The Key: Book 2 The Rose Tree Chronicles

Chapter Seven: The Key Goes Missing

Rein perched atop the tallest mast of the Blood Omen, motionless for hours, eyes scanning the open sky. The first hour passed in quiet triumph. Finally, she was free of that cramped cigar case, free of the cabin’s stale gloom. The wind tasted like salt and iron, and the tang of fish and old wood clung to the ship’s rigging. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was real. It was freedom.

By the second hour, the romance had worn thin. The sea stank of low tide, and her patience frayed with every wave. With a sigh, she pursed her lips, and let out a series of chirps and trills she had practiced for centuries. Nothing. She tried again. And again. When her throat was raw and her hope nearly gone, a seagull spiraled down from the clouds, and settled two feet from her perch. Rein tilted her head, listening. No speech, no spark of intelligence. Just a dumb bird. It would do.

She rose slowly, careful not to startle it, and slipped her twine from her belt. In one smooth motion, she looped it around the bird’s beak. The seagull shrieked and launched skyward. Rein, with the twine clenched in both fists, was yanked from the mast. The wind howled past her ears as she dangled, limbs flailing, hair whipping her face. Hand over hand, she climbed the rope as the seagull darted erratically past the starboard side and out to sea. Her arms burned. The rope burned. But at last, she swung her leg over the bird’s back, clamping down with her knees as it jerked and veered, wings flapping wildly. It was a fight, but she won.

By the time Arcor appeared on the horizon as a smudge of smoke and fire, Rein was in full control. She guided the gull toward the highest spire of the Port of Melnah, a soot-streaked bell tower that rose like a warning finger from the heart of the city. They landed hard. Rein dismounted, her boots striking the clay rooftiles, her eyes already scanning the ruin below. Arcor sprawled beneath her like a forgotten battlefield: alleys twisted through collapsing tenements, and smoldering fires painted the sky in shades of gray and orange. Smoke blurred the streets, cloaking movement, swallowing signs of life. Somewhere out there, Renée should be moving.

Rein squinted into the haze. There was no sign of her. She began to wonder if the empress had already learned of the location of the Mystery Miracle Worker. Or maybe she got caught with the key, and someone had kidnapped her. No, it was too difficult to kidnap a naiad. But perhaps the empress had followed whoever might have stolen the key from her. No, she wasn’t so bold. If the key had been taken, the empress would’ve turned back and vanished beneath the waves long ago. Rein’s jaw tightened. She didn’t want to believe that either.

Rein tried to put herself into the empress’s shoes, and considered where she may have gone first in her quest to find the Mystery Miracle Worker. Where could one start in a search to find a merchant who would have such information? Rein wasn’t about to attempt to talk to any of these people. She would have to hunt for Empress Renée the old-fashioned way.

She tugged the reins of her bird mount, and glided back toward the choked heart of the Port of Melnah. Below, the piers heaved with shouting longshoremen and rusted hulls. Carriages clattered over uneven stones, trailing curses and the stench of fish. Rein drifted lower, weaving among the chaos, her eyes scanning faces, none of them being the empress. She didn’t even know exactly what to look for since she couldn’t be sure what the empress was wearing. She only knew to look for a woman, probably wearing a lavish cloak of some sort, and she was likely keeping her head down, steering clear of attention. Rein longed to ask one of these criminals if they had seen a naiad, but she repeatedly reminded herself they would all be less than helpful.

Berth by berth, she scoured Arcor’s jagged coast. The island stretched like a sleeping beast; its harbors scattered like broken teeth. Morning bled into afternoon, and every new dock brought the same crowds, the same dead ends. Her frustration grew heavy in her chest. As the Southern sun made its way to the horizon, Rein finally steered the seagull onto a rooftop among a number of pigeons and other seagulls.

“Do any of you talk?” Rein called. She caught a couple of seagulls who traded glances with each other and pointed at them. “I saw that! Listen, I’m not from here, and I’m not looking for trouble. I just have a simple question.”

The seagulls hesitated but one finally replied, “What?”

“I’m looking for a naiad.”

“On land…?” asked the second seagull.

