The Forest King’s Daughter

19

Sylvans harvest magic from revelry.

A shrewd Dracu interrupts their merriment at every opportunity.

—G AXIX, D RACU PHILOSOPHER

A S C ASSIA STEPPED THROUGH THE DOORWAY, SHE found herself in Thirstwood facing an old yew tree, its heavy branches stretching toward the night sky. She stared in disbelief. It was the same tree where she used to meet Zeru as a child.

I only need to imagine a spot I know well. And this was the spot he’d chosen.

She knelt, stomach heaving until it was empty. For a while, she leaned her forehead against the tree, her emotions as wild as a summer storm. When she thought of Zeru, of what she’d done to return here, a heaviness crushed her chest. The memory of the knife going in—

She took breaths of pine-scented air and focused on the comforting familiarity of the woods, and her greater attunement to the trees. Drawing strength from her forest, she stood and started toward home. She could sense which were blood trees without checking the color of the leaves. She touched their bark as she passed, greeting Thirstwood like an old friend.

It was well past dawn when she reached Scarhamm. Scarcely had she approached the fortress’s outer walls than an uproar ensued. The guards pointed, shouted, and her sisters rushed out, their arms pumping, hair flying behind them. Enora reached her first, wrapping her in a tight embrace that brought tears to Cassia’s eyes. Thea elbowed Enora out of the way, subjecting Cassia to a rib-crushing hug.

Cassia found herself laughing and crying.

When it was Rozie’s turn, she burst into gulping sobs. “You were gone too long!” she accused, her eyes glassy with tears.

Cassia’s heart contracted. “I agree,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get home sooner.”

Enora’s concerned eyes swept over her. “Before we talk, let’s get you to a healer to check you over.” She started toward the gate, and Cassia fell in step beside her.

“No need.” Cassia lifted her hands for inspection. The ring gleamed brighter than ever. “I’m truly fine. Not a scratch.” Only an ache in her chest that she hoped would go away with time.

“Where in the nine realms have you been?” Thea demanded.

Cassia looked up at the sky before they entered Scarhamm’s main gate. “You won’t believe me.” But as they traversed the inner bailey, she told them.

Despite their shock, Enora and Thea pestered her with questions, Rozie looking annoyed she couldn’t get a word in. Cassia tried to keep up, though her answers were always interrupted by another question.

When it came to Zeru, she prevaricated so much it made her throat want to close up. But she could not share certain things. Dancing in the arms of her enemy? Not recognizing a winged creature as that same enemy? How he’d almost taken the ring?

No. These were not things her family would understand. She didn’t understand them herself.

She was explaining her newfound abilities with the ring when a tall figure emerged from the fortress, his antlers burnished by morning light.

Everyone seemed to sense the king’s presence, all the Huntsmen turning to watch the scene. Her sisters went silent, their faces somber.

Thea stood straighter in the presence of the king, but her soft words were meant for Cassia. “You’d better go. Veleda has been working night and day to scry your location. He’s been beyond frustrated at her failures.”

Cassia stepped toward her father, not knowing what to expect. Every breath in her lungs seemed too shallow, every step too slow. Would he show relief that she was safe? Perhaps even… embrace her? She wasn’t sure she’d know what to do if he did. When she was a few feet away, she halted.

“Hello, Father,” she said, her neck aching as she lifted her chin to look him in the eye.

His dark, solemn stare took her in, settling on her hand. On the ring.

“You’re home,” he said gravely. After a pause, he added more firmly, “I’ll need your report.”

Cassia’s lips parted. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t said anything about being glad she had returned. Zeru’s words came back to her, his description of her father’s callousness when she’d been injured by the Dracu queen’s vassals. It was chilling.

Cassia straightened her shoulders. The Deathringer did not need coddling. She gave her report in clipped replies, answering each question as briefly as possible. When she told him about her progress with the ring, his eyes shone with anticipation.

Finally, he gave a single curt nod. “Go rest. There will be a banquet in your honor tonight.”

He turned away, striding back toward the fortress. So, that was his welcome home.

For the first time in five years, the great hall of Scarhamm was decked in festive splendor. Garlands of pine cones, berries, and golden-green vines festooned the columns and trailed down from ceiling beams, forming green archways. Long trestle tables were draped with silver lace and set with porcelain plates, wooden trenchers, and pewter goblets. Bouquets of roses, daylilies, and lavender suffused the air with a sweet smell. And every torch, candelabra, and lantern in the fortress had been lit, brightening the halls to a cloudless midday at the height of summer.

