Chapter 9 Elle #2
He was quiet for a long moment, and I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then: “Because watching you die would have been unpleasant. I’ve seen enough people die badly—didn’t feel like adding you to the list.”
“Right. Of course.” My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the marks. “How considerate of you.”
“Elle—”
“No, it’s fine. I get it. Good night, Kaelren.”
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be brutal regardless, but it’ll be worse if you’re dead on your feet.”
His tone had that familiar edge of dismissal. I went back to my tent without another word, because what else was there to say?
The marks at my collarbones warmed, spreading with intensity through my chest but not actually expanding their territory, and I didn’t fight it. Whatever I was becoming, at least I wasn’t facing it alone.
Even if my protector would kill me without hesitation if needed.
Morning came with Nimor’s quiet report during breakfast. The camp was shrouded in Wynmire’s perpetual morning mist, which clung to everything and tasted faintly of copper.
Above us, the canopy filtered the dawn light into moss and honey tones, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the morning chorus of bell-birds—creatures that looked like sparrows but sounded like wind chimes.
“Crown patrol changed direction,” Nimor said, materializing fully for once instead of his usual half-there state. “They’re sweeping wider, but they’ll still find us by midday if we stay.”
“Then we move,” Kaelren decided. “Everyone ready to leave within the hour. We head deeper into the Wyrmwood.”
“That’s the opposite direction from safety,” Eltrien protested.
“Better than Crown territory.”
Peeble landed on my shoulder with more force than usual, antennae drooping. “I don’t suppose ‘deeper into the Wyrmwood’ means ‘toward a nice safe hollow with excellent moss beds and no one trying to kill us’?”
“Probably the opposite of that,” I muttered.
“Thought so. Just checking if optimism was warranted.” The beetle’s wings buzzed unhappily. “It never is.”
As everyone prepared to leave, the Sage approached me with a vial of liquid moonlight. Peeble’s antennae perked up with interest.
“Ooh, shiny. Is that for drinking or dramatic last-resort purposes?”
“Take this,” the Sage said to me, ignoring Peeble entirely. “When the time comes, you’ll know.”
“What time? What is it?”
But they were already walking away, leaving me with yet another cryptic gift.
“I hate when they do that,” Peeble grumbled. “Cryptic gifts are only mysterious the first three times. After that, it’s just annoying.”
“Elle!” Kaelren barked. “Stop staring at nothing. We leave in five minutes.”
“I’m staring at a mysterious vial, not nothing!” I called back, but he’d already turned away.
“He’s extra grumpy this morning,” Peeble observed. “More than usual, I mean. Which is impressive given his baseline grumpiness.”
Five minutes to pack what little I had. Five minutes before running into unknown danger. I tucked the vial away carefully, grabbed my few belongings, and tried not to think about how every step took me further from any hope of normal.
“You know normal was boring anyway,” Peeble said, apparently reading my thoughts. “You complained about it constantly.”
“I complained about my ex and my job. Not about, you know, basic safety and not being hunted by magical soldiers.”
“Details. You’re much more interesting now. Probably going to die more interestingly, too.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’m a beetle. Comfort isn’t in my skill set. Brutal honesty and excellent one-liners, that’s what I bring to the table.”
Not that normal had ever really been an option. The marks pulsed with something like agreement, and I let them. Whatever came next, at least it would be interesting.
Probably fatal, but definitely interesting.
“That’s the spirit!” Peeble said cheerfully. “Embrace the inevitable doom with style.”
“Ready?” Bryx asked, Kevin buzzing anxiously around his head.
“Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always—”
“A choice, I know. Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true,” Vashael said, passing with her portable garden. “You could choose to give up. Let the transformation take you. Become the Root completely.”
“Tempting, but I’m attached to having thoughts that are my own.”
“Are they?” She tilted her head. “How can you tell which thoughts are yours and which are the Root’s anymore?”
“She’s got a point,” Peeble whispered. “You’ve been talking to trees. That’s not normal human behavior.”
“Neither is having a talking beetle as a best friend, but here we are.”
“Fair.”
I didn’t have an answer for Vashael. The truth was, I couldn’t tell anymore. The boundaries were blurring, and maybe that was the point.
“Mount up,” Kaelren commanded. “We fly low, stay under cover.”
I climbed onto the bee behind him, Peeble scrambling to adjust position on my shoulder. “I hate flying on these things. Too much wind. My antennae get all tangled.”
“You can walk if you prefer.”
“And miss all the action? Please. I have front-row seats to your doom. I’m not giving that up for comfort.”
