The Forest King’s Daughter

24

I live in the sunshine. I die in the shade.

—FROM “ T HE B ALLAD OF THE S UN S PRITE”

S HE LIVED AMONG THE TREES.

She ate berries and slept under piles of leaves. She wandered. Though it was the same forest, it was vast, and she’d flown for hours. Sometimes images flashed into her mind, faces and voices that made her chest ache. She shut them out. Instead, she turned toward the part of herself that truly knew the forest. She opened her mind to the scents and sounds of the woods.

They calmed her.

She sat and listened. She spent all day listening. She could hear the water rushing underground and feel the roots taking water in. She knew when the trees needed sunlight or rain, or when they ached with the effort of new growth. She knew which suffered. They needed water. Some of them craved blood, craved life . Someone was taking their life force, and they wanted it back.

On the third night, as she slept under the branches of a spreading elm, a sound came from nearby, something larger than the small animals she had come to know.

She stood and readied her claws.

A shadow moved through the trees and a man stopped a short distance away. Twisted horns grew from the top of the stranger’s head. Large, dark wings grew from his back. He looked lean and strong but held no sword.

“Cassia?” he said on a whisper of breath, his eyes wide.

Her heart jumped. She shook her head at him.

He took a step toward her. His eyes were like crushed clover. “Cassia. It’s me. Zeru.”

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She was meant to be alone here.

She grabbed a branch from the ground and threw it at him, using the moment to sprint into the forest. The map of trees was so familiar to her now that she slipped between them like water. He wouldn’t catch her. But then he appeared in front of her, his wings settling behind him. She hissed, baring her teeth and claws.

He put his hands out, showing his palms. “I only want to talk.”

She didn’t move.

“Can you speak?” he asked, his brows drawing together. “Do you remember me?”

He sounded… something. Not sunlight. Shadows. He sounded shadows.

They stared at each other. She waited for him to leave. The moon was setting. The sun would rise. He would go before then.

She leaped into a tree, pulling herself onto a branch to wait.

He settled himself on the cold ground. Stillness itself.

But she had the patience of trees.

If he’d twitched, she would have run. But he was so still.

He stared at the ground, but she sensed his attention on her.

When the sun rose, he fell forward, panting. As she watched, his wings vanished. Fascinated, she almost leaped down from her perch to go closer. But after a minute, he shook his head and rolled his shoulders. His clothing was unmarred, as if the wings hadn’t been there in the first place. She touched her own to make sure they were still there. He looked up as she did that, his eyes narrowing at the gesture before his mouth lifted up on one side.

“I think yours are permanent,” he said. The stranger pushed nimbly to his feet. “Mine disappear at dawn. I’ve learned to keep these at night, though.” He lifted a hand to point to one of the horns that emerged from his dark hair. “Last time I saw you, you commented on the lack. Not very tactfully, I might add.”

She watched him as images flashed in her mind of another part of the forest at night. She shut her mind to them.

He lifted his chin as he sniffed the air. “I’ve always detected hints of the forest about you, Cassia. But there’s something more.” He paced closer, step by careful step until he stood among the roots looking up at her. He had a way of moving that reminded her of a predator, smooth and graceful. “Something that stays pure over time,” he went on, “like gold or sunlight.” His eyes were brighter in the morning, his dark eyebrows and hair contrasting with his lightly tanned skin.

She sniffed, curious. She smelled soil, pine needles, leaves, and… him. He was… earth and water. His scent blended nicely with the forest around her.

“I wish I could touch your face and tell you to remember, the way you did to me,” he said, his voice thick. His expression made her toes curl. Images of his face in other times crowded her mind. His head dipping down toward hers. She shut her eyes and breathed forest, telling herself this was her life. Here. Now. Nothing before. She stayed still, waiting for him to leave.

The sun was low in the sky when a storm swept in. She wrapped her wings around herself as rain drizzled down, then poured. He was sitting against the trunk of the tree. A shiver ran through his body. For some reason, that made her stomach churn.

