Diplomacy
The Queen of Oaks’s location came as such a shock that Tanxi recast the spell three times. Each time, the answer was the same.
She was already inside the capital city.
In hindsight, Math wasn’t sure why he’d been surprised. The Queens were sorceresses in their own right. They were smart, and they paid attention to their enemies. The forces who had killed the Queen of Ashes had come from Bashan.
Of course the Queen of Oaks had gone there.
If anyone had noticed a giant oak tree springing up in the middle of Brightstar Park, no one thought it a matter worth reporting. The citizens might have even thought this sudden case of surprise ancient oak was connected to the upcoming anniversary celebrations.
The hardest part had been convincing everyone else to let him go alone.
“Absolutely not,” Tanxi had said. “What if something goes wrong? What if the negotiations fall through or she loses her temper?”
“If the negotiations fall through or she loses her temper, I honestly don’t know how you’d help.”
Tanxi summoned her sword. “Those trees still burn.”
It was even tempting. Sanistral needed the Queen alive, after all. Or at least, he’d claimed such. If it turned out that he’d been lying, then they would have lost their potentially most valuable ally.
If a grim lord was the only thing the Parnathi feared, the reverse also seemed true.
“No, Tanxi. I have to do this. It can’t be anyone else.”
They tried to argue. Finally, Math had resorted to appealing to the regent.
Imar Shovan had simply nodded in his direction, touched him on the shoulder, and said, “Good luck.”
Math went to Brightstar Park alone.
The closer he drew to the giant tree in the center, the less it looked like an oak tree.
Something about it didn’t feel right. The tree was also damaged in exactly the way he would’ve expected, given the branches that Talu had presented to the grim lord.
High winds or some equivalent violent force had ripped away several branches, nowhere to be found on the nearby grounds.
The damage revealed soft white tissues and odd green sap.
The bark cracked with black lines, as though something corrosive was spreading inward.
Math had seen optical illusions formed from the random shapes on trees that looked like faces or old men or people trapped just under the bark. This time, it didn’t seem to be an optical illusion. He felt certain the woman he saw in the tree was really there. She could move if she desired.
Something was wrong.
Her leaves were changing color, falling off, even as he watched. A darkening blight was spreading out from the site of her injury.
Sanistral had mentioned a curse.
As he stepped forward, he heard a rustling noise. He stopped. The rustling did not.
Huraiik crawled out from behind a bush.
Except this wasn’t Huraiik anymore. Math could tell right away. There wasn’t an ounce of recognition in his eyes as he stared at Math. He seemed feral.
More rustling. More vine people came out, crawling out onto limbs or squatting among the roots.
Math recognized far too many: Captains Rabu, Yihura, Qin.
No small number of Idallik Knights. One face stopped him cold—Catimus Abhigan.
His features were intact, his eyes empty as he stared at Math.
He was a plant-made puppet with no spark of memory and no more intelligence than a clever dog.
So, finally you have come. Far too late.
Her voice in his head was the same one he’d heard before. Her tone, though—if such a term could describe a message sent without spoken words—was much more bitter.
“I was scared,” Math said. “I didn’t know why you wanted to talk to me.”
Nothing answered him except the chirp of birds and rustle of leaves, the startling interruptions of black-powder reports echoing through the city. Not one of the vine people—and certainly not the Queen herself—seemed to understand him.
Math sat down in front of the tree and tried sending back a message. His was admittedly a crude, awkward attempt, ugly compared to the grace of the Queen’s mental prose.
You scared me. I felt threatened. I ran.
He felt her surprise. Not just surprise, but shock. That he would be afraid of her wasn’t just strange; it was utterly incomprehensible. How could he possibly fear her?
Math didn’t understand. He tried to communicate that. He didn’t think he succeeded.
He paused to glare at her drones, bitterly resentful of the empty shells that they’d become.
I need your help, he told her.
Her answer was immediate and angry. He saw the bombard explosion, felt the searing pain of her own injury, experienced the horror of the Ash Queen’s death.
The images were rapid-fire lightning, but if he had to translate them into words, into comprehensible language, the message was easy enough to understand.
Where were you when I needed yours?
Of course she was angry.
She’d watched a sister die that morning. Many of the lives in her “forest” seemed to be fugitive, disposable, but not all. Certainly not the mother trees.
I didn’t understand that you were asking for help. Huraiik never explained.
Possibly because the mother trees never explained it to any of the earlier versions of plant-Huraiik. She may have thought it was too obvious to require an explanation. What other motive could she possibly have for wanting to speak with a human?
Her emotions jumbled. He saw flashes of images that made no sense.
Tri-Mother help him, this wasn’t working.
Maybe if he’d come the first time Huraiik had offered, the vine man could have acted as a translator before his own memories and skills drained away. But Math hadn’t, and now they didn’t have the time. They didn’t even have the time for the Queen to grow someone new.
Either he figured something out fast or he’d have no choice but to take Sanistral’s suggestion and …
He didn’t know how that would work. Could he join their collective, their “forest,” without dying himself first? Never mind that dying didn’t really fit in with his goals.
They just didn’t have the time.
Math walked under the Queen’s canopy, uncertain that she’d allow it, relieved when she did. He sat down above her roots, although he wasn’t positive that she had them. She only looked like a tree.
He placed his palms against the damp earth, tried not to think about tiny spores and sprouts, little vines, growing from his hands, his arms, down into the ground. It felt too intimate.
Math felt it when he made contact.
His mind filled with colors, with smells and tastes, with sensations and experiences older than words.