The Forest King’s Daughter

23

Sever the roots of my enemies!

May they live untethered,

parched and gasping.

—D RACU CURSE

M OTHER USED HER MAGIC TO CREATE A TUNNEL, urging Cassia to follow her. After traveling for some time in the dark, they emerged into the forest, where warriors dressed in brown and green walked a wide path. They turned and drew their swords on her. One man, tall and strong with white antlers, took a step forward.

“Selkolla,” he said in a voice that rumbled through the woods. “What brings you above after cowering in the Cryptlands for so long?”

“I’ve come to take from you what you value most,” the Seer replied, “as you took what I loved from me. What do you think of my creation?”

The antlered one turned his head. “What vile creature is this?”

Mother preened. “Isn’t she beautiful? I made her. Don’t you recognize her?”

The antlered man stared at her with dark eyes, his brows drawn together in consternation, his voice turning hoarse. “She is an abomination.”

“You are the abomination.” Mother spat at the king’s feet. “My moss folk were innocent and gentle, and you destroyed them. Deny that, Silvanus.”

He said nothing.

Mother’s face twisted. “Murderer. Fitting that I should take the spirits of your Huntsmen to bring my children back to life.” She lifted her voice to carry over the thunder rumbling overhead. “I have an offer for those of you here. If you swear your swords to me now, I will show mercy and allow you to keep spirit and body together.”

“My Huntsmen will never serve you,” the antlered one said. Thunder boomed in the distance.

“Pledge your lives to me as you are now,” Selkolla said, “or your spirits will serve me. Who among you will step forward?”

When no one stepped forward, the Seer raised her arms, and the sky turned black.

But the antlered king raised one hand, and the clouds overhead moved away. “Your magic is weak, Selkolla. After these many years, you have not recovered. Scurry back into the hole you’ve been cowering in. Your time in the world is past.”

“And you are but a shadow of your former self,” Mother said, her hands fisting at her sides. “Here, you have the advantage of sunlight and the allegiance of your trees. Under a full moon, we shall see who is stronger.” She turned in a slow circle, raising her voice to address the warriors. “You have decided your fates. Taste what awaits you when true night falls.” She spoke a word, and a moment later, a moss child emerged from the tunnel.

A collective gasp ran through the soldiers. “A scucca,” one said with disgust.

Another stepped toward the moss creature, his sword raised. But in moments, a hundred others emerged from the tunnel, followed by a hundred more. They pushed and fell over one another in a green cascade. Swords slashed and cut at the moss creatures, but still more came shrieking up to fight.

The sky darkened again, a crackle filling the air as Mother’s eyes glowed brighter. “It is your time to fight. You see the great king with antlers? Kill him.”

Without hesitation, she flew toward the king, her wings taking her feet off the ground. Huntsmen came between them, and she hit them with her clawed hands and bashed them with her wings, whirling and striking so they twisted and fell to the ground.

When a dozen of the enemies lay senseless, she reached the antlered king. She stood with knees bent, ready to spring into action.

The battle raged around them. He held his palm up to more Huntsmen, as if staying their hands, and stared down at her, his brows drawn together.

Something about him. She tilted her head, trying to remember.

“Kill him!” Mother screamed.

She slashed out with her claws. The king parried her attack. She struck at the weak spots she knew would spill his blood on the ground.

But he wasn’t fighting back, merely blocking her every move.

He whispered a single word. She could barely hear it over the sounds of battle.

Her arms dropped. The soldiers held their swords out but didn’t attack. She heard Mother screaming at her, but she couldn’t obey. Shame made her face heat and brought a terrible pain to her stomach. She had failed Mother.

Around her, more Huntsmen were slashing at the moss children—a screeching, bloody battle she had to escape.

She spread her wings and leaped into the sky. She looked down at her enemies, their swords slashing as an endless river of Seer’s children streamed from the tunnel. But the antlered king simply looked up, watching her fly.

The word he’d said meant nothing.

She would fly.

She would hide.