13. Chapter Thirteen #3
When I pulled my gaze away and glanced back at Tairngire, he was standing forehead to forehead with a stag, whispering to it in the Old Tongue.
It lowered its head in response to whatever Tairngire had said to it, scuffing the bracken with its hooves.
A sense of calmness sunk into my bones, the unfamiliar feeling of peace cradling me in its gentle hold.
Was he responsible for that?
Tairngire finally glanced at me, his expression blank. “The forest answers. When you call on it properly.”
I stared, unable to mask my awe. “You…summoned them here?”
He gave a low huff. “Summoned? No. They’re not servants. They come when they choose. When they know you’re worth their time.”
The fox crept closer, its eyes piercing red. I swallowed hard. “And if they decide I’m not?”
He stood there, impossibly tall, towering over every living thing in the wood. The creatures moved to surround him in a semi-circle, standing with him in solidarity. “Then you’ll learn what it means to be unwelcome in the First Forest.”
The words sounded like a threat. I forced my chin higher. “So I’m supposed to befriend every fox and bird in the wood, then?”
He arched an amused brow. “If you can manage it. But first, you’ll need to learn not to flinch when the forest looks back at you.”
When the forest looks back at you.
I had always been chained to the temple, destined to watch the merciless fates suffered by mortals—but I was rarely ever seen back.
In fact, I never was. The idea that something could look at me—truly see me—stirred up something I’d rather keep hidden deep within.
However, the urge to lean into it was stronger than my fear.
I crouched, my hand trembling as I reached for the fox. Its ears flicked back, eyes narrowing. Birds shifted restlessly, wings rustling. Even the stags stamped, uneasy.
Behind me, I heard the low rumble of his chuckle.
“You’re scaring them,” he said, voice smooth.
My head snapped up. “I am not—”
“You are.” He stepped closer, the weight of him settling heavy into the clearing. “They feel the same thing I do every time you open your mouth—your temper, hot as flame. And fire does not belong in a place that breathes moss and root.”
The fox slunk back a step, tail twitching, as though it agreed with him.
Traitor.
My jaw clenched. “Maybe if they weren’t staring at me as if I were a mortal who just grew antler—”
“Check your anger,” he cut in, his voice even. “Or the forest will check it for you.”
I swallowed, forcing my shoulders down. I unclenched my fists finger by finger.
My breath came uneven at first, then steadier once I started to focus on it, just as the Shaman had taught me.
But here, under the weight of Tairngire’s gaze and the forest’s eyes, it felt different, like even the bracken was waiting for me to fail.
The fox’s ear flicked as it crept forward again, cautious, curious.
Tairngire crouched beside me, too close, his voice a low murmur at my ear. “Better. The animals don’t need you to dominate them. They need you to listen. That’s a lesson your temple clearly forgot to teach.”
My teeth ground together, but I didn’t spit back the curses burning my tongue. Not this time.
Instead, I lifted my hand again and took a deep breath, slower now, with no fury bristling behind it. And the fox…didn’t flinch.
It inched closer, nose twitching, then brushed its whiskers against my palm. The world tilted.
Light flared behind my eyes, so sudden I almost jerked back, but something inside me refused to let go. I stayed there, sinking with it.
The forest rose up around me—not this forest, not Caer Anam, but another.
Older, wilder. The air was bright and cool, thick with the tang of something exotic, foreign to my senses.
My lungs burned, not from fear but from laughter.
I was running, hair streaming down my back, bow bouncing against my shoulders.
A dagger—my dagger--warm and familiar in my hand, its weight as known to me as breath.
And behind me—at the very edge of sound itself—paws struck the earth.
A fox. But somehow also not a fox. It was russet and bright, chasing me through the undergrowth.
My heart leapt, not with terror but exhilaration.
It was a game. I darted between trees, laughing, the animal on my heels, I’d never felt so free.
But in the background, something else watched.
Not mortal. The fun was over so soon, the game was ending and I needed to get out, needed to hide, needed to—
The vision shattered. My chest heaved once before I forced it steady. The earth was still damp under my palms, Anamcroí’s essence slowly ebbing back.
Behind me, Tairngire shifted, close, too close. Still crouched at my back. The scent of pine and smoke invaded all of my senses.
His voice came low, brushing against the shell of my ear. “Now what, was that, Little Seer?”
I stayed frozen in place. For once, I had something he didn’t. A secret. Leverage. I couldn’t tell him about my vision. Those belonged to the Oracle. But I could admit that I’d had one. I just chose not to.
I smiled wickedly, though my pulse no doubt betrayed me. “Just the forest,” I lied smoothly, trying to mimic Branwyn’s confidence. “It seems to like me, don’t you think?”
