Chapter 8
Eight
Celestite
The way to the tops of the trees isn’t by magical wings or floating. Somehow, this feels more out of the realm of possibilities than even that. Instead, the bark of the tree ahead shifts, softly splintering, making room for a rounded door to appear directly in the trunk.
A flicker of light catches my attention. Then several more. Soon, the entire forest around me is filled with little glowing dots blinking to life. They remind me of the illuminated butterflies in Nox Grove, but something about these is slightly different.
A tiny one floats toward me, leaving a softly glowing trail behind it as it nears. It hovers in front of my nose, as if waiting.
“Your hand,” Willow whispers. “Let it rest there.”
I swallow, mesmerized by its light as I stick out my finger. Instantly, it moves over to rest on the end of my finger. Small insect-like legs wrap around my nail. I examine it closer, bringing my hand up to my eyes.
Their wings are longer than butterflies’, sweeping down into a long tail on the ends.
The one on my finger is smaller than the others drifting through the trees.
This one is only the size of a coin, while others are bigger than my hand.
They’re all varying shades of pastel green, their lights pulsating from dim to bright.
“What are they?” I ask softly.
It spreads its wings and ascends from my hand, joining its swarm to migrate together deeper in the forest.
“Woodsprites,” Willow answers as they begin to disappear into the trees.
“I didn’t know they still existed,” Leda muses. “They haven’t been seen on the mainland in centuries.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from them as their lights grow further and further away, awe lacing through my chest and thawing the coldness buried within it.
“Some believe them to be children of the moon,” Willow adds. “Coming down to our plane to bring blessings from Eurydice. At least that’s what the stories have spread to say.”
The lights finally disappear within the shroud of night and thick canopy of branches, and any warmth that filled me begins to seep out. All that’s left is a hollow ache once again.
Willow glances at the opening in the tree ahead, a soft glow pulsing from her, matching the golden sheen shimmering around the door. She made the tree open up, moving the bark in a way only a Woodland can.
“You’re Woodland, then?” I ask, though she doesn’t need to answer. The wall of earth that tore from the ground to separate me from Daimon was all hers.
Willow pushes the door open, revealing a smooth staircase that winds up the center of the tree.
Each smooth slat has vines etched into it; the etchings are somehow filled with a golden light that illuminates every step with floral designs.
The stairs curl around the middle, wound loose enough that once we step in, I can see all the way to the top.
A little boy, no older than six or seven, watches me, his auburn hair shaggy and hanging down as he leans over the edge of the top steps. His eyes are as wide as saucers, his cheeks tinted a soft pink.
“Daimon,” Willow chastises. “Wait for us at home.”
He groans, but his face disappears instantly.
“Daimon,” I echo softly.
The little boy’s name is Daimon.
These Riders…they know Brielle, and Brielle certainly spoke to Daimon as if she knew him.
They’re all intertwined. It could be a coincidence, though I’m starting to learn that things have a way of connecting in this realm.
Be it destiny or Eurydice herself pushing me toward others, there’s always something more.
How else would Graylen, Addie, and Avery all end up at the castle with me in Crea? In the grand scheme of forever, they could’ve been searching a lot longer for me. But instead, we gravitated toward each other—Avery as my maid, Addie as my friend, and Graylen as my…Graylen.
Pain shoots through my chest. I try to shake it off, the weight of how many coincidences there are receding with the mere thought of Graylen. Immediately, my mind ventures to where he is and what’s happening to him.
A stiff hand rests on my shoulder, gently pulling me above the surface, keeping me from drowning in the mire my mind had begun to retreat into.
“We’ll find him.” Leda’s voice is firm, as if there is no other alternative. “But we can’t do it alone.”
She’s right. I know she is. We don’t even know how to get to him, let alone confront Vidaris…or Daimon, for that matter.
Willow is already a handful of stairs up, trailed by Calix and Sidra.
Aster clears his throat from outside, where Adrian and the Lyles still stand.
Leda pats my shoulder and starts up the steps, leaving me to either stand here with the ghosts from my past or follow her.
My feet move the second the thought enters my mind.
The higher we walk, the more I catch glimpses of this village placed high into the trees.
It isn’t just the trunk that’s hollowed out, but the limbs too.
