The Secret of Dreadwillow Carse Read Online Free Page B

Monarchy’s tribute to the Queen Ascendant, preparations began across the land for the welcoming of autumn.
    And the arrival of the Crimson Hoods.
    Word came the day after Tower Rise that Emberfell would receive the Crimson Hoods. As mysterious as they were vaunted, the cloaked and silent envoys of the queen visited only one town during each gloamingtide celebration. Their presence was considered a great honor in itself. But no honor was greater than to be
selected
by the Hoods.
    Four times a year—one for each gloamingtide that marked the passing of the seasons—the Crimson Hoods took one of the chosen town’s residents away to serve the queen. These selected few went to live, so it was said, in one of the Nine Towers. They were lavished, so it was said, with privileges and extravagances previously reserved for the monarch and the monarch’s family. In exchange, they performed duties vital to the continued prosperity of all in the land. So it was said.
    What these duties were, no one knew. And no one cared. It was a chance to serve the monarch in a way very, very few could. That service was superior to any excess the queen could provide.
    Although gloamingtide heralded its official arrival, autumn had been in evidence for some time. An early frost—welcome respite from a particularly warm summer—prompted everyone to don woolly sweaters and caps. The smell of burning leaves and cooking spices promised evenings of comforting fires and even more comforting food.
    Aon stood atop a ladder, cheerfully removing the bright banners from Tower Rise that hung from the rooftop thatching. Below, her father sat using a nail as a needle and thin rope as thread to pierce through colorful leaves and small gourds, making garlands that would replace the banners. When he finished a strand, he wove a glossy purple ribbon throughout. The ribbon had been Aon’s idea.
    While Aon hid a sorrow no one in Emberfell would understand, it was not her permanent state. Most days, Aon was
very
happy. Today, for example. She loved autumn, and the gloamingtide festivals were among her most cherished memories. She looked forward to drinking spiced cider later that night until she got sick, after the Crimson Hoods had taken one of Emberfell’s lucky citizens with them to Nine Towers. Aon was not incapable of happiness. But she enjoyed her secret bouts of grief like a wicked indulgence.
    Aon moved the ladder across the street, and her father fed strands of garland up to her.
    â€œI forgot to tell you,” her father said, grinning. “Jackdaw Fen will be gracing all with a new song at the celebration tonight.”
    Aon giggled. Her father belonged to a trio of bards. They called themselves Jackdaw Fen. Every gloamingtide, they entertained the whole town with songs around the bonfire. “What’s this one about?” she asked.
    â€œWrote it myself,” her father said proudly. “It’s based on the legend of Pirep and Tali.”
    Aon applauded. The fable of Pirep and Tali—two girls who got lost in Dreadwillow Carse—had always been one of her favorite bedtime stories. She suspected she liked it because her mother’s family tree showed she had ancestors named Pirep and Tali. Her mother had often teased, saying Aon’s distant relatives were the same girls from the tale. But it was just make-believe.
    Aon also liked the story because it was sad. The girls got lost in the Carse and never came out. But, of course, the people of Emberfell still thought it had a happy ending. Because nothing made them sad or scared or heartbroken. Nothing.
    Aon raised her arms, very much resembling the statue of Queen Sula. “I look forward to a command performance,” she said in her most regal voice.
    Aon and her father laughed as Aon carefully tied the first garland to the chimney of their neighbor, Mrs. Grandwyn. It stretched across the road to the awning of their house. The sunlight caught the