14
Where two or more Azpians are found,
mischief is certain.
—E XCHARIAS, S YLVAN POET
C ASSIA WAS SHAKING WITH FURY. H OW DARE HE— how dare he suggest her father cared nothing for her. “Enough,” she said, pushing to her feet. “Gutel, you’ve admitted I’m the caretaker of Welkincaster. I want you to show me what this ring is supposed to do.”
Zeru’s attention snapped to Gutel. “She’s delusional. There is no possible way.”
Gutel straightened his hat. “She’s right. I’m almost sure of it. The ring sent a spirit to protect her when she was in danger. And she has restored one of the apple trees.”
Zeru shook his head, tension radiating from him. “Wishful thinking.”
“You saw it yourself,” Cassia argued. “I touched the tree and said I wanted an apple and… you know what? Never mind. Your opinion doesn’t matter anymore.”
Cassia clattered down the tower steps, determination coursing through her. She didn’t care what Zeru thought, but it would be satisfying to see him chagrined when she proved him wrong.
As Cassia strode to the withered orchard outside the castle walls, a light breeze ruffled the treetops, a faint pine smell riding the air. When she reached the fruit trees, some of her bravado faded. What if it didn’t work?
“Good, good,” the hearth-spirit said as he caught up to her. “Did you notice the sky is clearer? And the air isn’t so dry. Signs the welkin is already being restored.” He went past the apple tree she had already plundered and stopped next to a gnarled pear tree. “Show us what you can do, Sylvan.”
She toyed with the ring, suddenly feeling much like she had when her father had ordered her to use the ring’s blast in front of all the Huntsmen with no preparation.
Zeru strode into the orchard, his demeanor as foul as a winter storm. “Show us, then, Sylvan. If you’re truly what you claim.”
She stared at the drooping branches, less confident now that it was time to prove herself. The apples might not have been her doing. The idea that she could use the ring of legend, the weapon that had killed thousands in a bloody war, to grow apples in a barren orchard seemed ridiculous. But Gutel claimed she could. And if she proved that she could use the ring as Welkincaster’s caretaker, she might gain the kobold’s support. She had to try, even under Zeru’s critical eye.
Gutel stepped closer, as if to draw her attention from Zeru, his tone softening. “Nothing to worry about. This is a good place to start.” He nodded toward the tree. “Just a touch and a word, Sylvan, that’s all it will take. Such is the power of the Solis Gemma.”
Her stomach clenching with nerves, Cassia took a steadying breath. She touched her hand to the branch, willing the ring to respond. As she always did, she forced her will against it, feeling power rising and twisting inside of her, fighting back.
“I want a pear,” she said, making her voice sound as commanding as possible.
Silence filled the air for several moments as they all stared at the branches. No matter how she struggled to make the ring do as she wished, no fruit appeared. She made the mistake of looking at Zeru, whose smug expression made her want to pick up a stick and whack him with it.
Gutel’s brows were drawn together in consternation. “I don’t understand. Try again.”
Taking a nervous breath, she willed the ring to respond, feeling its power growing before she touched the tree. Light flared, a crack rent the air, and the branch she touched fell, bouncing off the kobold’s shoulder on its way down.
Gutel grunted, and the stormy look that rolled over his face made her swallow.
She closed her eyes. “I’ll try harder.”
“Please don’t,” he said irritably, rubbing his shoulder. “The poor tree only has a few more branches.”
“This calls your theories about her into question,” Zeru said.
Gutel held up a hand and turned back to Cassia. “What exactly do you do when you speak to the ring?”
She pursed her lips. “I force my will against it, pushing through when it fights back.”
“No, no, no.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You’re trying to use it as a weapon. The ring focuses the power of the sun, the power of life, and mixes it with your will for growth. There’s no need for fighting it.” He shook his head. “No wonder you’ve struggled.”
Cassia stared at the branch, a pressure in her temples as she tried to accept this new way of thinking. She had been using the ring one way for so long, she had never considered there was another. Had she been going about it wrong? Maybe Enora was right that she took everything too seriously. Maybe the key was relaxing and trusting that it would work. Swallowing the knot of worry in her throat, she placed her hand on the bark and closed her eyes. Then she spoke to it, Sylvan to tree, just as her mother had taught her in the garden. She had always said, You only have to ask the plants to grow, and they will.
“A pear,” she said softly. She felt a burst of warmth in her chest. Not painful but powerful. Somehow… pleasant.
Hearing a gasp, she opened her eyes.
A tiny bud that had not been there before grew and blossomed into a flower, which in turn grew into a firm, golden pear that hung enticingly from its stem. The breath left Cassia’s chest. After so many years thinking of the ring as a weapon, it was strange to realize it had been something else all along. And that something else came… naturally to her. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled up inside of her. It took her a second to identify it. Pride.
