Chapter 20
Tilia cupped Trisha’s chin. Bright leaf-colored eyes gleamed in her brown face.
“You don’t have to tell me any further. I see it in you. Some torment has brought you back. But I wonder, for good or just now?”
The leaves stirred. Chimes rang somewhere, hollow and far off, too low to still the churning inside her.
“I… I must go back. Just not now.” Unable to meet Tilia’s gaze, she fidgeted. “There’s… someone. He asked something of me, and I said no. So, I ran away.” A bitter, quiet laugh escaped her. “Seems that’s all I’m good at.”
“Quick feet, quicker heart,” said Tilia. “It served you well when you were a child. Of course you’d continue believing that into adulthood.”
“But I’m not a child any longer.”
Tilia’s eyes tracked her, a faint smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “No. Definitely not anymore.”
A yawn escaped Trisha. She rubbed her eyes. “It’s been a day since I last slept.” Almost on its own accord, her gaze drifted up the tree toward the hollow.
Smiling more widely, Tilia touched her shoulder. “It still waits. Nothing has changed. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” A cracking branch snared her attention to grazing Dapple. She flicked her fingers. “Not too near, horse. Be mindful of my roots.”
Dapple tossed his head with a snort but obeyed.
“I’ll look after your horse, child. Although it seems to me he’s well able to take care of himself.”
Trisha reached for the lower branches, pulling herself up. Questions flickered to life, and a heavy sensation wound around her chest. Had Blainor realized she’d gone? How would he react? Her jaw set, Trisha pushed them aside. She would not regret. She need not think of that man now.
Exhaustion swallowed her whole as she ascended.
Her limbs weighed her down, weak under the strain.
As if on cue, her feet slipped off the moss-covered bough, and a jolt of alarm sent her heart to her throat.
For a moment, she dangled between air and earth, the leaves’ hissing loud in her ears.
When she pulled herself back up, her arms were trembling.
A shameful thought wormed through her skull: old Trisha wouldn’t have stumbled that way.
Mouth firming, she continued until reaching the little shaded nest where soft leaves and moss made a bed.
It still smelled like home: honeyed flowers, earthy bark, and fresh grass.
She folded into the rustling leaves beneath her.
Water trickled somewhere nearby, quiet and steady.
Trisha’s head lowered into the nook she’d slept in as a child.
Eyes closed, her thoughts drifted to darkness.
Even then, she recalled the bonfire, the crash of waves, and a hot mouth against hers.
Even in sleep, Blainor’s gray eyes followed her, his presence haunting her into oblivion.
A shrill sound shattered the stillness. She squeezed her eyes, the ghost of a touch burning her lips. Caught between the pull to forget and the desire to remember, Trisha resisted wakefulness. But there was no escaping a high-pitched voice.
“You’re back! You’re back! Oh, how glad I am.”
“Rilka…?” Trisha mumbled groggily, eyes crusted with sleep.
Was she dreaming? What had happened? Then, everything returned.
The Midsummer. Blainor. Her ride from Moorhafen and through the night folk’s forest. She was back in the Undying Lands.
With Tilia. It was real life, and she couldn’t believe it.
Trisha’s thoughts shattered as Rilka somersaulted, diving into her hair.
The fairy’s weight felt like a transient leaf.
“I’ll make them so pretty, don’t you worry,” she whispered, nestling in Trisha’s tangled pile of dark hair.
What she really needed was a comb, not a fairy’s promise. Her stomach grumbling, Trisha flicked Rilka away and propped herself up on her elbows. “Let me get down first, at least.”
Tilia was up and moving around, her moss-dress hanging loosely around her dark skin, her leaf-hair whispering as she moved.
She had laid down a feast for Trisha: honey, green leaves, nuts, and juicy berries.
Dapple grazed further away, unburdened by his bridle and saddle.
When Trisha’s feet touched the ground, the fairy flitted through the air and landed with feral grace near a honeycomb.
Grinning widely, Rilka sank her hands into it and stuffed a piece in her mouth.
Trisha followed with more restraint, settling herself on the grass.
The twilight world hummed around them as Rilka’s chatter rose and fell like rain. Lights in the distance winked in and out between the tree trunks, stray glassbell-like sounds carried by the breeze. Through the canopy of linden’s foliage, the stars continued their endless dance.
Nothing had changed. And this realization twisted her heart.
Clenching her jaw, Trisha pushed the regret aside and piled a helping onto her makeshift frond plate. Eating saved her from speaking, but she remained conscious of Tilia’s steady gaze, the way it prickled her skin.
