Pathways
Camille Peters
PATHWAYS
By: Rosewood Publications
Copyright © 2019 by Camille Peters
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Rosewood Publications
7070 Promenade Dr.
Cottonwood Heights, Utah
84121 United States of America
www.camillepeters.com
Cover Design by Karri Klawiter
To my beloved Mother, Lareen Peters,
whose constant love, support, and belief in me have been the means for me to achieve my dreams.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Thank You
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
The Forest had always had a mind of its own; whenever I stepped within the trees, I never quite knew where its constantly shifting pathways would lead. Many legends about the mischievous Forest roamed the village of Arador. It was said that the trees acted as the guardians of the countless stories carefully preserved within their limbs.
My family’s cottage bordered the Forest, shaded by its overhanging branches. No one knew the Forest as well as I did. Over the years I’d become familiar with its language, spoken not in words but in the whispers of its rustling branches. I would never forget the first time the Forest had gently lured me inside with its promise of adventure. The branches swayed, an invitation within the rippling leaves, beckoning me to enter.
I tentatively stepped into the woods. Trees stretched out in all directions, twisting above me to form a cocoon. The pine-scented air felt different, heavy with mystery and secrets, all containing discoveries just waiting to be made. My heart immediately connected with this vast being—love at first sight. I soon realized that the Forest felt the same way about me.
There were no paths…at first. Leaves crackled beneath my feet as I carefully maneuvered around trees, fallen logs, and overgrown vines as the Forest tugged me deeper and deeper inside. The trees grew thicker and their branches scraped my skin the farther I ventured in, following the Forest’s guidance, whispers in the dancing wind.
Midst the foliage, a path suddenly appeared where one hadn’t existed before. As I stared, the path shuddered before shifting and twisting itself until it stilled, veering off to disappear in a thicket of trees. Curiosity tickled my senses. How had the path magically appeared? More importantly, where did it lead?
Tree sap stuck to my skin as I rested my palm on the bark of a nearby pine. “You won’t let me become lost, will you?”
The branches swayed gently, the Forest’s assurance. Splendid.
Since that day several years ago, I’d become an avid explorer of wherever the Forest decided to lead me, never repeating the same destination twice. I carried my sketchbook and pencils so I could draw each of my new discoveries. The Forest stretched for miles, but no matter how the pathways changed or how far I traveled, the Forest kept its promise and I never lost my way.
I spent hours within the trees, trying to uncover each of its mysteries. I discovered meadows dotted with wildflowers, clearings with twisting streams that may or may not have been enchanted, a lily-pad-dotted lake, rocks with messages scrawled in an unknown language, and trees that not only transformed into other species when the mood arose, but which were perfect for climbing.
Even if I didn’t find anything new, I’d sit beneath the clustered branches for hours, my sketchbook propped against my knees, either to draw, to slowly turn the pages to revisit past drawings—each a treasured memory—or simply to bask in the tranquil stillness: just me, the Forest, and my pencils to keep me occupied.
I slowly emerged from today’s enchanted drawing stupor and glanced up at the sky. The sun was no longer directly overhead, signifying the hours that had melted away without my noticing. Oh dear, Rosie wouldn’t be pleased to have been kept waiting. Again.
I scrambled to my feet, brushed dirt and leaves off my patched dress, and shoved my sketchbook into my satchel before picking my way along the overgrown path that snaked through the Forest. Normally, the paths twisted and moved every few steps until it decided on a direction, but they were being uncannily still. I glanced imploringly up at the towering trees.
“Could you show me a shortcut? Rosie is waiting.”
Like a loyal friend, the Forest heeded my plea. The path before me quivered. I watched it rearrange itself to curve northeast before I followed it as quickly as I dared without risking tripping over any protruding roots, stealing only a single glance behind me to see the path wriggle back to its original position.
The path ahead meandered to the Forest’s edge, where dear Rosie waited, arms crossed and wearing an exaggerated pout.
“It’s about time you showed up. I was running out of stories to explain your absence.”
Doubtful; Rosie never ran out of stories. I offered a repentant smile. “Did you come up with any good ones?” Asking Rosie about her stories did wonders for her ill humor.
A thoughtful pucker lined her brow as she pressed her thumb to her lips. “Plenty, each more fantastic than the last. Shall I share my favorite?” She looped her arm through mine and we strolled along the Forest’s border. “I imagined you’d met a dark and handsome stranger in the woods and fallen madly in love.”
I snorted. “Please no.”
“Don’t you dare protest how I choose to write my stories,” she said. “When you play the heroine in Rosie’s tales, even you long for true love rather than continuing to stubbornly entertain your delusions that you want a future devoid of romance.”
