prince Ash’s mother?”
“No, sir,” Cedar says.
“Queen Azalea did not question what she lived for. It was the end of her, but I envied the certainty with which she lived. It might have ended differently for her, had more of us had her constancy.” He turns to Cypress. “Your birth mother is the same way. She was willing to sacrifice everything for you. It was my mother who prevented her. And I – I did not fight for her.”
Cypress remains frozen in place, otherwise making no indication that she heard her father’s words.
“It seems that we are sometimes given second chances. You have given me something I have been searching for my entire life,” he says to Cedar.
Cedar does not know if he means the stone, which he has yet to take from her hand.
“Let me write you a note. It may be of some help to you.” The Governor withdraws a pen and paper from a drawer in his desk. He writes a few lines and signs his name with a casual flourish on official-looking stationary. He folds it before handing Cedar the note. She places the stone in his hand. He absently takes the trade. He looks peculiarly at the stone, as though it has intruded on a scene where it does not belong.
“I will send for this girl and her sister this very morning. The finest doctor on the island will tend to her, and they will both have everything they could ask for. I will make room for them in my own house and personally see to their care.”
The Governor’s mask drops when Cedar smiles at him. He seems relieved at her pleasure, as though Cedar is the one whom countless citizens seek to please.
“I have no doubt, Governor. They are living at the monastery in Eastern Danbarrah. The abbess, Mother Rosemary, knows of my petition.”
The Governor’s eyes grow wide and he tilts his head. He opens his mouth to say something, then with a shake of his head, he closes it and smiles. He walks them to the door where they say their farewells. With his hand about to pull the door handle, Cedar addresses him a final time.
“If I may, I have one final request.”
The Governor motions for her to continue. “Please, speak freely.”
“When the girl arrives, will you read to her the book she brings with her?”
The Governor holds her gaze for several long moments, as though trying to decide if she is asking what he thinks she is. He raises his chin before letting it down again in a nod.
“Yes. Yes, I will.” He turns the handle, and they walk from the room.