The Key: Book 2 The Rose Tree Chronicles

Prologue: A Difficult Task Indeed

Three centuries had slipped away, and the kingdoms on land and beneath the waves had new rulers shaping their destinies. Gerardo’s legacy was etched deeply into the hearts of the seapeople, his name whispered in reverence across the five oceans and recorded in the annals of history on land. His first son, Jaskaran, born of Mira, ascended the throne after marrying Renée, a naiad whose beauty was shadowed by a sorrow—she could bear no children of her own. Together, Jaskaran and Renée adopted a young mermaid named Nadia, welcoming her into their lives with a grand ceremony that sealed her status as imperial by blood. With this, Nadia became the sole heir to the underwater empire’s throne.

But joy soon turned to quiet dread. Nadia fell gravely ill, her once-bright eyes dimming with each passing day. Renée refused to leave her daughter’s side, cradling her gently as hope slowly withered in her heart. Though the emperor and empress summoned the realm’s most skilled healers, Renée’s gaze never wavered from her child’s pale face, and in that silent vigil, she found no comfort, even when the miracle worker promised that Nadia’s strength was returning and that health would bloom within a year … because Nadia’s health wasn’t her primary concern.

In the shadows, Renée sought out miracle workers in secret, clutching at every whispered promise and ancient remedy. Night after night, she endured rituals and potions, desperate to coax life from her barren body—to give Jaskaran a true heir. But each attempt only tightened the noose of despair around her heart. With every failure, the light inside her dimmed further, dragging her deeper into a silent, suffocating spiral of hopelessness. The sounds of her constant wailing, her curses toward everyone around her, and her obnoxious crying could be heard all over the palace and never ceased.

The miracle worker returned after a year to check up on Nadia.

“I find myself baffled, Your Majesties,” he said. “She was making so much progress last I saw her. Now, I am sorry to say, it is hopeless. I estimate she has four years to live.”

Every day since, the empress spent her time in Nadia’s chamber crying—over the child’s waning health, but also her dry womb. Nothing could lift her spirits, and the more the merfolk tried to assist, the worse her mood became. Horrible thoughts possessed Renée’s mind, and she dwelled on them. After several months of wretched mourning, the empress herself became ill, only worsening her mood.

A heavy sorrow rippled through the underwater kingdoms, darkening even the brightest depths. The oceans lay unnervingly still, their waves hushed as if holding their breath. Above, the skies emptied, no flocks of birds stirred the air, no clouds gathered to soften the suns’ glare. The world fell silent, puzzled by the sudden calm that wrapped sea and sky alike. The naiads whispered their grief to the forest dwellers, who carried the mournful news beyond the trees, spreading it like a slow, gathering storm. Within little more than a week, every corner of the forest knew the weight of the empress’s despair and the fragile state of her daughter. A quiet sorrow settled over the land, matching the depths of the ocean’s mourning.

One day, after Renée had experienced another failed pregnancy, Jaskaran and the miracle worker entered Nadia’s chamber, and their eyes fell upon a scene of chaos. The room lay in disarray, scattered with overturned furniture and shattered hopes. On the floor, Renée knelt weeping, inconsolable. The miracle worker’s voice was firm but gentle as he lifted Renée, banishing her to rest, away from Nadia, for the child’s fragile health.

“You cannot take me away from my baby!” Renée wailed. “I’ll have you all beheaded! She’s my baby and she’s dying! You cannot take me from her!”

She thrashed at everyone who forced her into her bedchamber. She even tried to kill herself. That was when Jaskaran had her locked away.

“Will this end, Miracle Worker?” Jaskaran asked.

“I’m not sure, Your Majesty,” the miracle worker answered. “I’ve seen this go away, and I’ve seen it last ‘til death.”

“With your experience and knowledge, can you make a guess?”

“I’ll be honest, Your Majesty. Her condition can possibly last from ten years after Nadia’s death to the rest of her life. She seems to have an extremely bad case of depression.”

