The Forest King’s Daughter

2

The Old Ones were giants who sprang forth when the world was young.

After ages alone, they longed for someone to admire what they had wrought.

From their longing, the Ancients came to life.

—FROM T HE O RIGINS OF THE L AND F OLK

C ASSIA LEFT THE WAR ROOM, HER EYES ACHING with the threat of tears. She turned, finding Enora and Thea leaning against the wall next to the doorway, their arms crossed as if waiting for her. Enora’s pale gray eyes looked concerned. Not wanting to worry her sisters, Cassia rolled her eyes, trying to hide the despondency that hung over her like a dark cloud. Thea lifted a dark brow, her deep brown eyes attentive, and Cassia knew she saw through her. But Thea wasn’t one to talk about feelings. In a wry tone, Thea said, “I don’t suppose he hauled you in there to discuss the serious issue of the Second Huntsman’s pants being too tight?”

Despite herself, Cassia let out a hoarse bark of laughter. Thea could always lighten the mood. Taking a steadying breath, she explained what her father had said about the Azpian numbers. “Add to that, the usual. I’m not using the ring to its full potential. I could master it if I took it seriously.”

Why did her stomach twist so painfully? It wasn’t the first time her father had lectured her. It wasn’t the first time he’d expressed disappointment. Far from it. But this time, the words had stung in a new way. Perhaps because there had been an edge of urgency to them.

Why couldn’t she be what he wanted her to be?

“Oh, Cass,” said Enora, putting a hand on her shoulder. “No one takes things more seriously than you do. We know you’re trying. Caring too little is not your problem.”

Wanting to get away from the war room, Cassia started down the corridor, her sisters falling into step beside her.

“I agree.” Thea jostled her shoulder, bumping her the way she had when they used to wrestle as children. “On the other hand, maybe if you’d stop staring at Burke’s arse for two seconds, you’d find time to figure out your ring.”

Enora’s laugh was cut short by an unconvincing cough.

“I don’t ogle him,” Cassia protested, adding for the sake of truth, “much.” Which drew more laughter. “I’m mostly jealous because it all comes so easily to him. I wish I had an ounce of his confidence.”

“Arrogance, you mean,” Enora said.

“It’s warranted,” Thea said. “He’s good.” The highest compliment she could give.

Cassia sighed. “Father is worried. The harsh winter gave us a break from the attacks, but the thaws will bring the Dracu back. We used to celebrate spring with revels. Now we wait to see how badly they outnumber us.”

It made her chest ache when she thought of their history, the stories shared in front of the great hall’s massive fireplace of a thriving people who had covered lands from sea to sea. Like other land folk, Sylvans had been pushed back by the encroachment of humans, retreating into wilder, less cultivated places like Thirstwood.

The Dracu had done the same. The difference was, the Dracu allied with fearsome creatures: the goblin-like Skratti, winged imps, and poison-tongued lizards called drakes. Though Sylvans were as tough as tree bark, most of the forest-dwellers tended to be smaller, including pixies, river folk, and wood sprites who did not have a history of battle. The Sylvan king’s Huntsmen fought to protect the forest folk, but their numbers were cut with every raid, their strength culled in every fight.

“Regardless of what Father says, it’s not all on your shoulders, Cass,” Enora said. “Focus on the ring, and we’ll be at your back on the battlefield.”

Cassia forced a smile, knowing that Enora was trying to be encouraging. She only wished it were a mere matter of focus. She’d focused on nothing but the ring for years. The Sylvan king had been confounded by her lack of ability to use the gemstone as a weapon. He seemed to think it would be something she would do instinctively, the way he spoke with the trees. He had hired Seer after Seer to guide her with whatever knowledge of the ancient artifacts they possessed, cobbled together with spells.

Finally, at twelve years old, she’d created her first blast of light. Though the radius had been small, her father had immediately placed her on the battlefield to test its effect. Her second blast hadn’t killed enemies, but it had incapacitated them. She would never forget watching Azpians fall to the ground, writhing helplessly as the Sylvan Huntsmen stabbed them in the chest or took their heads. She’d doubled over as the world had spun and faded to black. She’d woken in the arms of the weapons master, Tibald, as he’d rushed her away from the fighting. She’d never been allowed that close again.

After that, her father had placed her far enough away that she was out of sight, but near enough to use the blast on enemies. The current Court Seer, Veleda, had experimented with potions to increase the gemstone’s range, with some success. But it wasn’t enough.