Gutel picked the pear, gave it a sniff, and bit into it. “Not bad. Not bad. Now for a Vozarra.”
“What?” she asked, startled by this sudden escalation.
“Summon your Vozarra.” He took another bite, his brow wrinkling. “Say, ‘Vozarra, attend me.’ Be imperious about it.”
“You said the spirit is only summoned when I’m in mortal danger.”
“That’s one way,” Gutel said. “And truthfully, I think the Vozarra would only appear in the lower mainland if you were. But here, in the welkins, it can be summoned without a great need. There was never a ban placed on spirits here. You can even call several at once if you’re strong enough to do it. I’ve seen it.”
Was she strong enough to call even one? She hated that she hadn’t had time to mentally prepare. But she supposed it would either work or it wouldn’t.
“Vozarra, attend me,” she said firmly.
A blur of brown and copper swirled in the air, materializing into a fox-faced creature. One second, it was made of sunbeams, the next it stood before her, as solid as the trees around it. It had a furry head with a narrow muzzle and huge, fur-tufted ears. Golden eyes blinked quizzically, and a pink tongue flicked out to lick sharp teeth. Cassia blinked. The Vozarra blinked back. Its nose twitched. It looked at Gutel, then Zeru, its watchful stare resting on the Dracu.
Gutel chuckled. “It does seem protective of you. Let us see if you can approach it without getting a bite.”
“I’m not rushing the creature,” she said, heart still racing. She couldn’t get over that she had called and it had appeared. The Solis Gemma was more complex than she’d ever suspected. So much more than a weapon.
The kobold offered his hand. The creature butted it as if in approval. “It knows me well enough. Might be one that has been here before. There’s no telling if it’s the same spirit every time.”
Zeru reached out a fist for the creature to sniff. Two leathery wings snapped open from the Vozarra’s back, unfolding like a paper fan. Cassia stepped back, and Zeru jerked in surprise.
Gutel laughed heartily. “You didn’t notice those wings, did you? I was waiting for that!” He held his stomach.
Zeru kept his hand extended to the Vozarra, allowing it to get used to his scent. When he brushed its neck, the creature allowed it. When he dropped his arm, it dipped its head and butted him, demanding more. Zeru smiled as he scratched it behind the ears, his battle-scarred hands half-concealed by thick fur. If he had been anyone else, Cassia might have thought it sweet.
“Stop trying to win over my Vozarra,” she said, annoyed at how the creature seemed to instantly warm up to him. Stepping forward, she offered her hand. The Vozarra sniffed delicately, its golden eyes wide, and tilted its head to one side. Its eyes were gentle. Cassia felt something inside herself soften in response. She had to swallow before she could speak. “My name is Cassia.”
“Careful,” Zeru said, his voice grave. For a moment, she was surprised that he would caution her, then realized he was talking to the Vozarra. “Trust her at your peril.”
She ignored him, turning to Gutel. “What do we do with it now?”
“Let it be,” he said simply. “It will go where it likes. Oh, and if you get any ideas about riding it, either of you, know that a spirit can’t go to the lower mainland because of the ban. It would disappear on the way down and you’d find yourself descending rather faster than you’d like.”
Cassia winced at the image of falling from the clouds, discarding the escape plans that had already been forming. She petted the furry head with a slow, careful stroke. “Oh, you’re soft. And so pretty. The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Now who’s trying to win it over?” Zeru accused.
Over the next few hours, her hope grew until she was giddy with it. She touched trees and asked for fruit until the branches groaned with the weight of their burden. Gutel produced a basket, and soon it was overflowing with a colorful harvest of apples, pears, and apricots. The trees stood straighter once they started bearing fruit. The gravel path looked neater and more visible the more she walked over it. Cassia moved along, touching trees and asking for things, and generally feeling more powerful than she ever had in her whole life. It was heady. Intoxicating. She could do this forever.
“Slow down,” the kobold cautioned her, but she was beyond restraint. Whatever was happening was like fruit wine pumping through her veins. Nothing could stop her.
Her feet crushed tall grasses and underbrush as she neared the forest. Looking down, she realized that mushrooms had popped up at the edge of the path as she stepped lightly along it. She laughed and heard how wild she sounded. But she could cackle all she liked. She was the bestower of life.
“I said slow down, you fool Sylvan,” Gutel’s voice said, but the trees beckoned, their twisted trunks seeming to cry out for her help. She obliged. She fell to her knees next to one of the trees and placed her hand where one of the roots curved into the ground. Or the cloud, in this case. The power rushing through her was so heady, she almost wanted to laugh.