During a rare moment of respite in Nadia’s tenth year, Emperor Jaskaran slipped into the quiet chamber and approached the clamshell bed where Renée lay curled beneath a seal-pelt blanket. The soft rise and fall of her breath was the only movement in the room. He sank onto the edge of the sponge mattress, its surface dipping under his weight, and watched her sleeping face for a moment, pale, worn, and fragile as sea glass. With quiet care, he reached out and brushed a thumb along her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened, meeting his with a dull gleam. Recognition bloomed gently in her gaze as she looked up at him, silent but awake.

“You shouldn’t be so upset, Renée,” Jaskaran said.

“Our baby is dying, Jaskaran!” Renée replied. “Why don’t you care?”

“I do care, Renée.”

There was a moment of silence when she started crying again.

“You need to go see the Miracle Worker at Moss Canyon.”

Renée stopped crying and gawked at Jaskaran. “What? The Moss Can—are you mad?”

“She requested to see you, Renée. Maybe she can help you. Maybe she can help Nadia.”

“I doubt it.”

“Renée, go,” Jaskaran said sternly.

Then before there was any more arguing, Emperor Jaskaran glided out of the bedchamber and left his wife there with nothing else to do. So, Empress Renée got out of bed and went to the Moss Canyon.

ξ

The journey to Moss Canyon was long, and the deeper Empress Renée swam, the darker the water became. Coral City faded behind her like a distant dream, replaced by cold shadows and silence. Even the glowing fish that flitted past offered little comfort, their faint light swallowed by the gloom. More than once, she narrowly avoided colliding with jagged cliffs or the slow, undulating forms of sea beasts that drifted too close.

Then, just as the darkness seemed impenetrable, a faint red glow appeared ahead, dim and pulsing from behind a towering rock wall. Renée hesitated, uncertain if she’d lost her way, but the glow sharpened as she approached. Relief settled in her chest. It was Moss Canyon. It revealed itself slowly: a river of molten lava flowed through its depths, casting an eerie light on the fractured seafloor. The lava streamed into the broken hull of a sunken ship; its skeletal remains nestled among a cluster of miniature volcanoes that oozed molten rock.

Renée drifted to the ship’s entrance and hovered there, staring into the warped shadows within. The canyon’s silence pressed against her, and for a long moment, she only floated, unsure whether to move forward or turn back.

“Come in, dear,” said a crackling voice from deeper inside the ship. The voice had a strange accent, and Empress Renée winced at the sound of it. “Well come on! I been waiting a long time for you already, don’t keep me waiting any longer! We gots tings to talk about!”

Empress Renée glided cautiously into the wreck, keeping to the edges so to avoid the searing lava river which snaked like a molten spine through the center of the ship. The vessel, once clearly built for sailors, had been transformed, its wood walls lined with shelves, and its hollowed chambers now arranged like a sanctum. The air shimmered with heat, and yet nothing inside seemed scorched or waterlogged. Renée couldn’t help but wonder how the ship resisted decay, mold, or fire while nestled in a pit of lava-fed ruin.

At the far end, behind a marble podium hovered the miracle worker. She was grotesque. Part hag, part eel. Her long, black tail curled behind her like a whip, and her skin hung loose and pallid beneath thin strands of tangled hair. One eye burned yellow, the other a molten orange, and the yellow one fixed on the empress with a gaze that pierced through marrow. Renée paused, spine tightening. Those eyes didn’t just look at her, they seemed to see everything.

“There you are,” said the hag with a smile that showed four missing teeth. “Come and follow me and we have foam tea.” She turned around to lead the young empress deeper into the ship. “We have much to talk about.”

Empress Renée glided around the podium, and reluctantly followed the hag.

“Have a seat while I set up the teakettle,” the hag offered.

The empress obeyed. “So … what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“It’s about your daughter, um, oh what’s her name?”

“Nadia,” the empress reminded.

“Ah, yes!” The miracle worker continued to prepare the tea. “That’s her name! Anyway, we needs to talk about you and your daughter.”

“Me and my daughter?”

“Yes, and we start with you.” The hag approached the table with two cups of foam tea. She gave one to the empress. “You’re stressed out. Why?”

