Chapter 10 Elle
Elle
Three days of flying on giant bees had taught me several things about Wynmire.
One: The realm was vast in ways that made no geographical sense. We’d flown what should have been hundreds of miles, yet the sun never seemed to move quite right, and sometimes I’d swear we passed the same mountain twice from different angles.
Two: My ass was going to be absolutely ripped by the time this was over.
Hours upon hours of clenching every muscle in my lower body just to stay balanced on a bee’s fuzzy back meant I was getting the world’s most terrifying workout.
I’d mentioned this to Sarnyx, who’d nearly fallen off her own bee laughing.
Three: Kaelren was watching me more than he probably thought he was.
I’d catch him sometimes—around the campfire at night, or during our brief rest stops when we’d land to let the bees forage.
His silver eyes would track me as I talked with Eltrien about Wynmire’s history, or when Bryx showed me how to properly secure my pack so it wouldn’t shift mid-flight.
The moment I’d look his way, he’d turn back to whatever he was doing, but not before I saw something in his expression I couldn’t quite name.
“He’s definitely softening,” Peeble observed one evening as we made camp in a grove of trees that hummed with blue light. “Compared to the ‘you’ll die here’ speech on day one, this is practically warm.”
“That’s a low bar,” I grumbled back.
“Fair. But he did show you how to feel the forest network yesterday without making it sound like a lecture on your inevitable doom.”
Also fair. Kaelren had been… not exactly friendly, but less aggressively distant.
He still spoke in clipped sentences and maintained his careful physical distance, but there were cracks in the armor.
Small ones. Like when he’d actually explained something about Wynmire’s magic without being asked, or when I’d caught what might have been the ghost of amusement in his voice.
The Crown scouts were another story entirely.
We’d spotted them twice—patrols sweeping the forest in organized grids, clearly searching for us.
Each time, Nimor would scout ahead, we’d land and hide, and the group would set up wards that made us effectively invisible.
Vashael’s illusion magic combined with Eltrien’s knowledge of Crown search patterns meant we stayed consistently one step ahead.
“They’re getting more desperate,” Eltrien had said after our second near-miss. “Expanding the search radius. Auradelle must be pushing hard.”
“Good,” Sarnyx had replied, thorns bristling. “Let them waste resources chasing shadows.”
But I could feel the tension growing in the group. Every day we evaded capture was another day my marks spread, another day the corruption in Kaelren’s carved lines deepened, another day closer to whatever the convergence actually meant.
I’d spent the flying hours learning what I could.
Bryx taught me about the different bee breeds—apparently Kevin was a Northern Humming variety, prized for endurance.
Eltrien shared stories about the time before the Bloom and Root split, when Wynmire was unified.
Even Vashael, usually quiet, had explained how illusion magic worked differently here than in human folklore.
And sometimes, during those long flights, I’d catch Kaelren looking back at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable but his marks pulsing with something that looked almost like concern.
Now, on the fourth day, the landscape began to change in ways that made my breath catch..
Below us, the forest grew denser, older.
The trees here were titans, their trunks so vast they had weather systems. Mist clung to the middle canopy, and through gaps in the leaves, I could see bridges—actual bridges made of living wood connecting the massive trees.
Smoke rose from what might have been chimneys.
“People live up there?” I asked.
“The Canopy Folk,” Kaelren said over his shoulder, his tone clipped as always. “They haven’t touched the ground in generations.”
Before I could ask more, Nimor materialized on his bee beside us, more solid than usual—never a good sign.
“Crown patrol ahead. They’ve set up a blockade at the river crossing.”
“How many?” Kaelren’s voice sharpened.
“Twenty, maybe more. Armed with those reality-enforced weapons.”
“Can we go around?” I asked.
“Not without adding days to our journey,” Kaelren replied. “And we don’t have days.”
We descended carefully, landing in a grove of silver-barked trees that hummed with their own quiet energy. The moment my feet touched the ground, I could feel the forest’s concern through my marks—not quite words, but impressions of danger, caution, old anger.
“We could try diplomacy,” Eltrien suggested, though his tone suggested he knew how unlikely that was.
“They’re not here to talk,” Kaelren said flatly. “They’re here to capture Elle.”
“Then we fight?” Sarnyx asked, thorns already extending.
“We evade,” Kaelren corrected. “There’s an old smuggler’s path through the root caves. It comes out past the crossing.”
“Root caves?” I did not like the sound of that.
“Underground passages formed by the massive root systems,” Vashael explained. “Dark, cramped, and occasionally inhabited by things that prefer not to be disturbed.”
“Sounds delightful.”
“Better than Crown custody,” Peeble pointed out from my shoulder.
We moved on foot, leaving the bees who were too large for what came next. The entrance to the root caves was hidden beneath a curtain of phosphorescent moss, barely visible even when you knew where to look. The opening was just large enough for a person to squeeze through.
“I’ll go first,” Nimor said, his form becoming more shadow than substance. “I can scout ahead.”
