The Forest King’s Daughter

12

Strange spirits are best left alone.

—E XCHARIAS, S YLVAN POET

A S C ASSIA LAY IN BED, HER THOUGHTS KEPT returning to the Summoner’s claims. He’d sounded so proud of binding hostile spirits to trees, creating the bloodlust of the forest. And that he’d done so under orders from the Sylvan king… it was impossible.

It was said the Sylvan king knew the mind of the forest as if it were his own, and that was why the trees were loyal. But was there another truth, a darker side to it? Her father was always looking for ways to increase the Sylvan advantage over their enemies. Was he capable of sacrificing the spirits of his own trees to protect his people?

There had been blood trees for as long as Cassia could remember, but she had never asked when they’d become that way. She only knew that it was long before their war with the Dracu, when they’d faced an even greater threat: humans.

Unlike Sylvans, who gathered dead wood and fallen branches for carpentry and kindling, humans came to the forest with axes that felled the greatest of trees. Only the Sylvan king stood in their way, protecting the ancient forests. Over time, the human population had grown, and the Sylvans were forced to retreat deeper into the wilds. The trees had become bloodthirsty out of protectiveness toward the Sylvans. That’s what she’d always been told.

But perhaps it was time that she learned more about the origins of Thirstwood so she could assure herself the magus was lying. Once she was home, she would ask Veleda or one of the older Huntsmen like Tordon. Whether they would answer was uncertain. She was starting to realize there were a great many things that weren’t spoken about in Scarhamm.

Like her mother. Could her tree have become bloodthirsty? If so, what would have happened to her mother’s spirit? Even Xoden hadn’t seemed sure. Would her mother be trapped inside her tree with a hostile entity? Or could her spirit have been consumed by the thrall? The thoughts were so disturbing, her breathing shallowed, her nails digging into her palms. She reminded herself she had no reason to think any of that had happened. She had to focus on getting home before she could worry about saving her mother.

She shifted her attention to another mystery: the fox-like creature that had defended her from Xoden’s hostile spirit. It had appeared right after she’d called on the ring. Were the two connected?

The door swung open, interrupting her thoughts.

“I’m here to bandage your wounds,” Gutel announced, his tone reluctant.

“Kobold,” Cassia said in warning, “if you set a single toe in here, I will pitch you out the window.”

His red eyes darkened, but he didn’t take a step forward. “I told him you’d refuse. He is too softhearted for his own good.”

“Are you talking about Zeru?” She laughed bitterly as Gutel retreated, slamming the door behind him.

As night fell, she longed for the escape of sleep, but the mattress was lumpy, and her cuts ached. She wanted fresh air and wind in the treetops. The moon rose, beckoning through the window. Finally, she sat up, groaning as her body protested. She went to her door, her hand hesitating on the knob.

Unlocked.

A mistake? Regardless, she would take advantage.

She moved through the dark castle by feel, opening one of the heavy wooden doors carved with wings and stepping outside. How stark and beautiful the night was. The haze that covered the sky couldn’t mask the brightness of the moon, which shone like a pearl hanging from an unseen chain. Around it, the black velvet sky was sewn with seed-pearl stars. She almost reached up to see if she could pluck one with thumb and forefinger.

She followed no particular path into the darkened woods. Though the forest was small, it felt vast, opening around her like a book filled with countless stories. Wind shook the treetops, rustling dry leaves and making shadows run across the ground at her feet.

After a while, she found herself in a clearing where a small lake shimmered in the moonlight. Water! Finally! As she approached with eager steps, moon sprites burst into existence, rising from the surface. Drunk on moonbeams, they dashed from tree to tree, winking like tiny exploding stars. One of the sprites settled on her fingertip, its tiny gossamer wings barely visible. She almost had the sense it was regarding her, too. After a moment, it flew away. It must wonder what sort of fool would stand in the path of a moonbeam and not bother to fly.

The lake beckoned, its glassy surface calm and inviting. She sat on one of the rocks and cupped her hands, taking numerous mouthfuls of water. Thirst sated, she poured water over her arms, soaking her ripped shirt, then splashed her face and neck. Instantly, the pain of her cuts eased, her senses opening. She could hear the forest with something more than her ears, a sense woven into her bones. The trees had brought her here. The forest recognized one of its own and knew what she needed. She was one of them, after all.

A branch cracked in the silence. Cassia straightened, alert to the depth of darkness and what could hide in it. There! Movement by the edge of the clearing.

