The Forest King’s Daughter

5

To break a Sylvan, merely keep it in the dark long enough.

—G AXIX, D RACU PHILOSOPHER

C ASSIA STUDIED THE D RACU. H E WATCHED HER silently as if waiting for her verdict.

Could it really be him?

She’d tried so hard to forget everything about the boy. Once, she’d obsessed over why he’d given her the ring. Had it been a lark, a trick gone wrong? Had he known it would bring his queen’s wrath down upon her? Had he known it would lead to war? But war had hurt his people, too. It didn’t make sense. It had been her father who’d finally supplied the answer, one of those rare times he’d come to check on her.

“Your daughter’s fretting is slowing her recovery,” the healer had said in a hushed whisper as Cassia lay nearby, only half-asleep. “She persists in wondering about… the Dracu. She asks why he would give her the ring. I remind her the Dracu are never to be trusted, but she insists on trying to make sense of it.”

“There is no need for a reason,” her father had said in a scathing voice. “The ring comes to her by right of fate. It is ours now. That is what matters.”

The healer had paused. “Her preoccupation could be seen as dangerous. She wonders if the Dracu was harmed that night, too. She… worries for him.”

Cassia had felt the king’s wrath vibrating through the chamber. “Worry for an enemy who delights in chaos?” He made a sound of disgust that made her shiver. “He gave it to her in the hopes it would overwhelm her. Kill her. A weaker Sylvan would have been overcome. Tell her to forget him.”

A weaker Sylvan would have been overcome. Cassia had clung to those words. That a Dracu’s motivations were never pure had been drilled into her by stories. She’d been a fool to trust one. She’d tried to forget the boy.

But he had not forgotten her. How could he? She was the Deathringer, thanks to him. She’d been using his own gift, an artifact of great power, against his people. She had helped kill his kind. She didn’t know how many.

His fault , she reminded herself. The moment he’d given her the ring, he’d guaranteed they’d be enemies forever.

“Well?” he said, leaning down to pick up an item from the broken crate.

“How do I know you’re the one who gave me the ring?” she asked.

He watched her as he took a loud bite from whatever food he’d picked up. Cassia winced, expecting it to be some disgusting Dracu food, but as he raised it for another bite, she saw that it was only an apple.

“The boy I knew said his name was noble,” she added, grasping at any reason to dispute his claim. “He wore fine clothes.”

His eyebrows rose, his voice as dry as bone dust. “Those don’t fit anymore.”

She tried to remember the boy, bringing a hazy picture to mind. “His eyes weren’t so green.”

His look was a portrait of disgust. “It’s pitiful how you try to deny the truth. My eyes haven’t changed.”

They had, though. The eyes she remembered were mischievous. Playful. The eyes she was staring into now were furious. Vengeful. Accusing. They couldn’t be more different.

The Zeru she remembered had been small for his age, his arms no thicker than sticks. The Dracu before her was a fully grown soldier. But his height was no greater than average. His muscles showed a lean strength without bulk, as the boy’s might have become with age and training. The twisted horns growing from his head were much the same, except one of them had been broken, ending in a smooth, angled flatness instead of a sharp point. He had a few white scars on his cheeks, which dipped into shadow under his cheekbones, giving him a hungry look. His uniform was well cared for, his boots polished and his sword hilt glinting, but he didn’t have any signs or insignia showing rank that she’d expect to see on a nobly born Dracu.

But she had to admit, it could be him.

He hurled the apple core across the room, watching as it exploded against the wall. “Why would I bother lying?”

“I can’t fathom. But I’m not stupid enough to trust you at your word.”

“Trust isn’t something I require from you. You had mine once, and you killed it in one night.”

Her lips parted at his gall. She hadn’t even accepted his identity, and now he unfairly claimed she’d somehow betrayed him . “I didn’t ask for the ring. I was the one nearly torn apart by the queen’s vassals.”

He leaned forward. “My family lost everything .” The word seemed to echo off the walls. “And you gained more than you ever dreamed. How you must have gloated when you realized what I’d handed you. The key to destroying us.”

If only that were true. She’d have ended this war long ago. She swallowed, watching him warily. “I had no idea what it was.”

“You figured it out soon enough.”

She hadn’t, but her father had. “What did you expect?”

“I expected you to give back the ring when the queen demanded it from you. When I practically begged…” He shook his head, a bitter smile curving his lips. “I was so trusting. So innocent. I bought everything you told me about the honesty of Sylvans.”

“Sylvans are honest,” she said. “We despise untruths.”