The question took Rein aback. Three hundred years ago, naiads were known for wandering land, but perhaps that had changed over time. “Yes, I realize that’s strange, but I know she’s here. We recently learned that an Arcorian merchant knows the location of the Mystery Miracle Worker, so she’s looking for him.”

“Oh, well I can at least give you that much,” said a third seagull. Rein leaned forward in anticipation. “People say that the merchant who owns the Worldly Trade shop learned that information from another pirate. As for your naiad friend, I don’t have a clue.”

“That’s perfect! That may be enough! Can you point me in the direction of this shop?”

The seagulls looked at each other again.

“Sure, it’s closer to the southern side of the port,” said the second seagull. “There’s a picture of Xyntriav above his door.”

“I think he’s right beside a blacksmith … some sort of smith,” the first seagull offered. “The merchant’s feet are on backwards.”

“Wonderful!” Rein praised. “Thank you so much!”

Rein steered her bird toward the south of the port where she began her long search for the Worldly Trade shop. It was just as tedious as her previous search, but Rein was thrilled to finally be on track in some way.

ξ

Empress Renée had spent the night in the murky water of Melnah River which coursed around the port, its waters thick with the city runoff. She had been less than comfortable sleeping in polluted surroundings, but she felt safer there than she would’ve in any inn the city had to offer. The next day, she felt strangely relieved to exit the river as the Southern and Northern suns leveled out in the sky to mark noon. She carefully slipped through the alleyways like a ghost, winding her way back to the crooked lane where the Worldly Trade shop hunched behind rusted bars. She found the door locked with not only numerous locks, but what seemed to be an Elvic or Farian curse of some kind.

Renée was not pleased to have to wait outside for this merchant to show up. The open street behind her was loud with clattering wheels and snapping tempers. She drew her hood tighter, tucking her pale hair deeper into shadow. Every second out here felt like an invitation to a pickpocket, a bounty hunter, or a worse kind of watcher. For a heartbeat, she yearned for the carved black walls of the Obsidian Palace, for guards at every turn, for silence, for control. But the memory turned bitter before it could settle. The walls there hadn’t protected her. They had caged her.

Arcor and the Obsidian Palace. One stank of rot, the other of mold. Both had watchful, judging eyes.

A flicker of motion caught her eye. Down the street, the merchant with the backward feet and hunched gait trudged into view. He carried a long leather tube under one arm, trailed by a tall, angular companion whose steps bent like reeds in the wind. Renée’s jaw tightened as she watched them meander toward the shop, oblivious to the weight of her patience. Her fingers twitched beneath her cloak, longing to shove them forward just to be done with it. She needed walls. She needed quiet. Most of all, she needed answers.

“He arrives at last,” Renée deadpanned.

“I did say noon,” said the merchant. “If you’ve been waiting long, that is no fault of mine.”

Renée didn’t bother arguing with the man, afraid it would slow him down further as he took his time unlocking the many locks on his rotting door. Finally, he stepped inside and Renée quickly moved to follow him, only to be stopped by the silver force-field which remained guarding the threshold.

“Patience, my Lady,” said the merchant. He fiddled with something which Renée couldn’t see, and the silver shimmer faded. “Now you may enter.”

Renée obliged without response. The partner trailed behind and locked the door while Renée continued to follow the merchant to the large desk at the very back of his cluttered shop. She watched him remove a large sheet of rolled up parchment from the leather tube.

He flattened the sheet on his desk. “You brought the key, I hope.”

Renée only answered by lifting the key from her light blue bodice, but left it hanging around her neck. The merchant glanced at her while he set weights on the corners of the parchment, and Renée kept a watchful eye on the partner, who now approached the desk to stand with them. After catching her leering gaze, the partner made sure to keep his distance.

Finally, the merchant stood up straight, and gestured to the sheet on his desk. “This is a map of Roznova.”

“One of the Continent Islands,” Renée confirmed.

“Exactly.” The merchant pointed to a spot on the map; the same spot Captain Tzatara had shown Rein. “This red dot is where the Mystery Miracle Worker is located.”

Renée wasn’t satisfied with this snippet of information. “Is that below ground, in a cave, up a tree…?”