The silence stretched. He didn’t call me out, but I felt it—the tension rolling off him. The bond tugged between us, as if he were trying to pull the truth out of me through it.
He knew I’d seen had a vision. He knew, and it made him angry that I wouldn’t admit it.
I tilted my head so that I was looking right at him, savoring the heat. “Something wrong, Stagborn?” I asked, words sweet with honey.
His stare bore into me, jaw clenched, emerald eyes storm-dark.
For a breath, it seemed like he almost lost the leash on his control.
I could feel his anger reverberating off the trees around us.
I almost gasped at the intensity of it. I couldn’t tell where he started and I began.
The bond was a living thing between us, palpable.
Well, shit.
That was not an ideal development, but I didn’t dwell on the negatives just then. Because for once, it wasn’t my fury filling the clearing this time. It was his, and gods…did it feel good.
“Careful,” I echoed his own words back to him, that same saccharine sweetness still dripping from my tone. “Check your anger, or the forest will check it for you.”
The words landed with the desired effect. His eyes flashed, bright and lethal—but before he could snap back, the forest adjusted.
A rustle stirred the undergrowth. The fox crept closer to me, its ears pricked. From the trees above, two owls tilted their heads. Even the wind bent my way, carrying the hush of leaves toward me.
It wasn’t his command that moved the forest that time. I didn’t gloat, only let the corner of my mouth curl, watching his gaze sharpen. Something darker twisting behind it.
It was petty of me to taunt him, but worth it. Tit for tat and all, as Saorla loved to say.
The forest had chosen sides—and if only for a moment, it had chosen me.
The fox’s nose brushed my hand before darting back into the ferns. The quiet that followed was filled with the kind of heaviness that rain brought after a storm.
Tairngire rose, slowly, every inch of him taut with restraint. I pushed up from the ground, brushing moss and dirt from my palms, refusing to let him tower over me unchallenged.
We stood a breath apart, the bond a living between us. I could see it more clearly than before, connecting my right wrist to his left with that damnable red thread. His gaze seared into me—anger brewing in his iris's.
Good. Maybe he could finally understand how I felt every time he spoke to me in parables.
“Lies have no roots in the First Forest.” His voice was nearly a whisper, but it carried more weight than a shout. He tilted his head, as though he were listening to something in the distance that only he could hear. “The forest knows. And I…do not.”
I wanted to ask him what exactly the forest knew, but my throat went dry.
He hadn’t accused me of withholding truths from him, not outright, but his words cut through the fog all the same.
A flicker of something that looked a lot like fear crossed his face—gone too fast. Something he didn’t want me to see.
Then his mask slid into place, smooth and impenetrable once more.
“There will be no more lessons today.”
That was all. No jest, no explanation. Just finality, hard as stone. And though I didn’t know why, the certainty in his tone made the hairs at the back of my neck rise.
I slammed the hut door, wood shuddering in its frame. The forest still clung to me—damp moss and soil, that heavy thrum of power—but under it, something else lingered. Something that wasn’t mine.
Saorla’s head lifted from her work, needle pausing mid-stitch as if she could sense whatever it was on me. Those old eyes pinned me like a hawk. “Well, there’s a storm if I’ve ever seen one.” She sniffed. “You reek of the deep forest. And something…else.”
I ripped my cloak off, wishing I could peel the prickles on my skin off with it. My breath came out in heavy puffs. “It doesn’t matter, old woman. I would suggest you don’t provoke me further if you value this hut and everything in it.”
Saorla leaned back, arms folded, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Don’t threaten me, girl. You come home fuming, dripping with a strange scent, and expect me to believe that it doesn't matter?”
I kicked my boots off with more force than necessary. “He left me there.” The words spilled out of me in an uncontrolled tumble. “Didn’t even bother mist—” I bit my tongue at last minute, my jaw snapping shut.
Saorla tilted her head. “He.” She let the word stretch. “So, it wasn’t Branwyn who left you bristling like a mountain lion in heat.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger. “I wondered.”
My anxiety spiked. Her eyes narrowed, watching me, filled with unsaid accusation. I forced a brittle laugh, half-way between denial and concession. “Half-born don’t walk me into the forest and leave me reeling, Saorla. It obviously wasn’t Branwyn.”
“Then what does?” She pressed, voice soft but focused, blunt as her knitting needles.
I met her gaze, letting her see just enough fire. “Something old…someone I’m not supposed to name.”
Silence filled the space. Saorla’s expression faltered, flickering into something more cautious. She leaned back, muttering low. “Older things rarely leave marks you can wash away, Aurenya. Be careful who you let follow you home.”
I said nothing, just clenched my fists, knowing she was right and that I’d never tell her everything.
I needed a reprieve. I needed to train.