Heartwood (Bk 7): Silver Sagas, #7

By Lea Carter

     In the midst of his struggle to adapt to the fact that he will never fly—let alone walk—again, fairy Prince Isaac of the Wood Fairy Tribe meets a lovely doctor who claims that she can heal him.  He would be a fool not to take the chance, but only he can heal the scars on his soul, scars won in a bitter fight against pirates mere months earlier.  

     Doctor Cassidy Clark is a skilled surgeon, accustomed to her well-ordered life in the volcanic-glass domed cities of the Water Fairy Tribe.  Confident that she could help the wounded Wood Fairy prince, she left her home, risking the secret of her tribe's existence.  Now she finds herself stranded for an entire season at the Wood Fairy capital city of Weetu, tucked away in an old sugar maple.  Will she be sensible enough to keep her distance or will she succumb to Isaac's winning ways?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lea Carter
• Release date: May 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9780998967837

Lea Carter

Lea Carter (1982-??) was born in Neosho, MO, the youngest of eleven children. Between working on the family farm, attending Church and school, and playing with her siblings, she somehow found time to write. She's been writing since she was nine years old...maybe younger. The first story she ever finished was called Silver Dreams, then Silver Princess. Since then she's learned something about the business of writing as well as the magic of it--and hopes you'll enjoy her work! Sign up for her newsletter at https://www.subscribepage.com/e6z6r8

Book preview

Chapter 1

A brisk fall breeze stirred the last batch of leaves that adorned a stately old sugar maple in the heart of the Deep Woods.  A handful of the leaves surrendered to winter's precursor, languidly floating down from their lofty perch, down through the young, thinner branches and past the thick branches.  Some of them brushed against the rough ridges of bark that ran the length of the trunk, catching the attention of the tree's lower-level occupants. 

Two young scullery maids, their wings all a-flutter, stopped scraping breakfast dishes to discuss the falling leaves.  Neither of them could remember a year where winter was so late in arriving.  The cook who scolded them did not bother to comment on the weather, being wholly satisfied to get them back to work.  Soon, fresh water poured freely from twin copper pipes—one hot, one cold—into the twin sinks from the water reservoir.  Such copper pipes lined the side of every major corridor in the city of Weetu, busily draining the reservoir into the hundreds of tubs, sinks, buckets, and barrels that dotted the city, just like every morning. 

To those most familiar with the city, the pipes also acted as landmarks and could be followed to the heart of Weetu:  the pump rooms.  One pump room supplied Weetu with water; the other with fresh air during the winter. 

At just that moment, a certain young man-fairy was entering the water pump room.  As he was wheeled through the door, Isaac was once again grateful for his former apprentice, now Sir Stuart.  If not for Stuart's dogged insistence, Isaac would have chosen to rely on apprentices, like the rest of the crew, for wheeled chair drivers.  He still wondered if he had made the right choice. 

Isaac glanced casually at the rows of work stations that crisscrossed the enormous chamber.  Morning was a very busy time for the water pump room.  Barrels of water were required for making breakfast, for washing up, watering stock, and dozens of other things.  That was part of why Isaac, like so many of the windship Zelkova's crew, had chosen to do his physical therapy exercises here.  He might never fly again, or draw a longbow, but he could be sure that he was being useful. 

The sounds from dozens of gears grinding would soon make talking almost impossible, but right now the stations were being slowly emptied and prepared for the next shift.  The fairies who were unable to walk on their own were being wheeled off to their morning meal by first and second-year apprentices completing their yearly required service hours. 

Due to the dangerous nature of animal and insect wrangling, less than a third of Wranglers lived to die of old age.  Fully a third ended their careers early due to one debilitating injury or another.  What made this group unique was that they were all windfairies, members of the Royal Fleet; that, and all of their injuries were the result of action during the joint-tribal windship battle with the pirates.  Torn wings. Disfigured faces.  Permanently twisted, or even missing, limbs.  Everywhere Isaac looked, he saw crew members from the Zelkova.  He knew them all by name.  A few months ago, they all left port together.  They returned together.  And as was the custom, the injured crew members of the Zelkova were all recuperating together, secure in the knowledge of their shared horrors, each grateful for the trusted companionship during the difficult adaptation period.  It was the one place in Weetu that Isaac should have fit in.  And he would have, except...

Your Highness!  A much older man-fairy straightened in his wheeled chair when he noticed Prince Isaac. 

Now Bert.  Isaac's wheeled chair began moving in Bert's direction.  How many times, Isaac made a point of gesturing with his crippled right hand, just as though he was not shocked anew at the damage every time he noticed it, must I ask you to call me Isaac? 