When she hopped down, landing next to him, he looked at her with widened eyes before he cocked one eyebrow at her. She jerked her chin toward the place she hid when it rained. He followed her to the scooped-out hollow of a large rock, like a shallow cave, fitting himself into the curved space with deliberately slow movements. She could see the texture of his skin, the flecks of gold in his green eyes. Water dripped from his dark hair. She lifted a hand and let a drop fall onto her fingertip.

He pulled in a breath. She pushed her own wet hair from her forehead and stared at him. He exhaled, his eyes fixed on her.

“I think a part of you remembers me,” he said, a little tremor in his voice that could have been from the cold. “The way a part of me recognized you after I’d first taken my winged form. I didn’t know who or what I was. I was lost in the woods. I felt so alone until you came along.”

Something inside her warned her that it was dangerous to listen. But she liked his voice. It lulled her as the rain pelted down, hitting the ground and sending spray into the protected hollow, wetting her feet and legs. She leaned her head back against the rock and listened.

“I knew you were meant to be important to me,” he said, green eyes as bright as new leaves. “Both times. First as a boy, and then as Aril. I recognized something in you, something I wanted to be near. Even as another part of me fought it.” His face tightened, and he turned his head away. “This transformation was harder for you, I think. How did it happen? Can you tell me?”

A memory of a terrible pain made her inhale sharply. She shook her head against it, trying to block the thoughts.

“I heard you call my name,” he said, his voice low and urgent, his eyes coming back to hers. “I was desperate to get to you, Cassia. But I was too late. By the time I got to Selkolla’s room, you were gone. And now you… don’t remember me. Or yourself. Selkolla changed you. But I know you’re still in there.”

She turned her back on him, her fists clenched. She would not listen to that name. Any name from before.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me.”

He was silent for a few minutes. Finally, she turned back to face him. She found him hunched over. He sucked in a breath and his hands curled into fists as wings sprouted from his back. She moved as far away as she could in the tight space. First, the wings were insubstantial, made of light and colors. Then they were solid, black, folded against his back as gently as if they were made of parchment.

“It still takes me by surprise,” he said with a smile, sounding breathless as he stretched one wing out into the rain, inhaling as if the stretch felt good. “Every night at sunset. Gutel said I might lose the wings if I stop going into the clouds. That’s what he figures happened to one of my ancestors.” His brows drew together. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”

She put her hand out to test the rain. It had nearly stopped. They could leave the protected hollow soon. For some reason, she didn’t want to go. Not yet.

His eyes went to her hand. “I wonder if the ring still works with the amulet. If it will open the doorway to Welkincaster.” He motioned to her hand, then pulled something from his shirt. A gold disc. She drew her hand back. Fear surged through her, though she didn’t know why.

“I don’t want the ring,” he said, all hints of laughter gone from his face as he tucked the amulet away again. “Not anymore. It’s yours.”

She looked at him, knowing this was important, what he’d said. Reaching out, she touched one of the claws on the end of his wing segment. He closed his eyes. “That’s…” He cleared his throat.

She traced a vein that went from the claw down toward the center of his back. His eyes stayed closed, and his lips pressed together. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Cassia.”

She let her hand fall.

“No need to stop.” His smile was crooked, his eyes bright.

Her heart was beating faster, but she wasn’t scared. She watched his face, noting the way the drops of water traveled over his skin. One had settled at the corner of his lips. She considered wiping it away but decided against it.

“Well,” he said slowly, his lips curved up on one side, “we both have wings now. Would you like to fly with me?”

She shook her head, then turned her face away. It was better if he left her as she was. Quiet. Safe. Alone.

“When you’re ready,” he said. “But someday soon, we have to leave here. You can’t stay here forever, Cassia.”

She shook her head again.

“I said soon,” he added. “Not now.”

“Never,” she said, stepping out of the protected hollow and striding into the trees. She used her wings to lift her and settled on a high branch.

Surely he would go before dawn.