They’re big enough to resemble small tunnels, with the same golden vines etched along worn walkways, lighting the paths enough to see that this tree connects to another.
I only see it in a flash as we continue walking upward, but I think I glimpse cubbies carved into the sides, each big enough for a small family to lounge in—or to hide in.
But that thought only makes me wonder: what would they have to hide from?
By the time we reach the top, my vision swims from the circling stairs. The scent of cedar and citrus fills my nose the moment I step out onto a wide ledge with everyone else. Even with the moon hidden behind the thick coverage of leaves above us, there’s plenty of light to see by.
From the ground, the soft glow from the etchings in every step, every walkway, was too dim to see by. Only the hanging lanterns and glowing insects show what’s built into these trees, but from here…
The sight steals my breath away. It’s a sight that could distract me from what’s happened over the last few days. Almost.
It’s a wonder these cottages are supported this high up, but it’s clear Woodland had a hand in building this.
Seeing these homes with wood intertwined into the bark of the trees, small rocking chairs outside of doors on narrow porches, and leaves scattered on windowpanes, it causes a rush of tears to well in my eyes.
They remind me of Ellerry. Of her goofy smile and inquisitive gaze. It makes me think of her cracked teacups hanging haphazardly from the ceiling and bright pink couch strewn with clothes.
She would love this place.
“I’m sure you all need rest,” Willow says evenly, her own eyes heavy. “I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping until we can arrange something more comfortable.”
“We won’t be here long,” I say quickly.
Just long enough for Brielle to regain her strength while we work on a new plan.
Willow gives me a curt nod.
There’s so much we need to discuss. Like who the hell these fae are, how they found us when they did, and why they chose to intervene—putting their own lives at risk in the process.
They must have questions for us, too, but the weight of using so much of our magic and flying to Kauri weighs on all of us.
Aster turns to Adrian and the Lyles, his gaze guarded. “You three are with me.”
Adrian shakes his head and backs up a step, his eyes finding mine. But he must see something in my gaze—hopefully the rage and distrust that spikes in my stomach each time I look at him—because his jaw clenches and he huffs, “Fine.”
A part of me thought he might use his title as King of Crea to make a demand, but he shocks me as he relents to Aster.
His back turns to me as he follows Aster around the tree, disappearing into the night.
For once, he keeps his mouth closed—hopefully understanding that being surrounded by fae with no way off this island isn’t the place to mention who he is.
And while it makes my gut churn to think about protecting him by opting to not fully explain who he is, we still don’t know these fae. We don’t know what they’re capable of or what they want from us. So, I send him a silent plea to give me time to figure this out.
As much as anger nips at my chest for what he’s done, I don’t want to see him dead.
Used as some kind of tool to show Creans what Penyth is capable of.
Because as much as I want to hate Adrian, he’s still the boy who showed me kindness in the market—in the castle, even.
I may not have forgiven him, but just because he isn’t the man for me doesn’t mean I fault him for what the world shaped him into.
Willow continues ahead, and we follow.
Figures move in the shadows as we walk in a single-file line across tree limbs and various rope-tied bridges that sway with each footstep.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, the feeling of eyes following our every move clinging to me like a sticky second skin.
Though we don’t truly see any of the fae that watch us, I can feel them there.
It’s quiet enough that I could fool myself into believing those who live here are all asleep, but with the way the night sings, I find it hard to imagine they don’t thrive the moment the sun sets.
There are signs of life everywhere, of a home that’s truly lived in.
Not in the way the royal training camp was, with the leaking cabin roofs and tents needing patchwork every few weeks.
No, this place isn’t like that at all. Instead of muddied walkways with partially thrown-together stake markers, there are woven bowls lining the path beneath us.
They’re filled with flowers of all shapes and colors.
Some of them hang from thin limbs; nearby, I see one with strings of small green pearls cascading down the sides.
Others have heart-shaped leaves the size of my palm, spilling toward the ground.
The moment I look down, I realize how high up we are. I must not be the only one who notices, judging by the way Leda keeps looking down at the ground every few steps. Maybe the Riders are slightly more accustomed to heights than Leda is.
Willow stops on the walkway and motions to the branches to our right. “These are usually where some of the villagers relax, but they’ll do just fine for sleeping.” She nods to the canvas hammocks hanging in the tree.