I suppose until I get used to it, Bert grinned, relaxing a little in his chair.  Something about the way he remained pitched unnaturally forward gave the impression of the willing anticipation that characterized his short but spectacular military career.  Four hundred years.  He had just been entering his prime.  Shall we join them?  He jerked his head towards where a group of their crewmates had begun the checking-in process.

After you, Isaac half-bowed, grinning.  As soon as Bert was a half a twig away, Isaac beckoned for Sir Stuart to come forward.  That will be all.  He held Stuart's gaze a moment longer than absolutely necessary, relying on centuries of comradeship to convey his silent thanks.  It was more than duty that kept Sir Stuart at his side.  It was the brotherhood common to Wranglers. 

Jared, a second-year apprentice, appeared beside Stuart, ready to take over driving Isaac's chair.  Jared was a well-muscled lad who had shown the good sense of doing his job without chattering on about nothing.  Isaac knew he would miss the lad when his month was up.  He also knew they were lucky to have him in the Wranglers.  Jared could have chosen to become a woodcutter or signed on with a Master Carpenter.  Neither of those occupations involved hours in a windowless cavern, lit only by the bioluminescent fungi growing from the ceiling and the professional smiles of the medical staff, Isaac reflected grimly.   

Alright, Filmore, The nurse in charge, a thin, elderly fairy who answered to Rosie, shook a finger at the burly patient she had just finished examining, the same machine and workout as yesterday.  But take it easy.  If you go as hard as you did yesterday, you will only slow your recovery down.  Understood?

Aye, aye, Filmore answered cheerily.  Not that he really understood Rosie's figuring, but he did understand that it was an order.  And taking orders was bread and butter for a windfairy like him. 

Good morning, Rosie, Isaac smiled as his wheeled chair came to a stop in front of her.

Well now.  As Rosie held Filmore's file out to one side, her apprentice promptly exchanged it for Isaac's file.  Back for more, eh?  She pretended to study a non-existent note in Isaac's file while she took stock of his appearance instead.  Getting all of your basking in? she asked, concerned by how pale he was becoming, a clear indication that he was ignoring the standard order to spend a few hours in the sun every day before winter set in.  There were no windows in the water pump room, or in the wind pump room for that matter.  Windows were being shut and shuttered all through Weetu to protect them from the harsh winter they were expecting.  The forest animals had been showing sign of it for weeks, almost to the point of appearing anxious for it to finally arrive.  But it was twice as bad for the fairies.  Being cooped up inside was like being deprived of oxygen for a Wood Fairy, especially one as young and athletic as Prince Isaac. 

No, not really, Isaac answered coolly. 

Why not?  Rosie shut his file and folded her arms across her chest. 

Isaac shook his head, deliberately tilting his head forward slightly and looking off at nothing, as though remembering something important but confidential. 

It is difficult to find the time.  My duties...  He gestured vaguely. 

Rosie's eyes narrowed.  Her vision might be fading, but she could still see plenty and what she saw here bothered her.  It was plain unhealthy for him to avoid the sun like this.

"Well from now on, you will make the time, she informed him.  Doctor's orders and no squirming out of it.  Understood?  Plucking a pencil from among the many sticking up out of her loose ponytail, she added a note to his file.  I know how busy your royal duties keep you.  She lowered her voice a bit for that, sensitive to the fact that he usually tried to downplay that part of his life as far as the other patients were concerned.  But whatever it is that is keeping you so busy, you can just do it on the balcony.  She waved her hand at him dismissively.  Get on with you now, there is work to be done.  Same exercises as yesterday and mind that you do not strain your back."  Spinal injuries were tricky enough.  Some healed; some did not, a fact that irritated her greatly.  There simply was no reliable treatment for his condition.  The most she could do presently was warn him against doing more damage. 

Isaac fumed silently while Jared wheeled him over to the nearest unoccupied leg station.  Basking. What good is it?  And what is the use of this? he raged to himself as Jared removed the footrest from his chair and placed his feet on the station's pedals.  Isaac's mood soured further when Jared dutifully adjusted the tension on the pedals to the lowest setting.  With all of his might, Isaac pushed his left foot down.  The pedal barely budged.  His effort with his right foot met with the same result.  I will never walk again.  Left foot.  They know it, if they would just admit it.  Right foot.  I know it.  Left foot.  I will never walk again!  His anger made him careless, so that what little movement he achieved quickly became sloppy. 