“They’re not delusions; I don’t want to fall in love.”
Even though we’d had this conversation dozens of times, my words were still lost on Rosie, the ultimate romantic. She heaved a rather dramatic sigh. “I just don’t understand it. Every heroine wants to find their true love.”
“Not me—and before you argue, you know perfectly well why.”
“Not all men leave like your father, Eileen.”
I flinched at her mention of him, but as always I buried the pain from his abandonment deep before it could take root. “That’s what my mother believed, and look what happened to her.”
Rosie pursed her lips but she dropped the subject—for now. No doubt before our visit was over she’d broach her favorite topic yet again; she just couldn’t imagine my future not containing a prince and a happily ever after like she’d always imagined for herself.
We wandered to our favorite area, tucked several paces within the Forest, a
charming clearing awash in wildflowers, shady hemlock trees, and thickets of strawberries whose plump, sun-kissed fruit grew no matter the season.
We settled in the grass and Rosie held up her picnic basket, filled to the brim with day-old leftovers from her family’s bakery. “No excursion is complete without a picnic, a picnic we almost lost the opportunity of having when Ferris tried to steal these. Thankfully, I managed to avoid his usual older-brother antics.” She handed me a chocolate pastry before taking one herself.
I frowned at mine suspiciously. “This isn’t one of your enchanted treats, is it?”
“Certainly not.” Rosie took an exaggerated bite from her pastry. “See? Perfectly safe.”
I watched her closely for any signs of magic at work before I took a tentative bite of my own. Mmm…moist, fluffy, chocolatey. “I never know with you.”
She giggled unrepentantly. “I do like to experiment, but I’d never give my best friend something spelled without telling her first…unless it was a love spell.”
She gave me a pointed look that made me fear she actually planned to concoct a scheme such as that sometime in the future. She indelicately shoved the remainder of her pastry in her mouth and licked her fingers.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t had a chance to bake from Enchanted Sweets and Delights for ages. Mother has suspected I’ve been sneaking peeks at it and now locks the book away. So far, my quest to steal it back has been unsuccessful.”
“You’re rather obsessed with that book.”
She waved that accusation away. “I don’t bake from it enough. Life could use more magic. It’s found in abundance in storybooks.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, today’s scene in The Tale of Rosalina has been rather dull, considering I’ve spent so much of it waiting and we have yet to do anything to fill this chapter with adventure.” She gave me a sharp, accusing glare.
I shifted guiltily. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“I may be appeased if you tell me of your own adventures within the Forest.”
“I was sketching.”
She rolled her eyes as she snatched another pastry. “Unsurprising and dull. Your story is always the same.”
“Not with the Forest’s constantly shifting pathways always leading me to a new drawing spot.”
I pulled out my sketchbook and turned to today’s picture, tipping it to show her. Rosie’s ill humor vanished as her expression brightened with appreciation. She eagerly took my sketchbook to examine it more closely.
“Oh, it’s exquisite. You’re so talented.” She admired it a minute more before returning my sketchbook. “I suppose I must forgive you for keeping me waiting. Now, do you want to hear the latest delicious tale I heard from a customer at the bakery about the Dark Prince?”
I cocked an eyebrow. While few in Sortileya had actually seen Prince Deidric, our monarchy’s heir to the throne, everyone knew the many whispered rumors surrounding him, all of which painted a rather unflattering image of him: dark, foreboding, and sinister. I doubted most—if any—of the rumors held any truth. Rosie naturally believed every word.
“What’s the story this time?”
“Something positively wicked.” Rosie leaned closer, eyes bright. “He’s been poisoning his betrothed, Princess Rheanna of Draceria, drop by drop into her goblet with every visit.”
I frowned skeptically. “He’s poisoning her?”
Rosie nodded. “Isn’t it dreadful?”
“Last I heard, the entire Dracerian family were all in perfect health.” Not that I heard much about the neighboring kingdom’s monarchy, but surely news of a poisoning would spread rapidly.
“That’s the claim,” Rosie said with a shiver of excitement. “They’re trying to keep the Princess’s declining health hushed up, but naturally it’s all a ruse. Princess Rheanna’s health is rapidly deteriorating. Soon the Dark Prince will be in need of a new betrothed.”
She trailed off, her gaze far away as she lost herself in her story—whether the one she was telling me or another she’d just thought of to tell herself. Lips twitching, I snagged another pastry to keep myself occupied until Rosie emerged from her stupor, blinking rapidly.
“Are you attending tomorrow’s dance?”
I groaned. Predictably, we couldn’t stay away from the topic of romance for long. “You know I never attend the dances.”
