Free The Reign of Trees by Lori Folkman Page A

winning so mightily.
    Just then, Donovan came back into the room. He stopped, saw her hand upon his map, and then rushed toward her. He quickly rolled up the map and tucked it under his arm, making her hand feel as if he had just swatted her like her harsh governess had done, on many occasions, when Illianah’s handwriting had been illegible.
    “What are you at, Illianah?” he asked.
    “Nothing. I just … I am not spying, if that is what you are indicating. I thought we had already established that I lack the necessary skills …”
    “We both know what you just saw. You are trained enough to read a simple map.”
    It was not his words that hurt. It was his indignant tone.
    “Of course I know what I saw. I am not stupid, Donovan. You have positioned your entire army at the Battle of Laencia, making your forces seem stronger than they really are. One might say it is you who is stupid. You have left the rest of your kingdom vulnerable. I may not be well versed in war strategies, but I know enough to recognize a foolish act when I see one.”
    “It is not foolish. It is working. Your father’s army is taking a considerable hit. His soldiers are dying by the hundreds.”
    There was no holding back the tears now. “And that delights you?” she cried. “You are causing death and destruction, and you are happy because of it? You are no different from the rest, Donovan. I once thought of you as kind and compassionate. I once thought peace would be synonymous with your name.”
    His Adam’s apple bobbed as he seemed to search for the words to say in his defense. When he spoke, his voice was feeble. “Those days are long since gone, Illianah. It is time for you to grow up and realize that we are at war. Those with compassion are those who die.”
    ***
    Illianah was a prisoner in her own bedchamber; a prisoner in her own mind. To come out of her room now would only prove to Donovan that he had control over her. She remained obstinately in bed, never dressing, never eating. She did hope that her protest against food—against life—would bring about her death and then Donovan would have to pay dearly for causing the sudden end of her life. She wanted to bring him pain in any possible way, although she did not think she could cause a cold and calloused heart to feel that which was against its very nature.
    After several days of her protest of life, he came to her door and called her name. She did not answer. “Illianah,” he said again. “Forgive me for my harshness. It is not … it was not my intent to hurt you. I am not myself. This … this situation is hard. Hard for us all.…” She wished that the kindness she heard in his voice would have been filtered out by the thick, rich wood of her door. But she would not allow his kindness to soften her heart. He could not speak kindly to her one minute and then rebuke her the next. She did not answer. “Illianah,” he again said. More words did not follow this time. She held perfectly still until she was certain that he had left.
    Her lady’s maids were gentle and doting, yet she would not give them the satisfaction of speaking to them or showing that she had any life left in her hollow heart.
    Even when she heard cheers from the courtyard and heard the declaration that Burchess had retreated, putting an end to the Battle of Laencia, she still remained in her catatonic state. Deltegra’s triumph meant nothing to her. Not even pain. She did wish to go home to Burchess, but not so long as that unfeeling husband of hers remained in her kingdom. She was truly lost. A lost soul without a body, without a home.
    The day after the victory shouts, one of her lady’s maids brought something into the bedchamber. Illianah only glanced as the maid set it down on the chest near the window. “’Tis for you,” she said. “A gift from the prince. He has sent you a letter as well.”
    “I do not want it. Tell him I will accept nothing from him, not even a letter.”
    The maid