Cassia hovered in the doorway of the great hall, awed but uncomfortable with all this fuss over her.

Excitement hummed in the air. Revels had waned with the slumber of the queen, but it seemed the Huntsmen were ready to embrace their return.

Everyone knew the Dracu would attack on the night of the full moon when the wards were thin. And Cassia would be expected to use her newfound mastery of the ring to kill.

Suddenly, she wanted to be alone.

Before she could fade back out of the great hall and send her excuses, Rozie stepped lightly in. She wore a blue dress edged with scalloped lace at the hem and sleeves. Her curly copper hair, woven with bluebells, was making every effort to escape its pins.

“I love your gown!” Rozie said, eyes aglow with gleeful appreciation. “Butterflies everywhere!”

“Thank you, Sproutling.” Cassia lifted the overskirt so the starched lace butterflies appeared to fly. “It used to be Enora’s.”

“When you get tired of it, I’ll take it.” Her grin faded as she leaned in to add, “If Thea asks, tell her I claimed it first.”

“I’ll be sure.” Cassia smiled as she tucked an escaped lock of ginger hair behind her sister’s ear. For a few minutes, they watched the room fill with Scarhamm’s residents, admiring the finely made breeches, jackets, robes, and gowns. A number of forest creatures had also been invited, adding color and life to the earth-toned hall. Cassia spotted two lutins, elusive forest-dwellers like kobolds, but smaller and more delicate, their hats red rather than green. A group of diminutive pixies capered through, gently moving their gauzy wings, which looked much like the butterfly wings on Cassia’s skirt. They breezed through the open doors to the garden, tittering at some shared joke. Cassia liked the carefree way they wore their pastel finery, and how their hair, both straight and curly, dark and light, was left loose and natural. Pixies were rarely seen, even by Sylvans, so this was a special honor. Through the polished windows they could see river nixies playing in the fountain, their shining curls and braids decorated with water lilies.

“Now that you have the ring figured out,” Rozie said happily, “Enora says the war will be over soon and we’ll be able to have revels like this all the time!”

Cassia swallowed. Enora’s faith was heartwarming, but it was also a reminder that the ring’s new powers weren’t battle-tested. They could still make things grow—the withered trees in Scarhamm’s neglected gardens had proven that. In the hours before the banquet, Cassia had spent her time trying to restore some of her mother’s garden. She’d lovingly poured her life force into each plant, encouraging leaves and new growth, filling out the sicklier-looking shrubs. Even the nearly dead rosebushes had started to bud. She’d found a heady satisfaction in using her new powers at home, in restoring what her mother had once planted and tended with great care. And she’d been relieved that the abilities she’d acquired in Welkincaster were just as strong here.

She only hoped the ring’s blast would be impressive. Enora had warned her their father expected a demonstration of her new power in front of the guests.

The mood changed to hushed reverence as the Sylvan king made his entrance. His antlers sparkled like fresh snow under sunlight, contrasting with his black clothing. When he turned his solemn gaze around the great hall, every head bowed in respect. Cassia kept her head bent as the king folded his large frame into his throne, the wood creaking as if it, too, contained an ancient spirit. When he was seated, the guests took their places. Cassia sat with her sisters at a table near the dais.

Veleda, in a rare appearance in the great hall, occupied her seat near the king. Her carved wooden chair had a back shaped like an owl for Noctua, goddess of spirits and prophecy. Though it was less impressive than the throne, it was still a place of honor. Veleda’s white robes were pristine, her brown hair tamed into braids down her back, her dark eyes taking everything in. The Seer nodded to Cassia, who smiled back at her looking so stately and regal, accustomed as she was to seeing Veleda in bloodstained work clothes.

Cassia couldn’t help but remember her mother on her own high seat next to the king, its back carved into an elegant bower made of branches and leaves. That seat had been removed from the great hall years ago, almost as if her mother was not expected to return. But maybe, maybe now that Cassia was learning to control this artifact of the Ancients, she would find a way to wake her mother from her long slumber. She allowed herself a moment to imagine her mother there, her smile warmer than the light from the oil lamps. Cassia blinked and the image was gone. One thing at a time , she told herself.

The king nodded to the First Huntsman and the festivities began.