One by one, we entered the caves. The moment I crossed the threshold, the world changed.
It was darker than dark—not just absence of light but presence of shadow.
The air was thick, humid, tasting of earth and age and growing things.
My marks provided a faint golden glow, just enough to see the person ahead of me.
The passages were formed by roots thicker than tree trunks, twisting and weaving through the earth. Some sections we could walk upright; others required crawling. The roots were warm to the touch, pulsing faintly with life.
“This is actually kind of amazing,” I whispered, running my hand along a root that was probably older than human civilization.
“Quiet,” Kaelren warned from behind me. “Sound carries strangely here.”
As if to prove his point, I heard something in the distance—a sound like breathing, but too big to be human. We all froze.
“Keep moving,” Nimor’s voice drifted back, barely audible. “Slowly. It’s sleeping.”
We crept past whatever it was, and I tried very hard not to imagine what could make breathing sounds that deep. The passage opened into a small chamber where bioluminescent fungi provided dim blue light. We paused to rest, everyone checking equipment and catching breath.
“How did you know about this place?” I asked Kaelren quietly.
“I’ve had to evade Crown patrols before,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “When you’re labeled a failed prince, you learn the hidden paths quickly.”
There was more to that story, but now wasn’t the time to push.
We continued through the caves for what felt like hours but was probably less. Time moved strangely underground, each moment stretching like taffy. Finally, I saw light ahead—real sunlight, not fungal glow.
We emerged on the far side of the river, the Crown blockade visible in the distance but facing the wrong direction. We’d bypassed them completely.
“That was too easy,” Sarnyx said what we were all thinking.
“They wanted us to go this way,” Kaelren agreed, studying the forest ahead. “The question is why.”
Before anyone could speculate, a figure stepped out from behind a massive tree.
Not Crown, but not exactly friendly either.
She was tall, willowy in that fae way, with bark-textured skin and eyes like amber.
Her clothes seemed to be made of autumn leaves, constantly shifting between gold and brown. She was beautiful, even ethereal.
“Kaelren,” she said, and there was history in that single word. “It’s been a long time.”
“Thessaly.” His voice was carefully neutral. “I thought you were dead.”
“The Crown thought so too. It was convenient to let them.” Her eyes found me. “So this is the human causing all the fuss. She’s smaller than expected.”
“I’m getting really tired of people commenting on my size,” I muttered.
Thessaly laughed, a sound like wind through leaves. “Fair enough. I’m here with an offer.”
“We’re not interested,” Kaelren said immediately.
“You haven’t heard it yet.” She pulled out a scroll sealed with wax that seemed to move. “Safe passage through the Autumn Court’s territory. Protection from Crown patrols. All we ask in return is one night’s hospitality.”
“The Autumn Court doesn’t offer hospitality without price,” Vashael said suspiciously.
“True. But the price isn’t yours to pay.” Thessaly looked directly at me. “The Court wants to meet the human who talks to trees. My mother is particularly interested.”
“Your mother?” I asked.
“The Autumn Duchess. She governs this region of Wynmire.” Thessaly’s expression softened slightly. “She has… questions. About your marks. About what you’re becoming.” “She also has answers. About the convergence. About what’s really coming.”
I felt Kaelren tense beside me. “Absolutely not.”
“Shouldn’t that be Elle’s choice?” Thessaly asked mildly.
Everyone looked at me. The marks at my collarbones pulsed with warmth, and through them, I could feel the forest’s curiosity. The trees knew Thessaly, trusted her in their slow, ancient way.
“One night?” I asked.
“Sunset to sunrise. You’ll be fed, rested, and protected. And my mother will tell you things the Crown doesn’t want you to know.”
“Elle,” Kaelren warned.
But I was tired of running, tired of not understanding what was happening to me. “We accept.”
Thessaly smiled, and autumn leaves swirled around us. “Then follow me. The Autumn Court awaits.”
As we walked deeper into the forest, following paths that seemed to appear just for Thessaly, I noticed Kaelren’s carved marks pulsing with agitation.
“You know her,” I said quietly.
“I knew her. Before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I became what I am. Before the Bloom rejected me. Before everything went wrong.”
There was pain in his voice I hadn’t heard before. Real, raw pain that his usual cold control couldn’t quite hide.
“Was she…?”
“She was many things. None of them matter now.”
But the way he watched Thessaly move through the forest, the way his marks flared when she looked back at us, suggested otherwise.
Great, I thought. Magical ex-girlfriend drama. Because this situation wasn’t complicated enough.
“Jealous?” Peeble whispered near my ear.
“Shut up,” I hissed back, but couldn’t quite deny the twist in my stomach when Thessaly smiled at Kaelren with obvious familiarity.
The Autumn Court’s entrance was marked by trees whose leaves were permanently caught in fall colors despite the season. The air was crisp here, smelling of apples and wood smoke and that particular scent of leaves turning.
“Welcome,” Thessaly said, gesturing to an arched doorway that seemed to be carved from a single enormous tree, “to the Court of Eternal Autumn.”