Breathless, she pulled each leg from the water and set her feet on the rock. As she watched, a figure emerged, the size and build of a man, though she couldn’t see what kind of creature he was. He didn’t move closer, merely stood there, regarding her.

No horns, so not a Dracu. Though tall, the stranger wasn’t big enough to be a Skratti. A Sylvan, perhaps? Here? The thought was enough to keep her from running.

Her pulse drummed in her ears, but she pushed resolutely past her fear. “Who are you?”

She sucked in a breath as a pair of massive wings unfurled from his back, their clawed edges like that of a bat or an imp. Not a Sylvan, then. She thought instead of the winged votaries she’d seen in the portrait gallery. Maybe Welkincaster wasn’t as empty as they’d first thought. Gutel did say more guardians would soon be waking.

“Do you live here?” she asked, trying to ignore her fear. When no answer came, a thought struck her. “Can you understand me?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice a quiet scrape of tree bark against rock.

She took a step closer, trying to see him better. “We didn’t see you when we arrived. Are there others like you?”

He said nothing.

She didn’t know what to make of him. “My name is Cassia. What is the custom here when you meet someone new?”

The stranger paused. “I haven’t… met someone new.”

She watched him doubtfully. The welkin had been uninhabited for a long time. Perhaps there was an explanation. “Have you been to see Gutel yet?”

“What is a… Gutel?” said the stranger.

That made her smile. “It’s the name of the kobold who lives in the castle.”

“Hmm,” he said, as if he didn’t much care.

“You should report to him,” Cassia said.

But the stranger didn’t seem to be listening. His intense, silent regard made her nervous enough to take a step back.

Either he didn’t like her suggestion or he took that as an end to the conversation. He bowed at the waist before opening his wings, then took off with a leap, launching toward the treetops. As he cleared the canopy, his broad and elegant wings opened wider, all sharp edges and grace, until his form was obscured by the haze in the sky. And then he was gone.

Cassia’s heart calmed as the moon sprites returned with a gentle glow. But the night’s hush felt different, full of unseen things. An owl hooted, the first bird sound she’d heard in these woods, evoking thoughts of Noctua, goddess of spirits, whose animal form was the nocturnal hunter. She didn’t know if it was a good omen or a warning.

Senses alert, she made her way back into the castle, climbing to the third-floor portrait gallery and using the glow of her ring to illuminate the people in the paintings. All of them had wings. Some of their faces were stern, some less forbidding, but their eyes were all piercing and lifelike. She shivered as she looked at them, imagining they were examining her, too.

In any case, she was convinced that the stranger she’d seen in the woods was one of these winged votaries.

As Cassia entered her bedchamber, she found Zeru standing by her window, his back to her as he stared out. His arms were clasped behind his back, his pale claws curving over his fingertips. His twisted horns were silhouetted against the dawn like knives on pink satin. For a second, she wondered if she’d chosen the wrong tower and she’d blundered in on him. But no, he was in her chamber, acting like the entire welkin belonged to him.

“Get out,” she said, too angry to guard her tone.

Zeru turned to face her. “I sent Gutel to bandage your wounds. You sent him away.”

She crossed her arms. “I told him I’d pitch him out the window if he set foot in here. It’s not my fault he’s sensitive and took that as a no.”

He pulled something from his pocket, and she drew back. He sighed at her reaction, making a show of spreading his hands to show her what he’d retrieved.

She eyed the scraps of linen that lay flat over his open palms. “Rags?”

“Bandages.” He took another step toward her. “Will you stay still?”

“No. Leave.”

“Please,” he said, but it was his serious expression that made her pause.

For some reason, she nodded, though she eyed him with great suspicion. As he drew close, she could see each individual thick black hair of his eyebrows, drawn together in concentration as he bent his head to stare at her arms and hands. She looked away as she heard him swallow. Did he feel bad about her injuries? Worried he’d broken his vow not to harm her? Good. As far as she was concerned, he had. He had sanctioned everything Xoden did.

“You washed your wounds.” He reached out slowly to touch a cut on her upper arm.

She flinched at the contact, and his eyes came up to hers in a moment of mutual observation and calculation.

“I need to rip the sleeves,” he said. “May I?”

She looked at her shirt, which was full of so many cuts and slashes, you could see the linen undershirt through it. It would be no great loss to shred it further. She offered her arm.