Hi!  Jared produced a clean white towel and lightly mopped Isaac's damp forehead.  Slow and steady, yeah?  Nodding at the station's miniature sandglass he reminded Isaac, No need to wear yerself out in the first minute.  Save some fer the other nine.  He discreetly failed to mention his real concern—that Isaac's movements would get jerkier and jerkier until he really did hurt himself.  Back injuries were nothing to fool with; any fool knew that. 

Isaac inhaled shakily, embarrassed but still consumed with the apparent futility of the exercise.  Fortunately for all concerned, Isaac considered shouting at his subjects to be the lowest form of weakness.  Anyway, Jared was too nice a lad to glare at. 

Right, Isaac ground out between clenched teeth.  Carefully, he started again.  Left foot.  Right foot.  Again.  Smooth, controlled efforts that required all of his concentration. 

Done.  Jared grinned at his prince and held out the towel. 

Isaac automatically began reaching for the towel with his right hand, then took it with his left.  He probably could have hooked the towel with the curled fingers of his right hand, but it was not worth the risk of accidentally dropping it on the floor.

You moved the marker, you did, Jared informed him, pointing at the machine with his pencil, then jotting down the achievement with a flourish.  It was a small increase, as one measured ordinary things—a fingernail's thickness at most.  But Jared, in the infinite wisdom of compassionate youth, was beaming with pride in his prince.  Near half a woodgrain up from last time.  Have a drink, yeah?

Not until I bring a drink's worth of water up from the well, Isaac muttered under his breath.  He was no expert on the efficiency of Weetu's water pump systems, but he was confident that he had sweated more moisture than he had pumped as yet.

Hey?  Jared frowned, one hand on the pitcher of specially treated 'doctor's water.'    Every patient was supposed to have a glass after each exercise.

I say, Isaac pasted on a grin, none of that doctor's water for me!  He tossed the towel back at Jared only to watch wistfully as the youth caught it easily.  Save it for after the arm workout, when I really need it.

Jared shook his head and bent to trade the pedals for the foot straps.  While doctor's water eased aches and pains and was good for rehydrating after a grueling workout,  it tasted bitter and woody because of the herbs and potions it was made of.  How could he blame Isaac for being reluctant to drink it?

Come on then.  Jared moved the station's marker back to zero and flipped the sandglass over.  The good citizens of Weetu are waiting! 

From somewhere deep inside, Isaac found enough patience to get through the leg lift exercise.  Whether he walked or not, he knew his mother would ask at lunch how the exercises had gone.  And he had better have the right answers if he did not want her conspiring with Rosie 'for his own good.'  At least he had finally convinced his mother to dine with him privately.  He had always been reasonably coordinated with his left hand, but he desperately wanted more practice with soups, stews, etc., before winter set in and his options dwindled.  He liked soups and stews, appreciated their warmth and nourishment.  They just had a habit of slipping out of his spoon before it quite reached his mouth.

Jared, sensing that Isaac was in a less-than-talkative mood, handed him the glass of doctor's water as soon as the sandglass ran out.  A sip, at least, yeah? he implored—then promptly became absorbed in checking and jotting down the marker's location. 

Isaac dutifully placed the glass to his lips, tilted his head back, and pretended to swallow.  While he knew Jared was not watching, he never doubted for a moment that Rosie was. 

At last they moved on to the arm workouts.  Isaac almost looked forward to those.  Both of his arms were in good working order, so it was a simple matter to slip his hands into the straps and actually accomplish something.  It felt fine to watch Jared adjust the tension on this machine to what Isaac considered a respectable setting before starting the sandglass.  Isaac was not even allowed to propel his own wheeled chair for fear of damaging his spine further, but at least this machine was an old friend from before the accident.  In fact, this was the one machine where Isaac knew exactly how much water he was pumping with each stroke:  twelve curls brought up half a drop; pushing forward twelve times brought up the same.  At the sandglass' half mark, Jared helped him switch straps so that he could work his other muscles, pushing his arms out to the sides, etc. 

Alright, Jared.  Rosie patted the lad on the shoulder.  Finish your notes and go find someone to talk to.  

Jared obeyed, but only because he knew how much the hand workouts hurt Prince Isaac.  Sometimes, when he was working with the patients, he wondered how he would handle his own probable future injury.  It was a sobering thought, which he suspected was the point of having the newer apprentices volunteering there. 

Here, Rosie produced a soft ball from her jacket pocket.  No larger than an average caterpillar egg, it was still proving an almost undefeatable challenge for Prince Isaac.  Take it.

Isaac eyed the malevolent gray ball a moment before reaching for it.  It was just small enough and just soft enough that if he pushed hard enough against Rosie's palm, he was able to work the ball past his stiff, curled fingers and into his own palm.  As always, what followed was seven consecutive minutes of excruciating concentration.

