Chapter 018 Thornwood Throne
We were walking through the woods, which sounds like the start of a bad horror movie or a mediocre folk song, but the reality was significantly more stressful.
The problem wasn't the terrain. The problem was Thalren.
For the last two days of travel from the monastery, we had been circling each other like binary stars on a collision course, trapped in a gravitational pull that was equal parts terrifying and magnetic. Since the dream-since the vines and the waterfall and the things we'd done to each other in a lucid hallucination-the air between us had solidified. It wasn't just awkward. It was volatile.
My hand brushed the rough fabric of his sleeve as we stepped over a rotting log.
*Snap.*
A spark of heat, sharp as a static shock, jumped between us. On the forest floor where my boot had just landed, a cluster of violets erupted from the dirt in fast-forward, blooming, withering, and turning to ash in the span of a heartbeat.
I yanked my hand back. Thalren flinched, his jaw tightening until the muscle feathered. He didn't look at me. He hadn't really looked at me for six hours, probably because every time he did, the temperature in the immediate vicinity spiked about ten degrees.
"You two are exhausting," Glimm said.
The moth-dragon was perched on my left shoulder, gripping the strap of my tank top with tiny, needle-sharp claws. He sounded bored, which was his default state when he wasn't sounding judgmental.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered, stepping wide to avoid a patch of suspicious moss.
"Please. The air pressure drops every time you look at his ass," Glimm said. "Welcome to sexual tension. Population: you two idiots who can't touch without potentially destroying reality."
"Shut up, Glimm."
"I'm just saying in the interests of safety. If you two hold hands, we might get a crater. If you kiss, I'm pretty sure the stratosphere ignites. It's irresponsible."
"Quiet," Vorn grunted from the front of the line.
The large warrior stopped, holding up a fist. The rest of our ragtag caravan halted. Sylith looked tired, her hand resting protectively on her throat where the bruises from the ambush were fading into a sickly yellow. Vahr stood close to Zephyran, looking solid for the first time in weeks. The stabilization ritual at the monastery had worked, mostly. He wasn't flickering, but he looked fragile, like fine china that had been glued back together.
Thalren moved up beside Vorn. He moved with that predatory grace that usually made my stomach do flip-flops, but today just made me feel frantic. I looked at his arms. The corruption marks-the black, jagged veins running from his wrists up to his shoulders-seemed dormant, but the cold radiating off him beat against the heat of the bond living in my chest.
I looked down at my own arms. Faint, dark traceries were mapping themselves under my skin, mirroring his. A matching set. How romantic.
"We're here," Thalren said. His voice was gravel, rougher than usual.
I moved up to stand beside him, careful to keep a six-inch demilitarized zone between our shoulders.
"Where?" I asked. "I count exactly three creepy trees and a lot of fog."
"Look up, Aria."
I looked up. Then I stopped breathing for a second.
I had expected a bunker. When you hear "rebel base in a magical war zone," you picture damp caves, flickering torches, maybe a map on a table made of crates. You picture grit.
I wasn't expecting a city grown out of the sky.
High above the canopy, suspended in the massive, twisting branches of trees that made California redwoods look like toothpicks, was a sprawling network of light and organic architecture. Giant blossoms the size of houses had been hollowed out and turned into dwellings, their petals glowing with soft, bioluminescent pulses-amber, indigo, soft rose. Bridges made of woven living vines connected the structures, swaying gently in the wind.
It didn't look built. It looked dreamed.
"The Thornwood Throne," Thalren said quietly. There was something in his voice-pride, maybe, or just relief.
"It's..." I struggled for a word that wasn't *magical*, because that felt redundant. "It's a lot."
"It is the heart of the resistance," Vorn said, shifting his heavy pack. "And it is Festival night. We picked a loud time to arrive."
"Festival?" I watched a stream of golden pollen drift down from the city like snow. " You guys have festivals? I thought you just brooded and sharpened things."
"We multitask," Thalren said. He finally looked at me, and for a second, the shield went down. His eyes were dark, hungry, and exhausted. "Come on. We need to get up there before the perimeter patrols decide we're Bloom scouts."
The climb was achieved via a massive, spiral staircase carved directly into the bark of the central tree. By the time we reached the intake platform, my calves were burning and the air had thinned, smelling sweet and sharp, like ozone and crushed lilies.
The city was even louder up close.
Music thrummed through the floor-flutes made of bone, drums that sounded like heartbeats. People-Florakith, humans, and things I didn't have names for-thronged the vine-bridges. It was a riot of color. Vendors sold skewered fruits that smoked in the cold air; children with translucent, nub-like wings chased heavy, buzzing beetles around lanterns.
It reminded me of the county fair back home, the one I used to go to with my grandmother. Except there the biggest attraction was a butter sculpture of a cow and a ride called the Zipper that looked like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Here, the attraction was a city that defied physics.