“Beneath a hill covered in moss and glowflower bushes,” the merchant responded. “But see, beneath this hill is in fact, three separate passages. Be sure you take the left one. Then there’s a door hidden in the wall beside a torch. She’ll be behind that door.”

“Beneath a hill through the wall of the cave to the left.” Renée leaned over the desk to gather a better glimpse at the red dot on the map. “Anything else I should know?”

“I hope you have something practical to trade, because she doesn’t accept currency as payment.”

Renée stood up straight. “Duly noted. Thank you for your time.”

“The key, if you will,” said the merchant before Renée turned to leave. He held out his hand. “We did have a deal after all.”

Renée brushed the key with her white, delicate fingers and giggled. “Oh, you mean this eroded antique…”

Without warning, Renée melted to the ground in a puddle of silver-blue water. The two men watched with wide eyes as the slick sheen coursed across the floor and slipped beneath the door with a flicker of light. The partner screamed, almost childlike. The merchant cursed and lunged forward, yanking the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a shudder. They spilled into the street, stumbling over each other, eyes wild. They whipped their heads left and right along the ground in a desperate search for the naiad.

“There! Right there!” the partner pointed.

The merchant stormed toward the moving pool of water. “Ready your knife.”

The merchant seized a broken sheet of plywood discarded in the gutter. His partner, knife drawn and eyes terrified, fell in behind him as they closed in on the trail of liquid weaving through the alley. Just ahead, the merchant slammed the board down into the dirt, a crude blockade. The water collided with it in a splash, rippling outward, then solidifying. Renée reformed with a gasp, dazed, crouched as if caught mid-motion. Her body still shimmered with traces of water as she gradually stood to her feet, glistening under the suns.

The knife came fast. The partner slashed through the empress, but he may as well have slashed at a phantom. The merchant dove forward and ripped the key from her neck, the chain slipping through her throat the same way the knife had through her face. Renée’s hand shot up to reclaim it, but a fist cracked into her jaw. Water sprayed from the impact, much like a punch to a puddle. Her face dissolved, cheekbone to chin, then flowed seamlessly back together as her features reformed with eerie precision. The merchant froze, then shook his head in disbelief. His partner’s breath caught, and he had to grab the merchant by the arm to get him to run away with the key.

Empress Renée collapsed at the base of a tree with a sad, squishy plop, and she held her face where she had been hit. She watched the merchant and his partner disappear into the chaos of Arcor with the key clutched in their greedy hands … her key … her only hope of ever finding joy, healing, and having a child of her own. Her throat tightened. Tears welled, stinging her eyes before they spilled. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Everything pressed down on her all at once: loss, exhaustion, the brutal finality of watching hope slip just out of reach. The sobs came hard, unfiltered and raw. Not royal. Not restrained. The kind of crying that came from the hollow inside her that no crown had ever filled. There was nothing else left for her to do.

“Renée! Renée, get up! Get up!”

The voice sounded familiar. She craned her head to gaze up into the tree where she caught sight of her old pixie friend.

“Rein? What are you doing here?”

Rein set her feathered ride free. “I came to join you in finding the Mystery Miracle Worker.”

“I lost the key, Rein,” the empress choked.

“I saw that, but I found where they took it. I’ll need your help getting it back though. You want to get it back, right?” The empress nodded. “Great, I’ll show you the way.”

Rein scurried down from the tree, landing lightly on the empress’s shoulder. Without a word, she pointed toward a break in the forest’s edge, a narrow path half-hidden beneath overgrowth and snow. The empress wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks, fingers trembling only slightly. She straightened, rolled her shoulders back, and set her jaw with quiet resolve. Then, without looking back, she stepped into the trees, her pace steady beneath the pixie’s silent guidance.

Unseen by either of them, a mysterious man dressed in a silver cloak lingered in the shadows across the street, half-concealed behind the crumbling remains of an abandoned bakery. He had watched the entire spectacle with his hood dipped low, only the sharp point of his nose catching the occasional glint of sunlight. He had the presence of a wanderer, yet he carried little on him. He waited until the women had vanished into the treeline, then stepped from hiding with the slow, deliberate grace of someone used to being overlooked. Only he knew of his intentions as he followed the two girls. It seemed as though they may be of some use to him.