Live, heal, grow , she thought, bringing to mind every word she could think of that might help the forest of Welkincaster.
Unexpectedly, she felt the other trees, too. One root system. Like one great tree. The forest might look small, but in life and need, it was overwhelming. So thirsty. Too much. She could feel the life force being pulled from her heart into the ring and then out into the trees, and she couldn’t fight it. Her face froze, her throat closing before she could cry out. She was trapped in a state of endless giving, generosity gone amok.
Someone was shaking her shoulders, but that didn’t help. Stop! She tried to say the word but could only choke. Stop!
Zeru’s voice shouted in her ear. “You heedless twit of a tree-dweller, damn your eyes!” His apple-tart breath was in her face, his hands gripping her shoulders too hard. “If you weren’t dying, I’d strangle you!”
The pain in her heart was indescribable. The fear she’d always had, that the ring would one day tear her apart, was coming true. The trees were taking the blood right out of her. Her pulse slowed.
And stopped.
Suddenly, the Vozarra was there. She felt its fur against her hands and face, heard its snarls and the snapping of its teeth. And somehow, somewhere in her mind, she understood. It was warning the trees to stop taking. She heard the grind of the creature’s teeth sinking into bark, and the tree recoiled, its root twitching violently under Cassia’s hand, like a snake stung by a wasp.
And she was free. Flat on her face in the dirt, but free. As her heart started up again, she groaned.
“Addlepated, thoughtless, rash…” Zeru was still going.
Head spinning, Cassia put her hands against the mossy ground, careful not to touch the tree again. “You didn’t have to drop me in the dirt,” she said hoarsely, folding herself into a cross-legged position. When she rubbed her eyes and opened them, three sets of eyes stared back. Gold, green, and red.
The Vozarra was the first to blink. It sat and licked its paw as if nothing had happened.
Gutel glanced at Zeru, then back to her. “I’ve never seen the like,” he said in a kind of hollow daze. “I’m going to check the cupboards for some ale or cider. I don’t even care if it’s three hundred years old.” He wandered off, his green and brown clothing blending with the foliage.
Zeru’s emerald glare didn’t move from her. He looked as if he wanted to shake her again, at the very least.
“I think I might have overdone it,” Cassia admitted, pushing her hair off her face. “With the ring.”
“You think?” he snarled.
“Can you help me up?” she asked, as much to break the angry silence as anything.
Part of her knew it was wrong, for a multitude of reasons, to ask the Dracu, but she ached in ways she hadn’t thought possible, particularly in the center of her chest. Every breath hurt. The rest of her felt bruised, too. If she could sleep for a year or so, she’d be as fresh as morning dew.
“Help yourself up,” he said, standing with an angry movement. Without another word, he turned away and strode down the path. He was just… leaving her. Miserable Dracu.
Putting a hand to her head, she bit her lip to stop it from trembling and tried to make a plan that would start with her on the ground and end with her standing.
A furry head butted her cheek.
Cassia turned gratefully toward the Vozarra, burying her face in its soft fur until her breathing calmed. She was surprised how close she felt to the spirit already. “Thank you for saving me.”
The creature sniffed, but she understood the meaning. It was telling her she was fine now, and she should get up and find food for both of them.
She smiled. “As soon as I can. Do you believe that Dracu? Leaving me here. I saved his life, you know. Twice if you count the time I didn’t slit his throat. Would you bite him for me?”
The Vozarra tilted its head to the side as if to ask why she’d want it to do that.
She sighed. “Can you help me back to the castle, then?” She put her hand on the Vozarra’s back, hoping the creature wouldn’t mind taking some of her weight.
“Sylvan.”
Cassia’s head jerked up at the single, low-voiced word. Zeru stood a couple of feet away. He still looked angry, but he also looked… well, resigned.
She tried to look as if she weren’t covered in dirt and, truth be told, a bit of drool from when she had lain half-conscious among the roots.
He sighed, came to his knees, and put his hands under her armpits. “Don’t fight me, you mad thing.”
“I asked you for help,” she reminded him, holding on to his upper arms.
In a second, she was on her feet, leaning against his side, his arm supporting her back. He felt solid and strong, and for once, she was too exhausted and relieved to be threatened by his nearness. She shuffled one foot, then the other, and got something of a walk going. The Vozarra trailed behind, stopping to sniff and explore along the way.
“What happened?” he asked, holding her to his side.
“I don’t know. One minute, I was queen of all life, and the next I was a pond being drained dry. The trees took too much and I didn’t know how to stop them.” Her lips trembled, so she pressed them together and ground her teeth. She would not cry in front of him.
“I think you have to remember,” he said in a dry tone, “that though you wear a ring made by a powerful Ancient, you are not one.”