“I have to push myself harder,” she said aloud.

“Or find a new angle,” Thea suggested. “Surely there’s something you haven’t tried yet. Sometimes when we’re strategizing, I find just looking at the map in a different way can help me see something I missed.”

Enora nodded. “Go see Veleda again. Be like Rozie. Pester her until she comes up with something.”

Maybe they were right.

Thea punched her shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, Deathringer. We know you will.”

She felt her lips compress at the nickname, even though she appreciated Thea’s faith in her. A new resolve took hold as she took the stairs down to the lowest level of the fortress.

Cassia drew up short when her foot splashed into cold wetness. Grimacing, she continued on, her boot squelching. She didn’t know why Veleda chose a place where water found its way through cracks and no amount of mortar would keep it dry. Scarhamm was built in a bend of the Scar, a river that began in the snowy heights of the Ambrose Mountains to the north before meandering through marshy lowlands on its way to Thirstwood. The river provided water for the people of Scarhamm and offered protection against enemies. But it also created a constant battle against damp and rot.

When Cassia reached the Seer’s familiar peeling wooden door, she took a breath before pushing it open, knowing the smells that would hit her: pungent herbs and even more pungent odors of animal remains. She peeked her head in and was greeted by the sight of an upside-down rat skull, light flickering through its empty eye sockets. The Seer stood at her worktable with her back to the door, her arm moving as she stirred something in an iron pot. Her long dark curls were knotted with a scarf at her nape.

“Come in, Cass,” Veleda said in her easy tone.

Cassia stepped into the room, calmed by Veleda’s off-key humming. The space seemed more and more cluttered every time she visited. Rickety shelves groaned under the weight of dusty bottles and vials. Herbs garroted with twine dangled in haphazard bunches. There were bat wings preserved in oil and glass jugs of crickets. A stuffed boar’s head stared with marble eyes from one wall, while a goat’s carcass hung in a corner from a steel hook. Cassia turned away, her gorge rising.

She’d seen divination rituals performed by Court Seers over the years. Some used runes, some bones, others needed blood or raw meat for summoning spirits from the Netherwhere. Veleda tried a little of everything. She spent most of her time in these damp rooms rather than dispensing predictions from her raised seat of honor in the great hall. But she’d proven herself after her arrival from a tiny village to the north, offering more correct predictions than any Seer Scarhamm had ever had.

“What can I help you with, Cass?” Veleda asked, turning. She was a tall woman, strong of jaw and cheekbone, her full lips almost always curving up with a hint of mischief. Her eyes were a nebulous color, sometimes green, sometimes bronze. Though her face had few lines, it was hard to tell age among long-lived Sylvans. Even the king, whose great age wasn’t known—not even by his daughters—had few creases on his sun-weathered skin.

“I need to learn how to control the ring,” she said, the statement coming out more of a question than she’d intended.

“Is that all?” Veleda’s lips twitched. “I thought it would be something difficult.” She tossed some animal hides onto a table, revealing a chair.

Cassia eyed the chair, which must certainly have blood on it, before perching on its edge. “I know you’ve said that you can’t See everything. Some things remain obscure, as is the will of the Ancients. But there must be something else we can try.”

“Let me see.” Veleda looked around the room, as if for inspiration. “We’ve read every text we could find. We’ve used herbs, enchantments, and divination. We’ve summoned spirits. We’ve tested potions until my fingers turned green. Almost as green as your face when the healer gave you that purgative.” Her eyes twinkled at the memory.

Cassia grimaced. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“We even tried to find your mother’s tree to ask her.”

Cassia’s breath stopped short at the casual reference to her mother. No one mentioned the Sylvan queen lightly.

During the war, Queen Coventina had grown listless. Year after year, she’d weakened, finally becoming so ill, she’d needed to retreat to her tree for rest.

Every Sylvan had a tree. Both energy source and sanctuary, they served as places to heal and rest.

But Cassia didn’t even know where hers was, let alone her mother’s. From the time they were born, her father had forbidden his daughters to have a direct connection with their trees. She didn’t know why. She only knew the restless ache she’d felt for as long as she could remember.

That was what had led her into Thirstwood as a child, though it was a secret she had never revealed to anyone. When she’d first met Zeru, she had been searching for her tree.

