Chapter 7
C aelan’s hand closed around my arm before the last word left me.
“No.” His voice was like ice, and his fingers pressed into the leather bracer above my elbow.
“Rhian is dying.” My voice scraped against the tightness in my throat.
“My son will not be placed within reach of a Moon Fae.” Caelan forced the words through his teeth, his disgust plain in the curl of his mouth.
Fury rose up inside of me in a wave. “He brought Torren back?—”
“He also brought this sickness to our gates.” Griffin struck the base of his staff against the rise. “Nothing from beyond the Veil will enter the Grove.”
Xandros' constellations flared along his throat.
“The corruption reached your forest before we did.” His voice carried between the branches, low and controlled. “It was already living inside your animals. It had already taken one of your guardians.”
Griffin stepped closer to the wall. “According to you.”
“My Lord, this is ridic—” Xandros’ companion began.
Xandros looked toward him, and the male stopped. His jaw tightened before he lowered his gaze.
Then the prince turned back to Griffin. “You have your guardian. Ask your healers what they found beneath his skin. You don’t need to take my word for it.”
The female beneath the white banner coughed again.
Her body curled beneath the blanket as another fit of coughing seized her. The male beside her caught her shoulders and held her upright until she could breathe again.
Xandros watched her, a muscle tightening along his jaw.
When he looked back at us, his expression had settled.
“So don’t take my word for it. Let me see them.” His gaze shifted toward the Mother Tree. “If your guardian wakes, he may give us the answers neither of us has. And Rhian is still alive. I would rather use the time he has than waste it arguing over whether you believe me.”
“You ask us to place two Thornwardens’ lives in your hands.” Caelan released my arm and wrapped his fingers around his sword.
“I ask you to let me and my healer look.”
“He already knows more about it than we do.” I forced my shoulders down before the panic could climb any higher. “We have never seen this corruption before. Our healers have never seen it. But his people have!”
All I could think of was Rhian lying pitifully in the infirmary, pulse faint and uneven, thin dark veins beneath his ribs beginning to branch toward his heart. I did my best to hold back my anger but still found myself daring to stare Caelan down.
I closed my hand around the golden star. “We need him.”
Griffin’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “You speak with remarkable certainty for someone who met this creature only hours ago.”
“She is more educated on the topic than either of you.” The fae next to the prince snorted.
Despite his defense, Griffin’s accusation landed hard enough.
I had known Xandros for less than a night. Really, for only a handful of terrifying bloody heartbeats. But already, I knew the heat of his hand around my wrist, the steadiness of his gaze through the rift, and the care his people had taken while lowering Torren onto our litter.
It shouldn’t have been enough. But then Rhian’s shallow breath scraped through my memory.
Turning Xandros away because he was Moon Fae felt like burying Rhian before his heart was done beating.
Bramble lifted his head from my shoulder, his tail flicking in irritation as he stared Griffin down.
“He saved my life.” I said, stepping out of Caelan’s reach. “He helped close the rift between our realms. He returned Torren when he could have left him to die in an unfamiliar forest, and we never would have known any better.”
My pulse hammered beneath my breast.
“Our moon is covered in thorns that his people may recognize. Our animals are changing, and our people…” My breath caught with a quick hitch in my voice. “Our friends are dying from a sickness we know nothing about.”
I looked past the wall to the wounded figures beneath the banner, then back toward the Mother Tree.
“We have a better chance of saving them together.”
The star flared between my fingers.
Maren planted her staff in the damp earth. The force of it was enough to make the ground tremble, and the arguments stopped.
She took a single, sharp breath. “Prince Xandros may enter the Grove with one healer.”
Caelan turned toward her. “Maren?—”
“He will remain isolated in the infirmary,” she continued on. “And our Thornwardens will guard every passage, and we can trust the Mother Tree to keep him separated from the rest of the Grove until it is safe.”
Griffin’s robes scraped across the rise as he approached her. “Celestial power cannot be welcomed into the Mother’s branches. You might as well ask for lightning to strike her down.”
Maren’s gaze settled on my hand. “Celestial power already stands beneath her branches.”
Cold air moved through the spaces in the wall. The white banner snapped behind Xandros, its torn edge flashing between the silverwood spears.
“The corruption has entered two of our guardians,” Maren continued. “It has touched the Mother Tree’s creatures and begun pressing into the living pathways beneath us. Closing our eyes will not drive it out.”