Squeeze the ball.  Roll the ball.  Drop the ball.  Rosie issued each command in a dry, matter-of-fact tone of voice, rotating through them at intervals and watching Isaac's face closely as it changed shade by shade from faded tan to a sort of dark pale without him voicing a single complaint.  He was a stubborn one, that was for sure. 

Enough.  Rosie allowed him to pry the ball free with his left hand, glad he was willing to do it himself.  It hurt her just to watch some of her patients.  Taking the ball from him, she dropped it in her pocket.  Well done. 

Just in time.  Isaac managed a semi-convincing smile in an attempt to cover his weariness.  Sir Stuart has arrived to collect me.

Not so fast.  Rosie nodded at the glass of doctor's water.  Drink that first.  Then you can go.

Isaac glared at her.  I will not drink that...foul potion, he informed her coldly.  They had the same argument, more or less, after every session.

You will, she shot back at him.  You will if you have to stay here all day!  Finding that Isaac continued staring at her obstinately, she closed his file with a thump.  Very well.  I will tell Sir Stuart that he is not needed and...

Wait.  Isaac held up his right hand in protest, wincing a little with the gesture.  Why could he feel sore muscles in his arm when he could not actually move his fingers?  Alright.  Remembering in time to take up the glass with his left hand, he held it up as if toasting her.  Anything to set a good example for the others.

Rosie did her best not to smirk as Isaac drained the glass in a single gulp.  Nor did she allow herself to look impressed when he kept a straight face.  That would ruin their game.

If that is all, then? Isaac handed her the empty glass.  He already felt a little better, though he would never have admitted it. 

Just about.  She raised both eyebrows for emphasis as she reminded him, Do your sun basking today.

Sir Stuart walked over to them, arriving in time to hear Rosie's admonition.  While he knew full well why Isaac was resisting the treatment, he had not yet found a solution.  Winter would soon be here, too, its chill temperatures and shortened daylight hours further hampering the sun basking treatments.  He shrank back a bit when Rosie looked over at him.

I will hold you responsible if he does not bask today.

Yes, ma'am, Stuart answered at once.  It was the first and only response that occurred to him.  His own mother was a doctor, too, so his training on the subject had begun very early.  Besides, sun basking would do his best friend, Isaac, a world of good.  If only there was a way to do it without exposing the ugly scars that covered Isaac's torso, the scars that made even Stuart flinch.  They were not the neatly sewn, or at least moderately gruesome, type of scars that Wranglers so often boasted of and showed off with pride.  Despite the surgeon's best efforts, and he had been summoned almost immediately through fairy dust to the scene of the battle, the wounds had been too severe to heal smoothly.  Potions and salves alike had failed to reduce the color of the scars, or even to ease the taut skin around them. 

Abruptly, Stuart realized that Isaac was glaring at both himself and Rosie. 

By your leave, Stuart held out his hand to Rosie, who automatically reached for it, fair lady.  Brushing a courtier's kiss across the back of Rosie's ever-so-slightly wrinkled hand, Stuart turned to Isaac.  I suppose you know how much we have to do today?  Without waiting for a response, Stuart moved into position behind the chair.  Releasing the hand brake, he continued, And yet here you still sit, whiling away your time with a lovely lady.

Isaac rolled his eyes as soon as he was sure Rosie could not see what he was doing.  Stuart might think he could cajole him into sun basking, but

Reviews for Heartwood (Bk 7)

[bibliodiction · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I was a bit unsure about starting my Silver Sagas adventure so far into the series. However, the book was written with someone like me in mind. I didn’t feel as if I was missing vital parts of the story. Heartwood is capable of being read as a stand-alone. Afterwards, I was left with a need to read the next book, as well as a desire to catch up on the first six.My introduction to Fairydom was fascinating. Each tribe is like a world of its own. Different foods, different cultures, and different occupations. Of the four different tribes, the focus of this story was primarily the Wood Fairies. Unlike most fairy stories, most bugs in this forest are not friendly. They will not allow a passenger the comfort of being chauffeured around the forest. Dangerous and deadly, only the most skilled fairies become Wranglers trained to keep the tribe safe.Winter is coming. Preparations have begun. Travel becomes impossible the moment air turns icy. For the next few months, home lies deep within the tree’s rings.A trio of strangers appear at the last moment. A traveling troupe of actors have come to alleviate the winter blues. A new art exhibit is on loan from a different tribe. The pump house is full of rehabilitating Wranglers. Love is in the air.I am glad I was given the opportunity to read this book. I do look forward to catching up with the rest of the story.