I tried to ignore the way my body automatically adjusted to Kaelren’s, finding the familiar position. Through the space where our bond would be—if either of us acknowledged it—I felt his tension. He was expecting an attack.
“He’s always expecting an attack,” Peeble muttered. “That man thinks breakfast is an ambush waiting to happen.”
“Hold on,” Kaelren said, and the bee launched into the air.
Peeble dug tiny legs into my collar. “Why do I never hold on before he says that? You’d think I’d learn.”
Below us, the forest fled by in a blur of emerald and bronze. I could feel every plant we passed over, their lives brushing against my consciousness like fingers through water.
“Stop projecting,” Kaelren said over his shoulder. “You’re leaving a trail they can follow.”
“I don’t know how to stop.”
“Learn quickly.”
“Your motivational speeches need work,” I said.
“He doesn’t do motivational speeches,” Peeble supplied. “He does threats and tactical observations. It’s his love language.”
“I don’t do—” Kaelren started.
The arrow came out of nowhere, catching our bee in the thorax. We spiraled down, Kaelren trying to control our descent while I held on for dear life.
“I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!” Peeble shrieked, clinging to my collar with all six legs. “I SPECIFICALLY SAID FLYING WAS A BAD IDEA!”
We crashed through the canopy, branches tearing at us, before hitting the ground hard. I rolled, thorns instinctively extending to protect me from the worst of the impact. Peeble went flying, tumbling through the air with an indignant buzz.
“Crown!” Nimor’s voice, from somewhere above. “They were waiting!”
Soldiers in white emerged from concealment, weapons glowing with enforced reality. A trap. They’d herded us right into it.
“Elle, run!” Kaelren commanded, corruption already spreading from his hands as he intercepted the nearest soldiers.
“Don’t run!” Peeble called from where they’d landed on a nearby fern. “Running is how people die! Stand your ground! Be scary!”
But running seemed pointless anyway. We were surrounded, and I was tired—tired of running, tired of being hunted, tired of being afraid of my own power.
The marks on my skin flared hot, and this time I didn’t fight it.
A soldier lunged at me, blade humming with that weird anti-magic resonance.
My thorns met his steel, but instead of just blocking, I let them grow.
They wrapped around his blade, up his arm, sprouting flowers that released spores.
He stumbled back, coughing, eyes watering.
“YES!” Peeble cheered. “That’s what I’m talking about! Spore attacks! I love spore attacks!”
“Non-lethal,” I called to Kaelren, who was leaving a trail of decay through the Crown ranks. “I’m going with non-lethal!”
“Your funeral,” he shot back, but I caught something like approval in his tone.
“It’s not a funeral if she wins!” Peeble yelled. “It’s a party! A spore party!”
Around me, chaos erupted in the best way.
Sarnyx had gone full porcupine, thorns shooting in every direction.
Bryx’s bees weren’t just swarming—they were synchronized, moving in patterns that confused and disoriented.
Vashael’s plants weren’t trying to slow the soldiers down; they were actively pranking them.
I watched one soldier’s boots suddenly sprout roots that tickled, making him dance involuntarily.
“This is the best fight I’ve ever seen!” Peeble had somehow made it back to my shoulder. “No one’s dying! Everyone’s just very uncomfortable! It’s perfect!”
“Surrender the marked one,” a Crown captain called out, trying to maintain authority while pulling a vine from his helmet. “And the rest of you can live.”
“That’s a terrible offer,” Peeble shouted. “Counter-offer time!”
“Counter-offer,” I called back, kneeling to touch the earth. The power in my marks pulsed eagerly. “You leave now, and I don’t ask every tree in this forest to drop branches on your heads simultaneously.”
“Ooh, good threat,” Peeble whispered. “Very specific. I like it.”
“You don’t have that kind of range,” the captain scoffed.
I closed my eyes, feeling outward. Every root, every branch, every leaf for… oh. Oh wow.
“She totally has that kind of range,” Peeble said gleefully. “This is about to get interesting.”
“I can feel trees miles away,” I said, opening my eyes. “There’s an oak about thirty feet behind you that really doesn’t like your captain. Something about you pissing on its roots last night?”
“GERALD!” Peeble exclaimed. “She’s talking about Gerald! I love Gerald!”
“You can hear him, too?” I whispered.
“Everyone can hear Gerald. He’s very loud. Mostly complains about people with no respect for nature.”
The captain went pale. Several soldiers looked up nervously.
“That’s impossible,” he said, but his voice wavered.