Cassia toyed with her silverware and glanced up at the dais, wondering what her father was thinking. Other than a brief, almost imperceptible nod in her direction, he hadn’t looked at her once. She ignored the ache in her chest and focused on the food that was being carried in, massive bronze platters overflowing with delicacies. After eating mostly fruit for a month, it was no hardship to sample the feast of walnut-stuffed partridges, roast boar, dandelion greens, baked pears dressed with nectar, and dozens of other dishes. After a few minutes, she could almost forget that her father hadn’t even said he was glad she was home.

Once everyone was finished eating, the court moved to the side of the hall cleared for dancing, and the doors to the garden were thrown wide. One of the Huntsmen asked Cassia to dance. While her feet moved through the steps, she had a flash of memory, her hands in Zeru’s as he’d tried, stiffly but determinedly, to mimic her movements. The way he’d spun her into his arms. His lips on her forehead, her cheek…

She shut the thoughts down, smiling brighter.

After two more dances, she was about to go out into the garden when a throat cleared behind her. Cassia turned to see Burke, the Second Huntsman, smiling down at her. His golden hair was brushed to the side, his strong jaw clean-shaven. His deep bow gave her time to hide her surprise. He had never paid the slightest attention to her, though she’d snuck many glances at him over the years.

“Hello, Burke,” she said. His hazel eyes had an inner rim of green, almost like—

She shut that thought down, too.

“Well met, Deathringer,” he said, holding his arm out for her. “Welcome home. Join me for a stroll?”

Cassia put a hand on his arm and told herself not to show her nerves at this unprecedented show of interest. They stepped from the great hall into the dark garden, with only a handful of fruit trees lit by moon sprites. Not nearly as many as in the clearing in the Welkinwood. She looked up at the moon, expecting it to be the bright disc she’d been used to seeing. Instead, it was covered by clouds. She looked away, frustrated with herself.

“So I hear you’ve mastered the ring,” Burke said, inclining his head toward her hand. “You’ve tested it?”

“Of course. See the changes in the garden? The forsythia is flowering, and the roses are blooming. The willows need tending, but—”

“No,” he interrupted, “I mean have you tested it on an Azpian?”

She halted midstep and looked up at him. “No. How could I have done that? I’ve barely been home.”

His pale brows lifted. “I heard there was an Azpian household spirit where you were taken. It seemed logical that you’d turn the ring on him.”

Cassia pictured Gutel. She thought of his dedication to the welkin, the hours they’d spent sitting in the courtyard as he’d explained her role as steward, his endearing boasts about his heroic past. Then she thought of using the ring’s blast on him, and she drew her arm from Burke’s. “It seems my stories have spread. I didn’t expect anyone to interrogate me so soon.”

He bowed low. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply you were negligent in any way. You had to do whatever was necessary to survive. Perhaps an opportunity never came.”

For some reason, the heat of anger was creeping up her neck. “Why are you asking me this, Burke? Is it… Did my father ask these questions?”

The Huntsman’s lips tightened. “If he had, I wouldn’t mention it. That would be indiscreet.”

Which was an answer. “Of course.”

When Burke resumed walking, she went along with him, but a quiet fury had ignited in her rib cage. She’d barely arrived home, and already her father was questioning her loyalty and judgment. Instead of asking her directly, he had voiced his displeasure to one of the Huntsmen.

As they passed under the heavy branches of a huge old elm tree, Burke took her elbow, making her turn to him. “Cassia.”

“Yes.” Her heart kicked an annoyed rhythm. Was it too much to expect him to be silent for a minute so she could sort out her thoughts?

“You must have seen my admiration.”

She looked up at him in shock. He’d never shown the slightest interest in her. She would have noticed. He was one among a number of Huntsmen she truly envied because they never seemed to make mistakes.

She was tempted to ask if he’d developed this sudden regard for her around the time she returned home. Instead, she said politely, “I had no idea.”

“You are quite beautiful, you know,” he said, and she was amazed to realize he seemed genuine. She couldn’t tell if her pulse was jumping from his flattery or nerves when he touched a fingertip to her nose and declared, “Your freckles are enchanting.”

A rustle came from the branches above, and something thudded to the ground. Probably a walnut being dropped by a squirrel, or a piece of fruit now that she’d encouraged new growth on some of the trees.

Burke moved closer. “You haven’t paid attention to anyone else, so I’m not worried I have competition. Maybe you’ve never given a thought to your own happiness?”

His tone was soft and inviting. When he put his hands on her shoulders, she didn’t move away.

