Chapter 9
The Sylvan elders tell us there were once many realms connected by doorways,
and that folk passed freely between them.
—EXCHARIAS, SYLVAN POET
Thea returned to her bedchamber, her hands shaking with anger.
The sun had set while she’d been in the war room, and only a faint purple twilight glowed through her window.
But it was enough to see a new folded pile of clothing on her hearth.
She snatched it up to throw it into the fire, but her arm froze, trembling.
She couldn’t let her temper rule her. Not when this dress could be the key to information no one else would give her.
She paced the floor, fuming. Her father had never treated her with such blatant disrespect. He could be harsh, even cruel at times, but she’d always made allowances, knowing the protection of the Sylvans was his priority.
Though she tried not to dwell on things she couldn’t control, she found herself thinking more and more of the shameful secrets Cassia had uncovered.
Not only had the Sylvan king killed the moss folk, he’d bound restless spirits to some of the forest’s trees, making them bloodthirsty.
In doing so, he might have murdered the original Sylvan spirits.
Thea had been as horrified as her sisters by the revelation.
But she told herself that, in the end, their father had realized what he was doing was wrong and had dismissed the Summoner he’d hired to do that awful work.
He’d made those mistakes while trying to protect his people from the humans hunting them and the Dracu raiding their villages.
Thea also had a strong protective side, and sometimes it led her to rash actions.
How could anyone else know what it felt like to carry the fate of an entire people on your shoulders?
Thea hadn’t expected him to welcome the subject of her mother, but neither had she anticipated his fury. She only wanted to help. To find a way to face the danger together. Instead, her father’s reaction had shown her she had to handle this alone.
But who was the threat? Selkolla was dead. Without the Dracu fighting at their side, the Skrattis were easier to subdue.
Indecision and inaction were things she despised. She stopped pacing and forced herself to think, lining up everything she’d learned, the way she’d catalog an enemy’s movements.
There were other worlds besides this one, and the veils between worlds could break down.
In addition, the Sylvan king’s powers had to be weakening.
Silver trees were appearing and disappearing in the forest. Figments of things that weren’t really there.
A Seer—albeit a pixie apprentice—had visions of the silver trees taking over Thirstwood and claimed to have spoken with her mother.
Thea looked down at the fabric still clutched in her fist. There was one thing she hadn’t yet tried. Maybe she was a fool for doing this, but she’d rather be a brave fool than a cowardly one. She couldn’t let a threat to Thirstwood go unanswered.
Not wanting to act rashly, and needing time to calm herself after the clash with her father, Thea had a bath in her copper tub, scrubbing until her skin shone.
When she was done, she combed out her hair until the brown waves crackled in the firelight.
By the time she was done, she felt ready.
She put her hair in a loose braid, tying the end with a scarf, then began to dress.
When she unfolded the pile of clothing, she saw that it wasn’t a dress but three garments: a striped skirt, a white blouse, and a black corset vest. The stockings were so fine they were near transparent, the texture silky under her fingertips.
A shiver went through her as the smooth fabric slid over her toes, then calves, then thighs.
She attached the first stocking to a garter, then donned the second.
Next, she strapped her own leather holsters to her thighs, each containing three daggers.
Whatever happened, she would not be without weapons.
The blouse fit her comfortably, the fabric soft.
The sleeves were puffy, creating a rounded effect, ending mid-forearm with laces.
The heavy skirt was striped black and white, its length sufficient for her long legs, as if it had been measured for her by a careful seamstress.
Finally, the black fitted corset went over the shirt.
When laced up, it molded to her lean curves like a second skin.
As she put the black satin slippers on, a warm feeling poured through her.
The moment she secured the second slipper on her foot, she felt a change in the air.
A breath of something that was not from Scarhamm, not of the forest at all.
Her foot took a step toward the door. Another. It was as if her feet had minds of their own and had decided where they were taking her.
The clothing is enchanted. Perhaps the slippers were the final piece that completed the spell.
On impulse, she grabbed her short sword and strapped the leather belt around her waist, fighting to slow her steps as she adjusted the scabbard.
As she finished securing the buckle, her attention strayed from her steps and her feet sped up, taking her out her door, along the hallway, and down the stairs at a breakneck pace.
With concentration, she slowed again as she passed through empty corridors leading to the fortress’s entrance.
When she arrived at the main gate, it swung open as she neared, and three Huntsmen passed inside—a patrol returning.
They ignored her as she moved past. It was almost as if they couldn’t see her.
More enchantment? Not stopping to question it, Thea swept outside.
The forest opened up around her, the dark paths familiar even by scant moonlight.
Thea didn’t know where to go, but her feet did.
The enchanted slippers didn’t hesitate even as the path forked, continuing forward as if they knew the way.
Only the sounds of small animals and nesting birds accompanied her on the walk.
After a time, she came to a familiar glade.
Suddenly, she recognized the walnut tree.
This was where her mother had disappeared.
Memories of shock and fear twisted her stomach as they flashed through her mind.
The slippers brought Thea to a halt near a thick root.
Before she could decide what to do, the root moved toward her.
Instinctively, she leaped back, startled.
Even if it were a blood tree, which it did not appear to be, it should never harm a Sylvan.
But as she tried to move farther away, the slippers nudged her toward the root.
When she resisted, the soles of her feet grew so hot she feared a burn.
She reached down to pull one slipper off, but the fabric slid from her fingers.
The root came toward her, weaving to follow her no matter how she tried to move away.