“My daughter is sick and she won’t get better,” Empress Renée answered as if it was obvious. The hag shook her head and Renée’s heart pounded. Did this witch know her secrets? She swallowed hard as the hag continued.

“That’s not all. You feel an emptiness inside you also. You are not alone. But you seem to take it a lot harder than most. You tink by pretending Nadia is your daughter, and when she’s well again, that will fill this emptiness. But you must admit, you were unhappy before Nadia became ill. It will be known, your unhappiness is what made her ill in the first place.” Empress Renée couldn’t think of how to respond. The issue of her barren womb still appeared to be woven between the lines of the lecture. “Did you know that sorrow is contagious?”

“It’s contagious?” the empress repeated.

“It spreads troughout the household and eventually leaves the house into the city. Depression begets illness! That is what happened to your daughter!”

“So where are you going with this?” she asked.

“You want to know what will make your daughter better? What will make you better?” The hag took a sip of her tea.

“Of course!”

“Let’s start here. Your daughter was getting better when the miracle worker you hired said she was. Your sorrow has soured you, and you made her get ill again, and she’s only getting worse. So it all comes down to this: if you don’t become satisfied wit what you have, wit the way tings are, if you don’t find someting to fill that empty void, Nadia can’t stay in the ocean! You kill her! Nadia is so young, she can’t take your vile behavior like the rest of the world can. You must provide a better, more positive environment for her to live in.”

“And how do you expect me to fill this emptiness?” the empress asked in a mocking tone. “Do you even know what this, ‘emptiness,’ is?”

“You must find out on your own, or there will be no effect,” the hag answered. “For instance, I have found God. On my own.”

“Well, I must say this visit has been amusing, and I’m very pleased to hear that my daughter’s death will be on my hands. But I must be going.” The empress began leaving. “Thanks for the tea.”

“So this means you don’t want to save Nadia’s life?”

“Stop pinning it on me!” Empress Renée violently pointed her finger at the hag.

“You act as if she’s already dead. You can easily save her life.”

“This is ridiculous.” She began floating away again.

“Well then pack her tings. She will be leaving the ocean tomorrow morning.”

Empress Renée turned and glared at the miracle worker. “What are you talking about? You’re not taking her away from me!”

“No, you’re abandoning her. And if that won’t help you learn happiness, perhaps this will: If you fail, Nadia will also be given this golden ball.” The hag pointed to a golden ball somewhat larger than a baseball tucked away above a cabinet. “When she goes to land, she must keep it hidden. Do you know why?”

Empress Renée narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because it will hold her curse.”

“You cursed her?”

“No,” the hag answered taking another sip of her tea. “But if you do not find joy, you will.”

Empress Renée was infuriated. “I’ll have you executed!”

“Take this with you,” said the hag, ignoring the threat. She handed the empress a key on a silver chain. Engraved in the heart-shaped handle was a rosebud. “Remember the Rose Tree that was planted in honor of your father-in-law?”

“What about it?”

“It’s almost finish stretching above the ground. I expect it to be finished growing branches in about a year or two. Once the rosebud on that key is bloomed, the Rose Tree will have finished growing its branches and your time will be up.”

“Time for what?”

“Filling that nagging, dry void in your heart. To save Nadia’s life. Now if all these warnings do not influence you to find someting to fill that void, I don’t know what will. Too bad Nadia’s life isn’t enough.”

The hag began swimming away to clean up the teacups. Renée knew—she knew—this hag was talking about her barren womb. Was she telling the empress to fill it? To provide a real heir? That’s why she was trying to send Nadia to land! Nadia isn’t the true heir!

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Renée tested.

“Notting, notting. Just fill your emptiness before the rose blooms.”

“And what if Nadia dies before then?”

“She won’t, trust me. I know. She will remain in the same condition she is in at the moment until your time is up. By the way, do not wear that key around your neck. It will hinder your ability to find what’s missing in your life.”

Renée placed it around her neck. “I’ll have you executed.”

Then she quickly flowed back to the palace to tell her husband everything.