Page 1

Part One

seeds of change

Prologue

Orca Cove, Vancouver Island, Canada

1997

She was beautiful. From her dark curls to her big brown eyes to her bright smile. But it was her light that was the most beautiful of all. That was how, at not even one year old, she brought joy to everyone she crossed. But most of all, she was beloved by her parents.

Anya O’Connell stared down at her daughter, running a finger along her pink cheek, and hummed a soft song.

Through frost-kissed dawns and dusk’s veiled embrace,

Holly berries hold our secrets in a sacred space.

For far-off days, in Summer’s radiant gleam,

When Autumn gold falls, echoes of forgotten dreams.

“Good night, my darling Rosalina.” Anya leaned down and kissed her baby’s cheek.

“Rosalina,” Anya’s husband, George, echoed. “Named after the roses that grow inside Castletree. I would love to see them and the lands you sing of.”

“You will. One day, I will take you to the Enchanted Vale.”

It was the same answer she always gave him when she spoke of the fae realm, the place she had left. She had told him all of it—her duty, the sky-cresting mountains and the deepest caverns, the lost land Above, and the magnificent seasonal realms.

With every story, her husband’s curiosity grew. Of course it did. He was like her in so many ways. An explorer, an archaeologist. If there was an unknown, George would discover it.

But she had never brought him home.

And while the Enchanted Vale was dangerous, with its monsters and magic, it was no more dangerous than the human realm, for this world had perils of its own.

No, it was not danger that kept Anya here.

Anya ran a thumb over the black ring on her finger. An old friend. One she had bested with a clever bargain. A bargain that had given Anya everything and Sira nothing.

Anya looked up at her husband. George had barely aged a day since they’d met, despite being a human. With his hair still dusty brown, face free of wrinkles, tall and broad of shoulder, George carried himself with the wisdom of someone far beyond his physical years. All because Sira had taught Anya to bind life to something else. As long as Castletree stood, so would he.

Castletree’s magic was endless. So, with her, George would remain.

All because Sira could never understand love. Anya’s heart would never stray from George in all the ages of the world. The words of the bargain echoed inwardly: If I ever love someone more than George, that person will belong to you—mind, body, and soul.

Something prickled at the edges of her mind, and she looked down at Rosalina. Surely, Sira wouldn’t… The bargain had been of romantic love. A mother’s love was something else entirely.

Anya pushed her fears down. If Sira could manipulate that, she would have done it the day Rosalina was born.

“I can’t believe she’ll be one tomorrow,” Anya said.

“It’s been the best year of my life.” George ran a hand along Anya’s neck to rest over a moonstone necklace in the shape of a rose. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

She nodded and watched as he left the nursery. What a year it had been. They had moved to a small town near the ocean, surrounded by lush pines and mountains perpetually covered in mist. Though it had been the willow tree in the center of town that had convinced Anya to move here. She knew good trees, and that was a good tree.

Outside, light spring rain pitter-pattered against the wooden roof, and a flowery breeze drifted in through the window. Anya inhaled and stepped to follow George out of the nursery.

But something stopped her. A nagging in her mind. A stirring beneath her skin.