Sweat broke out over her upper lip. She pulled her sword from her scabbard and did the unthinkable: She hacked at the tree root.
Sylvans did not harm trees unless absolutely necessary.
But this was not a normal situation, and she’d had enough of this magic, whatever it was.
The root shivered and retracted, a sound like pain reaching her ears.
A moment later, it stabbed out toward her, wrapping around her ankles like a thick, wooden rope.
Thea grabbed the trunk of the tree, her fingernails digging into the bark.
A white dot appeared in the air a few inches away. It grew and grew until it became an oval of light surrounded by translucent tree roots, their tips moving like tentacles.
A doorway.
Thea swallowed, her mouth as dry as a late summer drought, her heart beating heavily in her chest. She had faced huge Skrattis and quicksilver Dracu in battle with less fear.
But she’d made her decision, and there was no second-guessing it now.
It was her responsibility to protect Sylvans from all threats, even ones drenched in sinister magic.
She closed her eyes against the brightness and pulled her fingers from the bark, allowing herself to be drawn forward.
From one breath to the next, light turned to darkness. There was a disorienting moment when time lost meaning. The single breath she took could have lasted a second or a hundred years.
As Thea inhaled again, she found herself standing on flat ground.
There was no scent of moss or pine, only something metallic that lingered in the air.
She turned in a circle. Twinkling lights blipped in and out, more like lightning bugs or moon sprites than lanterns, judging by the way they wheeled and floated in the air.
They appeared to be far away. She moved in that direction step by slow step, her hand on the hilt of her sword.
Pale shapes appeared some distance ahead. As she drew closer, she saw that it was a swath of delicate silver trees, probably the same figments both Kaiya and Fen had reported. A sudden memory struck her. She’d seen them once before, in the Grotto. How had she forgotten?
There was an eeriness to the silver wood that set her nerves on edge. No birds sang. No small animals rustled. There was no undergrowth. No green. Nothing but the trees with leaves as delicate as ice.
She walked slowly toward one, her hand coming to rest on its thin trunk, half expecting to pass right through it.
It was solid and icy cold. Metallic. With her middle finger and thumb, she flicked the trunk of the tree, shivering when a clang reverberated from it.
She let her hand fall. There was a clear path of black stone winding between the trees.
She followed it, a gentle crunching sound accompanying each step.
At least the slippers had stopped forcing her feet forward.
Perhaps their job was done now that she was here.
As she walked, she looked around in wonder at the silver wood. Speaking softly, she greeted the nearest trees.
“Fellow Sylvans, well met,” she murmured in a friendly tone. “Will you wake from your slumber and speak to me?” It was the polite greeting in case any of the trees had Sylvan spirits in them, if those spirits were still sentient enough to answer.
When no answer came, she continued on.
She halted when her foot sank into water, so black it blended with the onyx stone underfoot. A lake or river? The lights she had seen earlier floated in the distance, their reflections rippling on the water’s calm surface. She wondered what she was supposed to do next.
A pinpoint of light moved closer, and a shape floated into view.
Thea tensed, not trusting anything in this place.
But it turned out to be a small boat, low in the water, a lantern on its prow, its black hull blending with the darkness.
The boat appeared to be empty, and yet oars turned as if pulled by invisible hands, rotating soundlessly in their oarlocks.
The vessel halted next to her, sliding against the shore.
Thea shuddered at this evidence of enchantment.
She wasn’t afraid of water or boats, but this was different.
Once she set foot in this magical craft, she had no idea where it might take her.
But as this was her only option to go forward, she reluctantly stepped inside.
It rocked until she sat on a wooden seat, guiding her sword to lean against her leg.
“Hello?” she called. No reply. The boat slipped soundlessly across the water, the oars cutting the surface with a gentle plash.
The bow turned toward the floating lights.
Thea made out another shape as they drew closer, a tall structure as dark as the onyx path.
When the boat bumped up against an unseen shore, she stood carefully and stepped out.
Fine gravel crunched underfoot. As she approached the lights, the structure shimmered into view—a castle of dark stone with windows aglow. The gravel path led her to a pair of arched double doors that stood open. With their shape, they looked almost like two beckoning hands.
Thea stood there for a moment, torn between curiosity and caution. You didn’t saunter into an unknown place that could be full of enemies. Instead, she walked around the side and peered in a window.
It looked like a ballroom. It was decorated in black with touches of silver and white. Polished black floor tiles reflected silver candelabra and sconces with flames that did not look real. Some sort of mage light, perhaps.
Thea counted twelve couples dancing in orderly formations, their clothing varied and colorful.
All manner of folk were included, from pixie to lutin to Sylvan, though no one that Thea recognized.
Even a Skratti was dancing, her polished tusks reflecting the warm light.
Thea blinked, never having seen a Skratti in formal clothing, having always encountered them in battle gear.
Still, the sight made her hand move to her sword.
“Scouting your enemies?” said a low-pitched voice.
Thea turned with the speed of her training. From a few feet away, a shadowy stranger grinned at her, his pale face catching scant light from the castle windows. The same man she’d seen before—twice! But the planes of his face had more dimension now, even as shadows swirled around him.
“Are you the one responsible for bringing me here?” she asked as the memories came crashing back.
As she examined the texture of his pale skin, his dark lashes, the glint of light in his pupils, she recalled meeting him in the Grotto and seeing him again in the great hall.
She didn’t understand how she could have forgotten him.
He lifted a dark brow. “Do you like the dress?”