"Crowded," Vahr murmured, shrinking a little. He wasn't used to being solid enough to bump into people.
Zephyran touched his elbow. Not through him-on him. "Stay close to me, Nim. I won't let them trample you."
Vahr looked at the hand on his arm, then at Zephyran's face. He smiled, small and tentative. "I... I would like that."
I watched them, feeling a pang of jealousy so sharp it tasted like lemon. They could touch. They could offer comfort without risking a localized apocalypse.
"Thalren!"
A tall Florakith with bark-like plating on his shoulders pushed through the crowd. He looked serious. "The Council is convening. We didn't expect you for another two days."
Thalren straightened, the soldier snapping back into place over the man. "We ignored the rest stops. The situation has changed."
"Clearly." The Florakith glanced at me, his gaze lingering on the dark veins on my arms. He didn't look friendly. "Is this the Catalyst?"
"Her name is Aria," Thalren said. His tone dropped an octave. It was a warning. "And yes."
"They're waiting for you in the High Bloom. Immediately."
Thalren hesitated. He turned to me, and his hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach out. He didn't.
"I have to go," he said. "Debrief. Explain... this." He gestured vaguely at me, or the bond, or the fact that flowers were currently sprouting between the deck boards where I stood.
"Go," I said, trying to sound breezy and failing. "I'll just... mingle. Find a corn dog. Do you have corn dogs here? Do they scream when you eat them?"
He didn't smile. "Stay with Vorn. Don't wander. The bond..." He trailed off, frustration tightening his mouth. "Just be careful, Aria."
"I'm always careful."
"You are never careful," he corrected.
He turned and followed the guard, disappearing into the press of bodies.
I stood there, watching the back of his dark coat vanish. As he got further away, the hum of the bond stretched thin, aching in my chest like a pulled muscle. I looked down at my feet.
The cheerful yellow daisies that had sprouted when we arrived were dying. In their place, small, pale blue blossoms were uncurling. They looked like forget-me-nots, but sadder. Drooping.
"Pathetic," Glimm whispered in my ear. "Your subconscious leaves a trail. It's messy."
"I hate you," I said, but there was no heat in it.
"Go find food. Melancholy is better on a full stomach."
Vorn was busy arguing with a supply master about rations, and Sylith had taken Vahr and Zephyran to find a medic to check Vahr's stability. I was, effectively, unsupervised.
"Don't wander," Thalren had said.
"Watch me," I muttered to no one.
I drifted into the crowd.
The Harvest Moon Festival was a sensory assault. The bioluminescence was everywhere-lanterns hung from branches, glowing moss painted onto faces, drinks that swirled with phosphorescent pulp. The smells were dizzying: roasting meat, heavy perfume, the damp, rich scent of the giant flowers themselves.
It was beautiful. And I was completely alone in it.
Everyone had someone. Parents swung children onto their shoulders. Couples danced in the wider plazas, moving in sync to a rhythm I couldn't quite catch. Groups of teenagers leaned against railings, laughing at inside jokes.
I was the alien. The girl with the dark veins and the clothes from a dead world (Gap jeans really didn't blend in here) and the brain full of pop culture references that no one understood.
I stopped at a stall draped in shimmering purple silk. The vendor wasn't human or Florakith. It looked like a pile of animated sand held together by a vest and a monocle.
"Memories?" the sand-creature rasped. Its voice sounded like waves dragging on a beach. "Fresh memories? Or perhaps something vintage?"
"You sell memories?" I asked, leaning closer.
"I sell echoes," the vendor corrected. A sandy hand gestured to a row of small, glowing gems on the velvet counter. "Bottled emotions. Moments caught in amber. For those who have forgotten. Or for those who want to feel something else for a while."
I looked at the gems. They pulsed faintly. One was a sharp, angry red. Another was a soft, sleepy green.
"What's this one?" I pointed to a gem the color of periwinkle. It looked fragile.
"Ah." The sand shifted, the creature leaning in. "A simple thing. A mother teaching her daughter the First Steps of the seed-dance. Before the war. Before the Rot."
"Can I...?"
"Hold it. First taste is free."
I picked up the gem.
The world dropped away.
*I am small. The grass reaches my waist. The sun is warmer than I've ever felt it. Large, gentle hands are holding mine.*
*"Feet like roots, little bloom," the voice says. It is warm, like liquid sunshine. "Not stiff. You must flow with the wind, not fight it."*
*I stumble. I feel a flash of frustration, the urge to cry.*
*"Shh," the voice soothes. I feel safe. Completely, utterly safe. "There are no mistakes in dancing, my bloom. Only new steps we haven't learned yet."*
*The hands lift me up, swinging me around until the world is a blur of green and gold and laughter...*
I gasped, dropping the gem back onto the velvet.