“Maybe,” she said. It was true her happiness wasn’t something she thought about. She’d always been too caught up in trying to grow into the role her father had set for her. That was the future she’d always wanted.

“All I’m asking is that you spend time with me,” he said, his eyes persuasive. “Let me get to know you, and get to know me. Would you allow me that honor, Cassia?”

It was a flattering question. But the whole thing seemed irrelevant and ill-timed considering they were on the brink of battle. The full moon was just over a week away. Over the next few days, the Huntsmen would check to make sure the wards and walls were secure against the expected Dracu attack. She was about to give a noncommittal answer when he bent and kissed her cheek. His lips were soft, brushing her skin in a way she found not unpleasant. She remained still as he kissed the other.

Their eyes met. His were keen and attentive, but for some reason, not the eyes she wanted to see. When she realized she’d prefer to see the green of high summer, she lifted her face in defiance of that image.

Burke pulled her closer, then suddenly jerked away, swearing roundly. “What—something fell on me.” He shot an irritated look at the dark branches. “A piece of fruit?”

Cassia’s mouth fell open as she stared at the “fruit” that had rolled to a stop at the base of the tree. A turnip. There were no turnips in the gardens at Scarhamm. Her chest seized at a memory of throwing them at Zeru in Selkolla’s workroom.

He couldn’t be here. The last thing she’d done was stab him. He’d once threatened to hurt her family. Had he come to carry out that threat?

One word and she’d have every Huntsman at the revel here in seconds. She would be safe from the Dracu who’d given her the ring, who’d done everything he could to get it back, who might, for all she knew, still be out for revenge.

But the turnip seemed more like a message than a threat. A way of telling her that he was here without alerting anyone else.

“We should go back,” she said, turning away from the tree to draw Burke’s attention. “My father wants me to demonstrate the ring. You know how impatient he is.”

“You should have said.” Burke rubbed his head, on alert as he looked around the gardens. “I thought I caught a whiff of pit sprites.” He patted Cassia’s arm. “I’d better not leave you alone.”

“What Azpian can stand against my ring? I’ll be fine.” She put a hand to the center of his back and pushed. “Assemble the others for me, will you, please? I need a moment to prepare. Alone.”

It was the best she could come up with, and thankfully Burke accepted her request. As he bowed and kissed her hand, Cassia was painfully conscious of the tree behind her. When he turned and went off along the path, she breathed a sigh, then rushed to the base of the massive elm.

Her heart slammed her ribs as the light from garden torches caught the leather of wings. Seeing Zeru in the form she’d known as Aril was confusing her sense of danger. She wished she knew which version of him was real. Strangely, part of her was weak with relief that she hadn’t managed to kill him. She hadn’t realized the reason for the knot of dread in her stomach until now.

But that didn’t mean he had forgiven her.

“There are about a hundred Huntsmen at the other end of the garden,” she told him, trying not to let her wild mix of emotions show in her voice. “I could call for help and they’d be here in a few seconds.”

“Why call for help when you can just finish what you started?” Zeru pointed out, his tone sharp-edged and openly challenging. “Kill me with my own dagger and set my head on your father’s gate with the other dead Dracu. Wasting time, Sylvan, if you plan to do it.”

She drew in a breath, exhaling slowly. “Have you come for revenge?”

He made a gently scoffing noise. “If you thought I wanted you dead, why did you send your Huntsman away?”

The darkness and branches made it so that she could only see hints of him here and there. The moonlight on his cheek. The white of one eye. The fingers of one hand as he grasped a branch. “Burke is not my Huntsman.”

“Is that his name? It’s very stolid. Suits him.” He shifted positions, moving forward so she could see him a little better. “To be honest, Cassia, he seems the sort who needs a turnip dropped on him. So earnest. I could barely hold my bile.”

So, he was choosing humor. She could do the same. No matter how odd and unsettling it was to have him here. “A turnip, Dracu?”

“That alone should answer your question. Murder rarely begins by pelting someone with vegetables. Unless they are launched by your own sweet hands.”

She was amused at the memory, which no longer included a sense of fear. It was almost surreal how differently she saw him now. “How did you get past the guards?”

“With great care.”

She closed her eyes at the full weight of the danger he was in. No, she would not call any guards. And she did not want his head on the gates.

“You should go,” she said.

“Your problem, Sylvan, is that you state the obvious. I have every intention of leaving. After all, at dawn, these pretty little wings will fade away.”

