The Woods-Wanderer

Chapter 3

As Laureline had irritatingly predicted, Ilya was ordered to don a finer gown for the first visit to the Trussian palace. Her favorite maid, Mhairi, helped her into a light lavender dress that was incredibly cumbersome, though it looked to be light as air. Mhairi knotted a dark purple sash around Ilya's waist so tightly that Ilya thought she'd be divided in half. Fashionable but sturdy black boots went onto her feet. She'd have blisters within the hour. Ilya refused to sit for the arduous process that was arranging her hair, so Mhairi deftly wove her unruly dark locks into a simple braid that hung halfway down her back.

"Ravishing, my lady," the maid said warmly, turning Ilya to face the mirror. Ilya smiled tentatively. The girl in the mirror looked determined and dignified, not a hair out of place. She looked capable of being queen of Truss. She looked ready for anything– including marriage.

Ilya was escorted to her carriage, which was piled high with an unseemly amount of baggage. Her mother, father, and sister waited there to say their goodbyes. The queen was crying softly the entire time, unable to say a word, but her father gathered his wits and smiled sadly.

"Our hearts go with you, little bird," he whispered to her as she climbed into the dark depths of her future. Ilya smiled at the old nickname. She had been so fidgety and high-strung as a child, flitting from place to place like a sparrow. She waved to her sister, who was crying harder than her mother. Laureline ran up to the carriage and pushed something into Ilya's hand.

"Don't look at it til you've left," Laureline said, smiling through her tears. She stepped back from the wheels as the coachman snapped his reins. The carriage lurched to a start, and rolled off into the woods. Ilya stared back at her family until she couldn't see them anymore.

The trees were twisted and ancient-looking, all leafless stems and gnarled branches. The horse's hooves drummed a steady beat. Her heart pounded along. She held up her hand close to her face and opened it.

"Oh, Laureline," she murmured. Nestled inside her palm was a wish-holder necklace– her sister's most treasured possession. Their great-grandmother had given them each one before she died. Ilya, not caring much for pretty, fragile things, had immediately traded hers for three frogs that she could race. Laureline, however, cherished the gift and never let anyone else come near it, especially Ilya. They both knew how wish-holders worked. If you let someone else touch a wish-holder that held your wishes, they all disappear. The wish-holder is free to hold the new owner's wishes until they come true. All Laureline's wishes, sacrificed so that Ilya could have something to take with her on her journey. Sweet Laureline. Ilya turned the necklace in her hand and opened the protective shell around the blue wish-stone. There was a rush of wind, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. Oh, Laureline. Your wishes.

"I wish that my sister's lost wishes would be found," she said, directing her voice at the wish-stone. It glowed bright blue, then dimmed as it absorbed her wish.

"And I wish that we could solve the problems between Truss and Gallyn without me having to get married." The wish-stone glowed again, dimmer this time. She had one wish left. Ilya thought and thought. What else did she want?

"I wish," Ilya said slowly, "that I could find a lost wish." The wish-stone merely flickered twice, then darkened. Ilya snapped shut the dark-blue shell around it and fastened the silver chain around her neck. She felt safer already. Suddenly the carriage hit a bump, and Ilya went flying from her seat. She sat up, skirts now in an undignified twist. Her elbow throbbed where she'd whacked it on the door.

"Whoa!" she heard the coachman cry. The horse whinnied loudly. Then there was silence, an eerie kind that made Ilya's skin squirm.

I know I'm not supposed to do this, but... She opened the door to the carriage and saw–