Then she’d received the ring, and her life had changed forever. Everyone’s lives had changed. That was the part that lived inside her heart like a leaking poison. Her defiance had led to her mother’s illness. And to war. Every terrible thing that had happened in the past ten years was a result of Cassia’s own headstrong disobedience. Her childlike conviction that it wouldn’t hurt to follow her instincts. To search for the forbidden.

“Some things do not want to be known,” Veleda said, spreading her hands.

“Isn’t there someone else we can consult?” she asked, succumbing to that familiar ache in her chest. The secret hope that ending the war would bring her mother home. She would do anything.

Veleda’s eyes sharpened. “Who do you imagine knows the truth about your ring?”

At a loss for how to answer, Cassia glanced around the room, her eyes falling on what could have been a Dracu horn. “The Dracu queen, maybe?” As she said it, she warmed to the idea. “The night I got the ring, she didn’t call it the Solis Gemma. She called it the Dracustone. They must know more than we do. Maybe their Seers or some of the elders…”

Veleda held up a hand. “First of all, the Dracu queen will claim anything as her own, regardless of its origins or true name. If it’s in the Azpian realm, it’s hers. Second, how do you propose to ask her? A trip to the Cryptlands?”

Heat crept up Cassia’s neck. “Of course not.” No Sylvan went into the Cryptlands. At least, not if they wanted to come out. “What about summoning a Dracu spirit?”

The Seer chuckled, leaning her hip against her worktable. “Even if I did manage to summon one, it would be hostile to Sylvans and wouldn’t tell us anything. Nothing true, at any rate. I don’t have to tell you, it’s dangerous to have a hostile spirit in the room.”

That had happened once. One of the spirits had shaken the shelves, breaking half of Veleda’s glass bottles before she’d dismissed it. It had almost managed to break through the protective circle she had drawn around Cassia.

Cassia pressed her lips together and stared at the floor. There had to be a way.

Veleda sighed and her tone softened. “Your hopes torture you. If you could be content. The blast of light debilitates the Dracu for long enough that your Huntsmen can gain an advantage.”

“My Huntsmen?” Cassia repeated. “Surely they’re yours, too.”

“Our,” Veleda corrected, inclining her head.

“My father has charged me with finding a way to use the ring to its full potential. To be able to… kill outright. Our enemies could attack any day.” She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap, the ring’s dull surface taunting her. “There has to be something. Some way to gain greater control.”

“You’ve pushed yourself until you almost died,” Veleda reminded her. “Every battle takes more out of you. Do you want to destroy yourself along with your enemies?”

This was more important than pain. Anyway, she deserved to suffer. This was her penance. For sneaking out as a child and befriending an enemy. For failing to learn how to use the ring so she could end the war. And for what the war had done to her mother.

She met Veleda’s eyes. “I’d do anything to wield the ring the way our people need me to.”

The Court Seer’s brows lowered, and her tone sharpened. “Be careful, Cassia. A statement like that almost sounds like a vow. And I don’t know if that’s something to which you want to be bound.”

Veleda returned to her worktable, clattering her mortar and pestle together louder than before. Cassia stared at her back for a moment, disappointed that the Seer hadn’t even tried. She shut the door softly behind her before retracing her steps, careless of her boots splashing through frigid puddles and leaving wet tracks.

“Cassia, wake up!” Rozie shouted.

Cassia sat up in bed to see Rozie in the doorway, her copper hair wilder than usual, her linen nightgown a ghostly slash against the dark. “I heard shouting, and the gates are opening. The watch guards are calling for healers.”

Her mind fuzzy with sleep, Cassia asked, “Who was out on night patrol?”

“I think Enora and Thea were on duty.”

Cassia was on her feet in a second, the cold floor jarring her into alertness. She followed Rozie down the stairs, both of them rushing headlong for the doors. Fear chilled her as much as the wintry air as they reached the open gates. There was a confusion of shouts and orders as Huntsmen ran out to help the returning party, visible now among the trees. Crossing the bridge over the river, Cassia found herself at the edge of the forest, her eyes scanning the crowd for her sisters. Tension eased in Cassia’s chest as Enora’s silvery head came into view. Then she saw Thea being carried on a pallet. A swoop of stark fear hit Cassia like a blow. She put a hand to one of the trees, her palm meeting the reassuring feel of bark. For a few horrible seconds, she thought her sister might be dead. Only the silent communion between herself and the tree spirit gave her the strength to remain upright. Then Enora motioned her to come closer, her face strained but not devastated. And she knew Thea was alive.

