“I do,” said Willow.
Old Nail inclined his head and pushed the document toward her.
Bill of Sale,she read.One (1) Queen’s Box. Caveat Emptor.
Caveat emptor—she knew what that meant from her father: “Buyer beware.”
Cole’s gaze met hers, and she felt his unspoken question:Are you sure?
Willow found the inkpot and drew it close. She dipped the nib of the iron quill, pressed ink to paper, and signed her name in full.
Old Nail chuckled, a dry rasp that cracked and folded into a cough. He brought a spotted hand to his chest and hacked. When he recovered, he leaned back in his chair and gestured into the shadows.
Two figures emerged from the dark.
The first—a woman—had hair so thick and tangled it looked like woven roots. The second—a man—bore a tattoo curling over half his face, its intricate design unreadable.
Together, they carried it forward and set it down with a heavy thunk: the Queen’s Box.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IT WAS THE size of a coffin, the gleaming wood carved with exquisite images. A pomegranate tree grew tall and proud, its fruit heavy, its roots tangled deep. Animals lurked among the branches—rabbits poised mid-leap, birds frozen in silent flight. Coiled along the trunk was a serpent, its body winding upward, its tongue flicking out, its black eyes knowing.
Willow recognized it, but how? From a dream? A vision? Not from Amira’s scrying bowl, but... had she seen the Box in Hemridge when she’d touched the trunk of the Stillwood Tree? She couldn’t remember. She just couldn’t remember.
It was beautiful. It was terrible. The closer Willow looked, the more the carvings seemed to move.
Old Nail’s colleagues set the Box down with a heavy thud. Willow swallowed.
“Who will guard the Box in the girl’s absence?” Old Nail asked, turning his heavy-lidded eyes to Cole. “Will it be you?”
“Yes,” Cole said without hesitation.
“Then listen well. Once the girl is gone, take the Box away from this place. Take it to your home. Guard it with your life. For if the girl returns, the Box must be somewhere safe to receive her.”
Willow’s stomach flipped.
“If?” Cole asked, leaning forward as if Old Nail himself was threatening Willow’s safety.
Old Nail was unmoved. “If you care for the girl, then you must care for the Box.”
Cole clenched his jaw. “I do. I will.”
Old Nail nodded. Then he turned and gestured to his attendants, and the tattooed man and the root-haired woman lifted the Box and carried it through a narrow passage swallowed in shadow.
“Wait,” Willow said weakly. “Why are they taking it away?”
“There is a grove beyond the eastern hills where the trees remember the first rain and the stones have known little blood,” Old Nail said. “On that sacred ground, the Box will await you. Go to it at midnight when the moon hangs full.”
“At midnight!” Willow cried.
“Your companion can accompany you that far but no farther,” Old Nail told Willow. “From there, you must go alone, Daughter of Wrenna.”
Old Nail rose. Willow and Cole stood as well.
“We are done here,” Old Nail pronounced in his raspy old man’s voice, and with that, he turned away, vanishing into the darkness after the others.
Willow felt hollow and more than a little unstable.