With efficient tugs, he ripped the sleeve from the seam at her shoulder. Cool air hit her skin. She felt tension in every part of her but didn’t move away. His lashes hid his eyes as he took one of the rags and wound it around her arm. The linen was soft against the raw skin. She tried to feel a cynical rush of hatred. She should tell him to go. But the cut felt better once it was covered, and she couldn’t repress a tiny sigh of relief. She offered her other arm.

He tore her other sleeve off and bandaged another cut. Her muscles hummed with tension at his nearness. His gentleness was unsettling.

When he was done, the only cut left was on her ring finger.

Zeru stared down at the ring. Days before, he had tried to take it off, causing her terrible pain. What would he do now?

“I’ll have to bandage around it,” he said. Carefully, he used the scrap of fabric to cover the cuts on her finger and hand, tying it securely at her wrist. It felt snug and sure. Like it would stay.

“There,” he said with a slow nod, almost like a bow.

At the same time, she said, “I hope you don’t expect a thank-you.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

He was standing too close. She didn’t know how much longer she could bear this strange tension. She was almost ready to run back into the woods when he drew the dagger from the sheath at his waist. Her eyes widened as he offered the hilt, his fingers carefully pinching the flat of the blade. “Here.”

“Here, what?” She should stick it in his gullet as payback for the Summoner.

“Take it.”

She watched her hand reach out and take the blade from him.

He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, offering his bare forearms. His veins were visible, pushed to the surface by cords of muscle. “Cut me the way you were cut.”

Her lips parted. “Is this some sort of bizarre Dracu apology?”

He moved his arms closer to her. “Maybe.”

She dropped her own arm. “I’m not going to cut you. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His eyes held hers. “You want to.”

“Of course I want to.” She had no trouble speaking this truth. “I wanted you dead the second you handed me over to that Summoner.”

He flinched, barely perceptible but she saw it. “So do it.”

“No.” She lifted her chin. “That won’t make me feel better.”

His green eyes glimmered as if he was trying to figure her out. “Then what will?”

A laugh escaped her. “I don’t know. A comb? Food? Being treated with respect?” Might as well ask for the moon.

His lids fell again, hiding his eyes. His arms dropped. “If you’re sure.”

She shook her head, wishing her sisters were here to witness this. They’d never believe it. A Dracu offering to submit to injury? And her refusing? An enemy was practically baring his throat for her attack, and she was turning him down. Then again, she was glad her sisters weren’t here. They’d never understand.

But she had no desire to hurt him back like this. There’d be no satisfaction in it when he’d invited the pain.

She looked up to see him staring at her with an expectant look.

“My dagger?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I noticed you’re not giving it back.”

“Oh.” And suddenly, she knew the atonement she preferred. “You asked what would make me feel better. I’d like to keep it.” She hesitated. “And I’ll take the scabbard, too, please.”

“It’s been in my family for generations,” he said, his lips bloodless.

Oh, yes, this was the real Zeru. He would not trust her with a weapon, and he certainly wouldn’t give her something of great value. He would only offer an apology on his own terms. She waited until he looked truly nauseated before she handed the blade back.

Zeru took it and slid it into the scabbard. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a breath, then with a hasty sort of grace, held them out to her with a bow of his head. “They’re yours.”

Her heart gave an unsteady beat. Another test? Another trick?

His tone sharpened. “Take it.”

With alert care, she took the dagger in its scabbard, winding the leather around her waist. Her heart calmed at the reassuring knowledge that she once again had a weapon to defend herself. As she struggled with the buckle, he moved forward. She held still as he deftly secured it, his hands brushing her waist. He nodded as he looked her over.

“It looks well on you,” he pronounced.

Something warmed in her chest before she had a chance to stifle it. Their eyes met. She couldn’t read his expression.

“I’ll be in the library.” With a stiff nod, he walked out, his stride less graceful than usual.

Cassia held her hand to the cool metal, reassuring herself it was real.

What a strange thing. He must have felt worse than she’d realized about what had happened with the Summoner. But to bandage her wounds? To give her a dagger that meant so much to him? She unsheathed the blade and stared at the fox embossed on the hilt.

It looked like the creature that had protected her in the summoning circle. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t made the connection. And she hadn’t even thought to mention the winged creature she’d seen by the lake in the forest.

But first, she needed to digest Zeru’s change toward her. Something had shifted, something small and insubstantial, but perhaps important. She was starting to have trouble thinking of him as her mortal enemy.

And that scared her more than anything.