The noise of the festival rushed back in-the drums, the shouts, the smell of smoke. My face was wet. I wiped my cheek, surprised to find tears.
"Powerful," the Sand Vendor observed. "Nostalgia is the heaviest currency."
"I shouldn't have..." I swallowed the lump in my throat. It hurt. It hurt because I remembered my grandmother teaching me to make pie crust, her hands over mine, flour everywhere. I remembered a life where the biggest problem was a math test. "I don't belong here."
"Because you have no roots?" The creature tilted its head due to a shifting of sand grains. "Or because you are afraid to put them down?"
"Because I'm building a bomb," I said, my voice shaky. "I'm not a person anymore. I'm a weapon. You don't plant weapons."
"You are building something new," the vendor said. He pushed the periwinkle gem toward me. "Keep it. A gift. Sometimes, when building the new, it helps to remember what's worth keeping from the old."
I took the gem. It was warm in my palm. "Thank you."
"Go," the creature said, gesturing toward the plaza. " The rhythm changes. The current pulls."
I turned. The music had shifted. The drums were faster now, a driving, tribal beat that vibrated in the floorboards. The flutes dropped away, replaced by the deep, resonant drone of string instruments.
The crowd was moving. Not walking-flowing.
A space was clearing in the center of the plaza. People were joining hands, forming concentric circles. The energy in the air crackled, smelling of ozone and crushed mint.
"We should go," Glimm said, tightening his grip on my shoulder. "This smells like ritual magic. The kind where tourists get sacrificed."
"It's just a dance, Glimm."
"Everything is 'just a dance' until someone pulls out a obsidian dagger."
I tried to skirt the edge of the crowd, intending to find a quiet corner to eat my feelings, but the movement of the bodies was like a tide. Someone grabbed my hand-a young Florakith woman with laughing eyes and petals woven into her hair.
"Come!" she shouted over the drums. "The circle needs to close!"
"I don't-I can't-"
"Process!" she laughed, pulling me in.
I stumbled, my feet tangling, but the rhythm was infectious. The crowd surged, and suddenly I was part of the chain. We spun. The world blurred into streaks of light and shadow.
For a moment, I forgot the fear. I forgot the dark veins and the looming war and the terrifying probability that I was going to die in a world that wasn't mine. I just moved. My body knew what to do, bypassing my brain entirely.
I laughed. It bubbled up out of me, surprising and frantic.
Then the bond slammed into me.
It wasn't a physical blow. It was a presence. A heavy, dark gravity that hit the back of my neck and made every hair on my arms stand up. The air suddenly felt charged, heavy and static-thick, like the seconds before a lightning strike.
The drums stopped.
Silence rippled outward from where I stood, fast, like a shockwave.
The dancers on either side of me let go of my hands and stepped back. The crowd parted, splitting down the middle with unnatural precision.
At the far end of the cleared path, standing in the shadow of a glowing petal-house, was Thalren.
He had shed his heavy travel coat. He wore a dark vest that left his arms bare, exposing the corruption marks that writhed like black ink against his skin. His chest was heaving, just slightly.
He wasn't looking at the crowd. He was looking at me.
His eyes were pitch black. No whites, no irises. Just the Void.
"Uh oh," Glimm whispered. "Here comes the brooding storm front."
All the sound in the plaza seemed to dampen, as if we were suddenly underwater. The only thing I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears and the heavy thud of Thalren's boots on the wood as he started walking toward me.
He didn't look angry. He looked inevitable.
The flowers at my feet-the sad blue ones-turned a violent, vibrant crimson. Thorny vines erupted from the floorboards, not attacking, but framing the path between us, blooming with white flowers that smelled of intoxicating night-musk.
He stopped three feet away. The heat coming off him was palpable.
"You were supposed to stay with Vorn," he said. His voice was low, but it carried in the silence.
"I got distracted," I breathed. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "The music..."
"The music calls to the deep." He took a step closer. The air between us shimmered, distorting the light. "And you are very deep, Aria."
The drummers, sensing the shift in energy, started up again. But it wasn't the frantic beat from before. It was slow. Heavy. A pulse.
Thalren held out a hand. He didn't touch me. He held it palm up, inches from mine. The space between our skin sparked with visible arcs of green electricity.
"This is definitely going to end badly," Glimm said, sounding delighted. "Which means it'll be entertaining."
"Dance with me," Thalren said. It wasn't a question.
"We can't touch," I whispered. "We'll break something."
Thalren's lips quirked-a dark, reckless smile that terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure.
"Then we'll have to be very, very precise."
The crowd held its breath. The vines around us pulsed in time with the drums. I looked at his hand, then at his eyes, and I knew there was no saying no to this. The gravity was too strong.
I stepped into the circle.