“A Dracu lie is more straightforward than a Sylvan truth.” He lounged in the chair like it was some sort of throne, his words edicts. “Your deceit is disguised, covered by a velvet mantle of truth with nothing of substance beneath it. Dressed up with pleasant looks and a soft manner, the better to trick the unsuspecting.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “You say that to justify your own deceptions. What about me? An important hostage should be taken to the queen. Instead, you keep me here so you can get the ring for yourself. You’re the one scheming.”

“My schemes, as you call them, are to right a wrong. To fix my mistake.” He watched her with calculating eyes. “And speaking of mistakes… even Selkolla, as wise and powerful as she is, isn’t infallible.”

Cassia was struck by his change of expression as much as the change in topic. He was looking at her with too much intent. “What do you mean?”

“The ring.” He stood in a rapid movement. “She claims it can’t be taken forcefully. I’d like to see for myself.”

Before she could react, he’d grabbed her hand.

“No!” she shouted as he grasped the ring between thumb and forefinger. Not only would she die before giving up the ring, but she’d also tried to remove it countless times and—

She screamed in agony. If felt as if her insides were being torn out, her soul yanked from her body.

At some point, he must have let go. She came back to awareness on her hands and knees, her stomach heaving. A part of her wanted to lie down on the cold, packed earth and sleep forever. Her throat tightened. That might yet happen.

She found the strength to sit back on her haunches, pushing the hair from her face.

He stood a few feet away, looking at her with an unreadable expression. “That was either genuine pain,” he said slowly, “or you are an excellent pretender.”

That was it. Too outraged for reason or doubt, she held up the hand that wore the ring, called on its power, and put all her focus into producing a blast of light. It wasn’t much, just enough to brighten the room for one satisfying moment. A paltry display , her father might say. But even that should have been enough to make the Dracu double over in pain, being so close to the Solis Gemma.

Her sight returned more quickly this time, probably because the light had not been nearly so bright as usual. As she blinked her eyes open, her enemy was staring back at her. How in the nine realms of the Netherwhere did this Dracu resist the blast?

Her curiosity was cut short as he took a step forward. He looked as if he would enjoy his retribution.

Acting on instinct, she snatched something up at random and threw it at him. He grunted as a turnip connected with his cheek, then hit the floor with a dull thud.

Everything went still. His expression turned from bemusement to anger. Cassia’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe she’d done that. Foolish. Ineffectual. Guaranteed to ignite his wrath. He would kill her now, and it was her own cursèd fault.

But then, as he took a step closer, she decided to go down swinging. She picked up another turnip and wheeled it at him. Enjoying his astonishment, she did it again. She threw another and another, launching the projectiles with precision and speed.

“You’re not,” he said, blocking a turnip with his forearm, his face a mixture of consternation and awe, “seriously trying to kill me”—he deflected another volley—“with vegetables?”

It occurred to her, strangely at this crucial moment, that her sisters might find some humor in this. Instead of bravely fighting with weapons or even fists, she was using root vegetables to keep a trained killer at bay. If she lived to tell this tale, Enora was going to make a story out of it that would bring the great hall down in howls.

Thinking of her sisters gave her courage. Her pulse jumped, and her energy returned. She wouldn’t sit here and be insulted, waiting quietly while her fate was decided. What would Thea do? The answer came swift and sure: Thea would kill the enemy.

But Cassia had never killed anyone in hand-to-hand combat. She had no hope of it without an actual weapon.

The door beckoned.

Hang it. She would run.

She launched the last three turnips in a row, sprang up from her crouching position, and leaped toward the door. Her captor rushed after her, but the floor was covered with rolling objects. She heard a thud and hoped that meant he’d fallen.

The tunnel was as dark as spilled ink, but she ran, a glow from her ring providing enough light for each step. If she remembered correctly, the next bend should bring her to a branch in the tunnel. If he didn’t see which path she took, she’d have a chance.

Rounding the corner, she crashed into something spiky, like running into a thornbush. Gasping, she stumbled back and saw the twin glow of Selkolla’s eyes. Standing in front of the Seer was a squat creature half Cassia’s size. It appeared to be some sort of shrub with eyes like smooth gray pebbles, and branches for limbs. Its moss-covered body of vines and leaves could have passed for a topiary. Roots coiled to the floor to form springy feet that made the creature bounce ever so slightly. Stems and sticks stuck out of its head like hair. Something about it was eerie and unnerving in the extreme.

“Dracu, you are careless,” Selkolla chastised as the sound of approaching footsteps came to a halt behind Cassia. “The Sylvan king’s daughter would as soon be a meal for a drake, and the Solis Gemma could be lost forever.”

“She wouldn’t have made it far,” he answered, venom in every word.

His raspy breathing spoke of pent-up rage, but the creature in front of Cassia took all her attention. It was a forest-dweller by its appearance. But those were all familiar to her—dryads like her mother who lived in the trees, delicate pixies with lacy wings, sleek-haired naiads and nixies from lakes and rivers, tiny wood sprites that were so small, it was rare to see them. This creature was unlike any of them.