Her crossed arms tightened as if she could protect herself from the memory. Had it only been a day since she’d stuck him with his own blade and said those things? “I’m glad you’re alive,” she said, hoping the catch in her voice was drowned out by the sounds of the revel in the distance.

“Are you?” he asked with soft curiosity, skepticism, and a hint of something deeper. A need to know that she meant it, perhaps.

She answered in all seriousness. “Yes.”

“Is that an apology?” he asked, the challenge returning.

She wasn’t sure how to word one. Sorry for stabbing you? “You didn’t give me much choice.”

He was silent for a few seconds, then a sigh wafted down from the boughs. “No. I didn’t.” After a pause, he added with smooth aplomb, “Gutel was all sympathy and bandaged me nicely. Said I’d been deemed worthy to be a guardian and that his instincts about me were correct. He went so far as to tell me some Zerian heritage might explain my natural resistance to your ring. And perhaps why my mother’s family were keepers of the Solis Gemma.”

That must be why he had transformed. The welkin had deemed him worthy and claimed him as a guardian. She didn’t know how she felt about that. It was as if the ring had chosen them both.

“Why did you lose your memory? And your Dracu horns, for that matter?”

“Gutel thinks it has to do with early transformation, and that I’ll have more control over my form in time.”

She stared up into the spreading branches, wishing she could see him better. Wishing she could understand why he’d risk coming here. And why she was so terrified that he was in danger. And why they were having a casual conversation instead of saying… whatever it was they should really say to each other.

“Did you enjoy the kiss?” he asked. “Your Huntsman’s, I mean.”

Her mouth fell open at his audacity. “You dropped a turnip on him before that could happen.”

He smiled. “I should have trusted my impeccable timing. Really, though, so soon after ours? Sylvan.” His tone was chastising. “You have little regard for my sensitive feelings.”

Waves of conflicting emotions tore through her, eroding her sense of stability like an undertow. Was he saying their kiss meant something to him?

She swallowed the question, instead asking dryly, “So, you’re saying I shouldn’t call him back here to continue what we started?”

“Why don’t you?” he asked. “Call him back and point me out in this tree. I’ll have no defense. I’m your mortal, sworn enemy. Why not kill me now and be done?”

He was challenging her again, the way he’d done atop the spire when he’d dared her to prove her ability to hurt him. She swallowed past a knot in her throat and shook her head.

Denied an answer, he spoke the words for her. “Because we have a bond.”

Her forehead met the reassuring solidity of tree bark. She was tempted to bang her head there a few times to see if she could find some sense. The truth was, she had missed him. Only a day since she’d seen him, and she’d missed him. Aril or Zeru, she’d grown attached. And she was starting to admit to herself that those two people were one and the same. Aril was merely the side of Zeru that he would never show an enemy.

She could discern the outlines of a crouching figure, his wings hidden by leaves. “You really have to go. I’m about to demonstrate the ring. If the blast is as strong as I hope, you could be knocked out of there, natural resistance or no.”

“That’s some confidence you have, Sylvan. Give me some credit. Anyway, your demonstration will provide me with a moment to leave unnoticed. When do you plan to use it against the rest of us?”

“On the night you attack,” she said defiantly.

“As I imagined. But… there’s a complication,” he said, his voice low and serious. “What I came to tell you. I returned to the Cryptlands after I healed. Something isn’t right. Selkolla is… curse it! Your friend is coming back.”

She heard it, too. Footsteps approaching. She spoke with quiet urgency. “Tell me!”

“It’s Selkolla,” he said. “Remember the creature with her?”

“The moss child.”

“She called it that,” he said, “but the moss folk are gone. Hers is a scucca—a replica made from plant material and a trapped spirit. She has hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. The queen found out, and the Seer claimed to have made them for the Dracu army, but I don’t believe it. Selkolla controls them like puppets. They’re not truly alive, so I’m not sure they can be cut down by a sword.”

Creatures impervious to a blade sounded very, very bad. “How do we fight them?”

“I don’t know. But I wonder why Selkolla sent you to Welkincaster. Did she want you—and the ring—out of the way? I’ll find out more and meet you—”

Burke came around a corner a few yards away, his feet crunching noisily. “They’re ready for you, Deathringer!”

“Meet where?” Cassia whispered. “When?”

But the boughs were empty. As she turned away, moonlight fell on a small, pale object at her feet. She bent and picked it up.

A fish-bone comb.