ξ

Rein guided Renée along the river’s edge, weaving through the trees where the woods grew denser, older, and quieter. Birdsong faded as they moved deeper. The river, once broad and chatty, thinned into a narrow creek that whispered over mossy stones, drawing them forward like a thread. They followed it into the yawning mouth of a cave. The temperature dropped instantly inside, and the hush of the outside world fell away behind them. Damp air clung to Rein’s skin as the empress stepped over slick rock and into the soil. The creek gurgled ahead, echoing against the stone walls in strange, shifting tones. At the back of the cavern, nearly hidden behind a curtain of ivy and shadow, they found a narrow hole at the base of the wall, just wide enough for a person to slip through. The empress crouched over the opening, squinting into the dark. Carved stairs emerged faintly from the stone, slick and timeworn, descending into the hollow like a secret invitation. They couldn’t see the bottom. Only the black, and the slow, steady trickle of water leading down into it.

“They went down there,” Rein explained.

Without a word in reply, the empress melted into a puddle again, and tumbled down the hole as an addition to the waterfall the creek created. Its trickling echoed up the stairwell, the hollow shape of which amplified the sound. Rein was left to carefully make her way down each of the slippery steps to meet the empress at the bottom.

Once Rein had caught up, she paused. The empress stood aghast, eerily still, eyes wide and unblinking. Rein followed her gaze, and understood. Before them stretched a vast, silent city, carved entirely from stone. It rose out of the cavern in elegant layers, slanted rooftops and arched doorways hewn from pale gray and ghost-white rock. Some buildings were freestanding; others had been sculpted directly into the walls of the cave itself. It was a masterpiece abandoned, a city meant to endure even without its people. No movement. No voices. Just rows of torchlight flickering along empty streets, casting long, shivering shadows.

The creek trickled forward, threading between stone steps and garden paths, as if guiding them still. Wild plants had claimed much of the space with vines curling up archways, moss painting staircases, and flowers blooming where no sunlight should reach. The air was thick with damp soil and something unexpectedly sweet—an undertone of petals and perfume, faint but persistent.

For all its silence, the city was far from lifeless. The empress remained tethered to the rocky ground, taking in the unique beauty around her. Trees arched gracefully over stone walkways, their leaves a deep, vibrant green untouched by sun. Garden beds burst with color in rows of vegetables and herbs planted with care, as though someone had only recently tended them. Flowers spilled across the lawns, brightening the pale façades of the buildings. Even the livestock moved calmly through their enclosures—white goats, gray hens, soft-eyed sheep—all eerily quiet. Far in the distance, nestled atop a cliff at the very edge of the cavern, stood a castle carved in dazzling white. Vines climbed its walls, draping the spires in blossoms. Its towers reached up toward the cave’s ceiling like pillars of light, and the entire structure jutted out over a yawning abyss. There were signs of life everywhere, but there were no people. The empress frowned. Someone had to be here. But where were they?

With Rein perched lightly on her shoulder, she stepped into the city. The creek still flowed beside them, winding confidently down the center of the limestone street, and they let it lead the way. The road stretched forward in a gentle incline, pointing like an arrow toward the distant castle. The city remained quiet, save for the whisper of water and the rustle of the empress’s gown. Rein stayed alert, her eyes scanning for the thieves—or anyone at all.

Far behind them, at the mouth of the stairwell, the mysterious man in the silver cloak emerged. He stood still, silent, his hood drawn low. From the shadows, he watched the two figures below move like specks through the great stone city. He did not follow. Not yet.

Rein and the empress reached what must have once been the city’s heart: a plaza ringed by buildings and empty benches, with the creek forming a lazy pool around a grand statue of a large man. No footsteps. No voices. No signs of the key’s thieves. They were alone. Then…

BOOM!

The sound tore through the cavern, deep and sharp, like a door being slammed by the hand of a god. The very walls trembled. The empress dropped instantly into the creek. Rein dashed toward the nearest torch, scrambling up the post and tucking herself near the flame, her glow masked by firelight. High above, the man in the silver cloak melted back into shadow. The three of them—pixie, empress, and watcher—turned their eyes toward the source of the sound. The city, so peaceful a moment before, now held its breath.