“Have you never seen moss folk, child?” Selkolla inquired in her richly textured voice. She wore a proud expression as she looked down at the shrub.

Cassia had heard of moss folk, of course, but as far as she knew, they hadn’t been seen in Thirstwood for hundreds of years. She’d always heard them described as gentle creatures who’d lived in harmony with Sylvans. This sinister plant wasn’t what she’d imagined.

She eyed the tunnel, wondering if she could still run.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Selkolla said, as if reading her thoughts.

“At least bring me to the queen as a hostage,” Cassia said, deciding the risk was worth it if she could escape her furious captor. “My father will pay ransom for me.”

“The Dracu queen is as unpredictable as smoke. She might consider ransom. Or she might tear out your neck with her perfect white fangs. As you are Deathringer, my guess is the latter.”

“But,” Cassia said, faltering, “you said my death would destroy the power of the Solis Gemma.”

The silver eyes softened. “Even I can’t tell what she may do.”

Cassia swallowed. If that was true, going to the queen was possibly a literal dead end.

Selkolla turned back toward her workroom. The moss creature shambled after her with a sound like leaves shaking in the wind.

With no choice, Cassia retraced her steps, conscious of the Dracu on her heels. When they were inside the workroom once more, Selkolla spoke a word, and the candles flared brighter. Cassia had never seen any Seer, not even Veleda, perform such a feat.

As the Dracu started pacing, Selkolla eyed him. “Slow your frantic rush,” she said irritably. “You make the spirits themselves nervous.”

“I care nothing for the spirits,” he all but snarled.

The Seer shook her head. “You burn through the days like they are wood, but you gather none of their heat. Slow down lest you miss what is important, Zeru.”

As Cassia heard his name again, something inside her gave in. Acceptance had never felt more like a kick to the stomach. He was the grown version of the boy who had given her the ring. Zeru had made her into Deathringer. He hated her for everything she had done to his people. For all she knew, he could ignore Selkolla’s warnings and kill her for the satisfaction of revenge.

“What are you willing to do to get the ring back?” the Seer asked.

Zeru’s answer was fierce. “Anything.”

“Then trust me.”

“I trust no one,” he said. “I learned that lesson long ago.”

The Seer’s gaze was knowing. “Your kind despise me for my Sylvan heritage, but you know I speak truth.”

Cassia glared at Selkolla, not wanting to accept that she was Sylvan. It was worse, somehow, that one of her captors was from among her own people.

If she went home without the ring, life would be unbearable. Her sisters would pity her. The loss of hope for her people was too horrible to calculate. Not to mention her father’s wrath. Worse, his disappointment. Cassia shuddered.

Better to die here than return home without the ring.

Zeru nodded toward the moss creature. “I’ve heard rumors you are making scuccas.”

“Never use that word to me,” Selkolla spat, leaning toward Zeru with dangerously bright eyes. “My moss children are not evil spirits. They are peaceful.”

Cassia glanced at the collection of vines and moss. She knew how gentle those thorns were. She had never heard of a scucca.

Zeru shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.”

Cassia was caught off guard as Selkolla stepped close and took her hand. When she tried to pull away, the Seer said, “Calm yourself. I only mean to show the Dracu something.” As the Seer’s hand passed over the ring, red filaments sparked around the gold band, with a few small gaps between rays. “This is a mystical attachment,” said Selkolla. The filaments caught and held the candlelight. “A bond like this grows stronger over time. If the threads surround the ring, the girl’s own life force will be fused with the gemstone’s, making it impossible to remove without destroying both.”

Cassia couldn’t help but be fascinated by the idea of a connection between herself and the Solis Gemma, regardless of this information coming from an enemy. She’d learned more about the ring since her capture than in the ten years she’d worn it.

Zeru made a sound of frustration. “How long before the ring can’t be removed?”

Selkolla stared at the Solis Gemma. “I can only guess. Wards and boundaries are thinned under a full moon, but under a new moon, they grow stronger. A month from now, the ring could be bound to her forever.”

Zeru glanced at Cassia with thinly veiled impatience. “I see no reason to wait.”

Selkolla shook her head, her eyes lit with an unsettling intensity. “This is an old magic at work. It doesn’t bend to my spells. But just as every curse has a cure, every bond has a weakness. You need to find out more about this bond and how to break it.” She touched her fingertip to one of the filaments and drew it back as if burned. “There is a place, a sanctuary of the Ancients that still harbors their magic. And you are fortunate, Dracu, in that I can send you there.”

His jaw set. “Tell me where it is, and I’ll go.”

There was a short pause before the Seer answered. “Have you heard of a place called Welkincaster?”