There were several Huntsmen on pallets, but Cassia went straight to her sister’s. Thea’s eyes were closed, her forehead beaded with sweat. Thea who could bear more pain than anyone. One of the healers arrived, ordering everyone out of his way. Quickly, he tore the fabric of Thea’s trouser leg, exposing an open wound.

Cassia turned her head to the side so the injury was out of view. “What happened?”

“Thrice-damned Dracu,” Enora said, her hands fisted. “There was drake poison on his blade. Had to be.”

“I have the antidote,” the healer said, reaching into a satchel, “but we still need to clean the wound.”

Thea’s eyes opened, spearing Cassia with a feverish brown glare. “Going to slit that Dracu’s throat. I’ll never forget his face. Never.”

“Don’t vow it,” Cassia said, anxiety twisting her stomach. A vow was a promise that had to be kept, regardless of the cost, even more so if you vowed to one of the Ancients. Which Thea might be furious enough to do. It was said if you broke a vow to Noctua, your death would be swift.

“I don’t need to vow it.” Thea took the antidote from the healer, grimacing as she drank its bitter contents in one gulp. “I’ll have my revenge.”

“You will,” Cassia assured her, feeling helpless.

As the healer cleaned the wound, Thea said, “It’s all right, Cass, go. I know you can’t stand blood.”

Cassia’s face heated. A warrior king’s daughter who couldn’t bear the sight of blood. Only her mother and her sisters knew that shameful secret. It was an aversion that Cassia and her mother had shared.

As Thea was carried to the infirmary, Cassia and Enora followed. Rozie appeared, grabbing Enora’s hand. “What happened?” she demanded.

Enora took a breath and put on her elder-sister face, the reassuring one that held all her worry inside. “We were patrolling to the east thanks to a tip from one of the pixies. The Dracu ambush came out of nowhere.”

“From under our feet,” said Burke, the Second Huntsman, stepping alongside them. He spit on the ground as if his disgust could reach down into the Cryptlands.

Cassia ran her fingers through her hair, conscious that she was in her nightdress and mussed from sleep.

Enora’s jaw firmed as she nodded. “They were hiding under leaves and sprang up to surround us. Over a dozen of them to four of us. The grace of Noctua was with me, though. Only a few scratches.” She nodded to the Second Huntsman, her expression mischievous. “Burke here is all bruised up.”

“Hardly,” Burke said, his smooth, deep voice full of scorn. “It would take more than that to put a mark on me.”

Cassia watched Burke as he strode through Scarhamm’s gates, feeling the familiar blend of admiration and envy she carried for all the talented Huntsmen. And a slight warmth to her cheeks. From all the stories, he was second to none in Dracu kills. The handsome young Sylvan had risen to the position of Second Huntsman at a young age. He was only three years older than Cassia herself.

“What about the trees?” Cassia asked Enora, who walked beside her. Thirstwood should have come to the Huntsmen’s aid, using branches and roots to trap their enemies. “Why didn’t they protect you?”

Enora grimaced. “We were in Hexdun Valley. The Dracu are setting up a damned encampment. They’ve never come above so early in the season.”

Cassia’s breathing shallowed. Hexdun Valley was dangerous: a treeless, rocky expanse bordered by cliffs. The Dracu returned there year after year. An attack on a Sylvan’s night patrol could only mean one thing: The spring campaigns were about to begin. The previous year, a hundred Huntsmen had died in the night of their first attack. How many would they lose this year?

“Those monsters are begging for a confrontation,” Burke said, his voice rough with loathing.

“And we will oblige,” said a voice as deep as the roots of a thousand-year-old oak.

Everyone turned, heads bowing as the Sylvan king emerged from the fortress. He looked forbidding, his dark eyes shining with determination, his antlers as sharp as sword tips.

Enora stepped forward, clasping her hands behind her back. “When, Father?”

“Three days.”

“Under a full moon?” Cassia said, hearing the fear in her own voice. The full moon would mean the wards were thinnest, and the Azpians could come through them with greater ease.

The king’s eyes fell darkly upon her, and she wished she hadn’t spoken.

He made a gesture with his massive hand. “Enough of these small clashes. The wards will be weak, the Dracu overconfident, and the queen will show up in numbers. We take as many heads as we can.” He didn’t release her from his stare, and Cassia read the silent demand. She had to do more than she ever had before. The ring couldn’t fail.

She could not fail.

Cassia nodded to him, her eyes speaking a promise. I’ll be ready.