A flurry of branches splits off from the walkway, each leading to a hammock. They’re patched together with different colors, smattering an array of violets, navies, maroons, and creams throughout the leaves.
As much as I want to sit Willow down and pepper her with questions, I can’t deny that we all need rest—and with rest comes clearer minds.
I take an olive-green and light brown patchwork hammock, the one that’s right in the middle of all the others. Leda takes one above mine, a few branches to the right. Calix settles in one on my other side, while Maddox and Sidra settle over us to the left.
Willow turns away, but I stop her.
“And Brielle?” I ask.
Her gaze lingers on mine, a flash of worry in her eyes. With a quick, deep breath, she gathers herself and gives me a reassuring smile. “Brielle will be well cared for. You can visit her tomorrow if she’s feeling up to it.”
“Thank you,” I say with a nod.
Willow turns and leaves without another word, leaving us to settle into our beds for the night. The moon is still out, but the sunrise won’t be far off.
It isn’t long before light snores fill the air, Calix already fast asleep. I shift, my body teetering sideways as I turn in the bouncy hammock.
Heights have never bothered me, but I still have to try and avoid thinking about how we’re all sleeping on woven fabric tied to mere tree limbs hundreds of paces above the forest floor.
“Lu?” Leda whispers from above. The canvas of her makeshift bed sways, and she pops her head over the side to look down at me. “Still up?”
I prop myself up on my elbows and say, “Hard to sleep after everything.”
There is no need to explain what “everything” means. Leda has been with me through it all. From Adrian showing up and the mass of shadows that engulfed our camp to losing Graylen.
We didn’t just fall short in making our appeal to the Lord of Shadows; we completely failed. And failure hurts like a bitch.
I want to feel sadness for losing the father I could’ve had in my life, but all I feel is rage and pain. Anger that he wouldn’t help us, and pain that I’m no closer to finding Graylen.
But as I lie here, my body still and the forest quiet, the fury inside of me dulls to a throbbing ache in my stomach. Without the anger to hold onto, all I feel is the loss of Graylen.
“He’s gone.” My voice cracks. “Because of me. I have to get him back, Leda. Have to find a way off of this island and finish what we set out to do.”
Leda lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “I know.” Her voice is softer than it normally is, the edge in it dimmed. “But first, we need a plan.”
I nod my head and lie back down, settling into my hammock. It’s hard to form a plan when there are so many things that need to be done. How can we prioritize between saving the souls trapped within the Vale, trying to get Graylen back, and stopping whatever it is that Moros is planning?
“Graylen is smart,” Leda adds. “I’ll admit diving headfirst into the Vale with Vidaris wasn’t the brightest thing he’s done, but…it gave us time. Time to figure out a way through this mess.”
I let out a long sigh, wishing I could just feel him through the bond—to have any reassurance that he’s okay.
We need Graylen; he’s a skilled warrior who knows how the Creans work—and how Moros thinks. But, more than that, I need Graylen. I can’t think straight, can’t focus on what lies ahead, knowing he’s trapped and alone.
If I focus on saving him, what will the cost be? What lives will be lost because I didn’t get to them first? Penyth may be my home, but there are innocent people in Crea—people who don’t deserve to suffer beneath Moros’s rule.
“If Adrian is here and Moros has the castle in Crea, we might need Aster and Willow,” I whisper. “We can’t let him win again.”
Leda’s head disappears as she cozies into her own hammock. “We won’t allow that to happen,” she rasps, her voice firm and clipped. “Because I don’t think our realm would survive it this time.”
My chest tightens as silence drapes between us. The weight of the realm is resting on our shoulders, counting on us to save everyone.
“Try to get some sleep, Lu,” Leda calls out. “A warrior’s mind needs rest to find clarity. We aren’t solving all of our problems tonight.”
As much as I try to fight sleep, my ears focused on the movements around us, my muscles tensed and poised to strike, I feel my eyes grow heavy. Zephyr isn’t far, and if anything were to happen, she would be here the moment I need her.
I have Leda and the rest of my fleet scattered in the trees around me, their wyverns just as close. The sun will likely be up soon, giving us a few short hours to find sleep.
My eyelids flutter open and closed, my vision blurring as I lose the fight to stay awake. In a few breaths, I drift off to sleep.