If she hadn’t had to watch her feet so closely, she’d have given him a dark look. As if there were any danger of her mistaking that. “Thanks for the reminder.”
His voice turned thoughtful. “Maybe there’s a way to control the flow of power. If Gutel isn’t drunk as a boiled owl by now after what you just put him through, we can ask about it.”
We , she thought sourly. As if there was a “we” in all this. Maybe he’d finally accepted that she had power over the ring, so he planned to ingratiate himself. Or at least pretend he didn’t hate her as much as she hated him.
“Let him drink,” she said, annoyed at how often she found herself wondering what the Dracu was thinking. “I gather the previous caretakers didn’t expire while maintaining the gardens.”
Zeru gave a little huff, almost a snort. A laugh? Cassia felt a little pulse of satisfaction at the shared humor, then realized he was probably laughing at her.
They walked in silence until they came to the orchard. She looked at all the fruit, but instead of feeling accomplished, she regretted trying to do so much at once. “I suppose you can’t repair an entire cloud in one day.”
“Only a Sylvan would think she could,” he said idly. He pulled her tighter to his side as they entered the archway leading into the courtyard.
They reached the steps. She tested her legs and found them to be roughly as strong as wet straw. “I would claim to be able to make it the rest of the way, but I might fall in front of Voz.”
“Voz, is it?” Zeru asked, holding her by the shoulders to keep her upright. He gave her an up-and-down appraisal, a line of concentration between his brows.
She glanced away. “You named her.”
“Her?” he asked.
Cassia nodded. “The Vozarra speaks to me. I sort of… get a sense of her in my mind. She tells me things without words. Right now, I know she’s hungry. Apparently when a spirit is in a solid form, they need food like the rest of us.” She spotted Voz cavorting in the overgrown garden, her copper-brown fur appearing and disappearing as she leaped and jumped through the tall weeds. “Take me to the dining room and I’ll see if this ring will fill a bowl for her.”
“No,” Zeru answered sharply, bringing her eyes back to his. “You are not using the ring again so soon.” When her eyebrows rose, his expression cooled, and he loosened his hold on her shoulders. “She can eat fruit or do her own hunting. I saw a rabbit or two.”
She swallowed. “So, the ring really is restoring Welkincaster.”
“It seems so.” His jaw was tight, and he looked angry. He was the most changeable thing.
As they went up the steps, she was careful to only lean on him as much as necessary. In the cool interior of the castle, the entrance hall seemed brighter, and the chandelier was fixed and hanging from the center of the ceiling. She wished she had time to explore the limits of what she could do here. Suddenly, her chest ached in a different way, with a sense of loss. Her plans didn’t involve staying.
But something significant had changed with the ring. Like a box had been unlocked inside her. A new energy hummed through her, and with it, an undeniable sense of confidence in her own power. She felt a connection to the welkin that went deeper than anything she’d felt before, perhaps even rivaling her connection to Thirstwood.
And her perception of the ring had flipped. It was like wearing the same cloak every day for years, only to realize you’d been wearing it inside out all that time. She didn’t need to battle the Solis Gemma for supremacy; she merely had to ask and the gemstone would answer. Now that she had felt the right way to ask, she could surely do it again. Though she couldn’t claim to have mastered the artifact, there was a flow of power that had opened up inside her, like a spigot turned on.
Soon, she would go home to tell her father her discoveries and display her greater abilities. Then she could focus on using that increased proficiency to create an impressive blast of light. Knowing the ring’s history would surely help Veleda find more ways to leverage its power.
And she could never have discovered that history or this power anywhere but here. How odd after everything that had happened, she had ended up right where she needed to be. If her life force was strong enough, maybe she would even be able to slay enemies with the ring.
Her steps faltered at the thought—even with her new powers, would she use them to kill?—and Zeru’s hand steadied her. “Careful,” he said, his voice sharp. Then he muttered something that sounded like “drunken imps.”
“What?” She looked up at him, confused.
And then she remembered. When he’d first taken her into the Cryptlands, he’d said that he’d seen drunk imps walk a straighter line. She caught herself nearly smiling and pressed her lips together. Did he really think he could joke about her capture? He had forced her to come here. She couldn’t let herself forget that. She couldn’t make the mistake of trusting him in any way. Or being grateful that he’d brought her to this place. It had been an accident. And he still intended to steal the ring from her. He’d probably kill her for it if he could.
She glanced at him sidelong. His face was impassive, but his hands were gentle as he helped her up the stairs. Soon, she told herself, she’d get her revenge. She’d use the ring to crush an army of his people. And make her father proud.
She waited for a sense of triumph at the thought. Instead, she found herself swallowing a bitter taste on her tongue.
She told herself it was the taste of victory.