Read Online The Truth-Teller's Tale by Sharon Shinn - Free Book Online Page B

form of the wreath would be braided from evergreen and oak, and then it would be decorated with all manner of additional items, all of them representing something—holly for joy, a cornstalk for plenty. Adele and I usually pulled a few twigs from the kirrenberry and chatterleaf trees and wound them around the wreath, signifying our commitment to our professions. Our mother always attached a few dried plums and apricots, to represent a full pantry and a well-stocked cook pot. Father usually went to Lissette’s shop to buy a length of gold thread to tie everything together—and to call down riches on our home.
    Roelynn chose something different every year to bind into her father’s wreath—bird feathers (for lighthearted-ness), dried roses (for love), once even a snakeskin that we had found abandoned in the woods. Adele and I had refused to touch it, but Roelynn had snatched it up with a cry of pleasure.
    â€œWhat is that supposed to represent?” I had said rather sharply.
    â€œI don’t know. A new skin. A new life. Casting off old things,” she had said.
    â€œWhat do you want to leave behind?” Adele had inquired.
    Roelynn had laughed. “I’ll know when it’s gone.”
    But she had never told us what that might have been.
    This year we moved rather quickly through the spindly upraised arms of the winter-bare trees. It was cold, and the wind had a bitter edge to it, and none of us wanted to stay out for long. As always, we looked for the heart-shaped leaves of truelove, but we couldn’t find the vines anywhere. The woods offered many other interesting finds, though—ropes of ivy, still blood red with autumn’s coloring; wing feathers from half-a-dozen birds; the stems of dried wild-flowers; a tiny fossilized claw from what might have been a squirrel or mouse. Roelynn and I squealed and turned away, but Adele picked it up and seemed to like it.
    â€œStrength,” she decided, and added it to her bag of trophies.
    Down by the stream that was so small it sometimes meandered off to nothing during droughts, we found a long, swooping red feather. Roelynn ran forward with a little cry and snatched it up.
    â€œFrom the tail of a tasselback,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
    Adele came forward to look. The quilled scarlet edges were decorated with random streaks of black and gray. “That’s the bird in the royal crest,” Adele said. “It’s painted on all the coaches and embroidered in all the livery.”
    â€œI know,” said Roelynn. “The royal bird. I’ll have to put this in my wreath.”
    â€œWhat for?” I asked rather tartly.
    Roelynn laughed and spun around in a circle, holding the bright feather like a candle under her chin. Just like a candle, it seemed to illuminate her face with its own particular colors and characteristics. “For saying farewell to royalty,” she said. “I’ll tie this feather to my father’s wreath, and then when we throw it in the bonfire, the feather will burn away, and I’ll be forever free of any fear that my father will marry me off to the prince.”
    â€œThat’s not usually how the Wintermoon wreath is supposed to work,” Adele said in a dry voice. “What you bind into the wreath is what you want to draw your way.”
    â€œOr what you want to see go up in smoke and drift away,” Roelynn said firmly. “What really matters is your intention as you attach the object to the greenery.”
    â€œSo I suppose you’ll tell your father why you’re sewing a tasselback feather into his Wintermoon wreath?” I said.
    Roelynn looked thoughtful. “No. I’ll tell him—what you said. That it’s a way to bring me the attention of the prince.”
    â€œHe’ll be glad to hear that, I imagine,” I said. “He’ll have you back in Wodenderry before the bonfire’s even