Rilka dove down to sink her hand in the honeycomb, and Trisha tilted her head.
“Rilka,” she started. “Your wings… I thought Shi’as got one of them?”
The fairy froze in mid-twirl before tossing her curly-haired head.
“The snake can have it.” She sneered, spreading the wings wider.
“I found a better one.” They were mismatched—one shimmering like cobwebs of silver and starlight, the other darker, spun from shadows.
“Isn’t it magnificent? Stronger! It’ll carry me higher. ”
“It is.” Trisha popped a blackberry in her mouth, smiling. Though it quickly died when her eyes caught Tilia’s solemn face.
“You’ve seen the serpent?” Tilia asked, concerned.
Trisha twisted the loose leather cords between her fingers, a twinge of shame warring with her hurt. “Well, not by choice.”
Tilia’s forehead creased. “I’ve warned you, Trisha. Stay away from him. He wants nothing good.”
A bitter laugh escaped Trisha. “Trust me, I’d be much happier if he’d ignored me.”
Tilia turned a clay cup in her hand and sipped. “He was there when your human mother crossed the threshold. By King Teoryin’s side.”
Trisha drew a deep breath, asking the question that had haunted her ever since she left the Undying Lands. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” Her voice broke. She’d have cried if she’d had tears left, but only their echo burned her eyes.
“Not of my own choice, child.” Tilia’s gaze dropped, voice low. “Your mother asked for it.”
The bottom of the half-empty cup in Trisha’s hand was like the pit inside her: she couldn’t see its end. Tilia leaned, resting a hand on her knee. It was warm, her hold firm, but Trisha flinched.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Tilia continued. The rustle of linden leaves sounded with her words. “I wasn’t bound by her request, not even when King Teoryin told me of her wish. But…” Her green eyes were depthless, their shine sad. “Being cruel isn’t in the tree’s song.”
“And yet, it was cruelty,” Trisha whispered, shaken, her world upended once more. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Those seven years, those pains, those sufferings… Truly, her parents had never wanted her.
“I see it now,” Tilia sighed with a voice as steady as still water, a rock buried in the earth, and yet, deeper still, regret echoed. “I should never have taken your memories. They weren’t mine to take. Will you forgive me?” Tilia’s hand rested on Trisha’s knee, dark like soil and bark.
Trisha paused, letting a quivering breath out. “Of course I forgive you. Even if it still hurts.”
Tilia answered with a smile that was both old and young.
The fairy broke the air’s quietude by somersaulting down with a gleeful shrill.
Hand sunk in the honey, she squinted at Trisha.
“You’ve brought more sadness.” Spine stiffening, Trisha yanked in a breath, but Rilka didn’t wait for an answer, licking the thick sweetness from her fingers.
“You should’ve listened to me. That’s all the mortal world ever gives: time-swallowed laments. Winter-frosted oblivion.”
“You can’t know that for certain,” Trisha protested. “It holds much more. It has songs and music. Laughter. Love—” She bit her lip to swallow the rest of her words. Damn. It was enough to prompt Tilia.
“You said you’re running from someone?”
Trisha’s fingers twitched. “He… sees through my music and magic. I don’t know how. It scares me.”
Rilka snorted, earning a thoughtful glance from Tilia. “Truth can be terrifying,” the dryad reminded.
“And yet he doesn’t give me his.” Trisha’s voice was hoarse. “How can I trust someone who only shows me a morsel of himself?”
Tilia sipped from her cup. “Perhaps he, too, is afraid?”
Trisha snorted down a laugh. What could a man whose control over his land and himself was near absolute be afraid of? But Tilia’s gaze remained steady. Trisha glanced to her side.
“May I stay?” she asked. “I can’t return, not just yet.” Her heartbeat quickened. To return to Eichlandt, so soon…
“You can stay just as long as you need, dear,” Tilia said. “But the High King will expect you, now that you’re back.”
“Oh! Will you play with the Shadow Sisters?” Rilka clapped a staccato beat. “If you do, I’ll get my flute.” Her petal-nose wrinkled as she scowled. “The snake’s been poisoning the court with his incessant singing.”
“You know the ladies invite whom they want, and Teoryin’s the king. It’s his choice who attends him.” Trisha sighed. “I’d be much happier if he rid himself of Shi’as, but I guess it’s a foolish hope.”
Rilka’s expression twisted as though she’d eaten something rotten. “It’s the king who’s the fool, to pretend he holds the leash.”
Tilia shot her with a warning look, but Rilka poked out her tongue and licked a stray drop from her wrist. “Don’t deny it. You’re thinking it, too.”