She turned back toward the fae. “In exchange for whatever help you can offer our people, we will offer yours the same. Our healers will tend to your wounded while you examine ours.”
Caelan’s nostrils flared. His hand remained locked around his sword while he looked toward the immense tree at the center of the Grove.
His son lay beneath those branches with this corruption spreading toward his heart. My lips parted to remind him of it, but already his blade slid back into its sheath.
“Six Thornwardens inside the chamber. Twelve along the passage.” He faced Xandros through the gaps in the wall. “You will enter without weapons. You will touch nothing without permission. At the first sign of power used against the Grove, I will use your blood to water the moss beneath your feet.”
Xandros held his gaze and held up a warning finger to silence the male before he could speak. With a sharp nod, Xandros said, “Understood.”
The base of the eastern wall began to unwind.
Thornwardens moved around the narrow passage before it had fully opened. Flint blades gleamed beneath the rising sun, and archers shifted along the ridges overhead with their arrows trained on the ground below.
Xandros turned toward his people.
The fae beside the sick female eased her against a folded cloak before rising.
Constellations flared across his temples and continued beneath the dark hair tied at the nape of his neck.
A leather satchel hung from his shoulder, stained with ash and old blood.
From the way he tended to her, I guessed he was their healer.
The female caught his wrist.
He dropped beside her again. Their foreheads touched, and her lips moved close to his ear. His eyes closed before he covered her hand with his own.
Xandros crouched on her other side.
His broad hand settled against her shoulder while the healer shifted the blanket higher around her chest. The three remained bent together until another tremor shook through her body.
Xandros rose first, slowly.
The male followed shortly after, but Caelan cut him off with a gesture.
“The satchel stays.”
The healer’s fingers tightened around the strap. His pale gaze moved from Caelan to the Thornwardens surrounding the gate before he passed the satchel to a male he called Atlas. Atlas stared at Caelan with open confusion, and a smidge of disdain, but accepted it anyway.
Xandros unfastened the sword at his hip. Gold flickered along its silver hilt before he placed it beside the satchel. Then a narrow knife from his boot.
Caelan’s brow lifted. “And the one you formed from starlight?”
Xandros' gaze flitted toward me before returning to the First Thorn. “That is not something I can lay at your feet.”
Caelan’s hand remained wrapped around his sword. “Then keep it beneath your skin.”
Xandros straightened. “You asked for my weapons. I have given you all I can surrender.”
Rhian would have enjoyed that, more than likely laughing hysterically. Xandros had managed to sound respectful while reminding every Thornwarden around him that none of us could truly disarm him. The thought struck beneath my breastbone and tightened until I could barely breathe around it.
The healer entered first. Willow vines brushed his shoulders as he passed through the narrow opening. Xandros followed close behind him.
The instant his boot crossed into the Grove, the star in my palm blazed. Heat surged through my wrist and struck beneath my ribs. My fingers snapped open as every golden point brightened beneath my skin.
Xandros stumbled.
One hand caught the living wall before he could fall. Gold erupted across the constellations covering his throat and disappeared beneath his collar.
Flint cleared sheaths around Xandros. His chest rose through a careful breath as he lifted both palms where the Thornwardens could see them.
His gaze found mine through the bodies surrounding him.
The space between us tightened, drawing against my skin as though the rupture had sewn an invisible thread between us and crossing the wall had pulled it taut.
The prince’s fingers flexed once.
“Keep moving,” Caelan ordered.
The passage sealed behind the two fae.
The white banner vanished beyond the wall. The female’s pale face disappeared last, along with the dim fire and the companions gathered around her.
Xandros looked back after the final branch locked into place.
The light at his throat faded.
We crossed the Grove beneath a ring of drawn weapons.
Families stirred inside the shelters lining the path. Faces appeared between broad leaves and woven branches. A child whimpered when the healer passed, and her mother pulled her against her chest before retreating deeper beneath the safety of the Mother Tree’s branches.
Xandros shifted toward the center of the path.
His shoulders drew inward by a fraction as he passed them, leaving as much space as the Thornwardens allowed. The healer remained beside him with his empty hands folded against his stomach.
Bramble flattened himself across my shoulders.
His unease scraped through our bond whenever either fae moved closer. Beneath it, the pull toward the eastern boundary returned. An undertow catching beneath my ribs and tugging eastward until Bramble and I turned toward the wall.
I pressed my palm against his side and stroked the fur beneath my thumb until his frantic heartbeat began to slow.
Mine only thumped harder.