“But I keep hoping you’ll change your mind. At least one of us needs to find her prince charming, and I’ve long been convinced that meeting him at a dance is the proper way to do it; it’s the usual method employed in stories.”
She twirled her golden hair around her finger, her blue eyes bright and wistful. She truly looked like a heroine straight from a fairy tale, a fact that had always given her great satisfaction. It was one of her multitude of reasons she believed she was destined for a happily ever after.
Yet apparently her tale currently wasn’t going well, for she sighed dejectedly. “I, of course, dance beautifully, but my skills are utterly wasted on the village boys, none of whom seem to be my heart’s match. A stranger who attended the last dance showed some promise, but his hands were clammy, naturally disqualifying him from being my prince.”
“Well, with so many clammy-handed dance partners, there are slim odds of my finding the one, meaning there’s no reason for me to attend the dance.”
“Perhaps you’ll have better luck than I have, but we won’t know unless you attend.”
I sighed. “For the umpteenth time, I don’t want to fall in love.”
She pouted momentarily before brightening. “Then come for the sole purpose of helping me hunt.”
That sounded nearly as torturous. I was finished with this conversation. I picked up Rosie’s now-empty basket and went to the thicket of berries to pick some for mother. Not so easily foiled, Rosie followed me, continuing her monologue about the essential traits her true love must possess, as well as the latest news from the court provided by her cousin. I desperately tried to tune her out, for each word of her recitation chipped away at the defenses I’d built over the years to protect myself.
“Can you read out loud from our current book?” I asked when Rosie finally paused to take a breath. Her eyes widened with guilt. She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were now wringing together in her lap.
“Now, don’t be cross, Eileen, but I had to do something while waiting for you like the loyal best friend that I am. But today’s reading was most delicious, so of course I don’t mind reading it again.” She removed the book from her own satchel and turned to our bookmarked place. “Pay close attention, for this chapter is filled with a lot of adorable romance.”
I bit my lip to suppress a sigh. Perhaps having Rosie read out loud wasn’t such a good idea.
But despite my reservations, I quickly became immersed in the tale spun in Rosie’s smooth storytelling voice. It was admittedly a rather sweet portrayal of all I’d determined never to allow myself to have. But I forced myself to push those rebellious thoughts away in order to strengthen the defenses around my heart.
No matter what Rosie said or how beautiful the fairy tales we read together were, I’d determined years ago that love wasn’t in my future. No matter what twists and turns my own story took, I would not be swayed from that predetermined course. Ever.
An hour later, I said goodbye to Rosie and returned home, my basket of berries dangling from my arm and my mind swirling with unwanted but unsuppressed visions of adoring gazes, stolen kisses, and sacrificing everything for true love, all of which had been featured in abundance in this afternoon’s story.
I unhooked the gate and walked up the path to our cottage, nearly swallowed up by twisting vines of honeysuckles freshly in bloom. Their sweet perfume mingled with the scent of baking bread drifting through the open window.
Inside, Mother perched anxiously at her weaving stool in the front room, her attention riveted not on the colorful pattern she was creating but on the front door, her eyes clouded with worry. She relaxed as I e
ntered.
“Eileen, dear, thank goodness you’ve returned. You’ve been gone such a long time.”
Remorse for my tardiness filled me as I glanced at the clock on the mantle. Between my delay in the Forest and becoming extra engrossed in Rosie’s story—despite its mushy content—I’d been gone longer than I’d promised.
I bent down to sweep a kiss across her cheek. “I’m sorry, Mother. I lost track of time. I hate the thought I worried you.”
She smiled her forgiveness as she cupped my chin. “I know it’s silly for me to worry. Just because you’re late doesn’t mean you’ll never return…”
I instinctively stiffened as memories I’d fought to suppress invaded my mind. Ten years had passed, feeling at times like only a few months and at others like a thousand lifetimes. Cheerful, fun-loving, adventurous Father had told us he was traveling through the Forest to the capital to make some trades. He’d promised to return in a fortnight. Only he never had. Search parties yielded no information about what might have happened to him.
First days passed, then weeks, then months, and eventually years. My childhood self hadn’t fully understood what had happened. How could my dear father have vanished, despite his assurances he’d return to us? I’d spent endless days waiting for him on the front step until winter arrived, forcing me indoors, where I spent countless hours pressing my face against the front window, waiting and hoping for an arrival that never came.
Mother changed after that, her cheerfulness gone, replaced by grief and heartache. She often clutched Father’s portrait against her heart and sobbed. As I watched her, quenching my own tears, the realization slowly settled over me:
Pathways (The Kingdom Chronicles Book 1) Page 1