Page 44

“Ruler. Servant,” Puck lists. “In my context, they’re one and the same.”

I can see the legitimacy in that statement. Kings and queens lead their kingdoms, but those monarchs also have a duty to serve to their people.

“Your mouth’s not moving to correct me,” Puck muses. “Interesting.”

“Not interesting,” I say. “I simply believe that to be a sound ruler, one must humble oneself to their kin.”

“Including the flora and fauna?”

“Not every human sees nature as their property. We may not have magic, but that doesn’t mean we’re less connected to the land than you.”

“And what connection do you have to nature?”

“I’m still learning.”

“I would call you a wise woman, but: one, it would be patronizing on my part; because two, you already know you’re smart.”

“And three, I’m not in the market for your compliments,” I contribute.

Yet at the very least, he values intelligence, if not humanity at large.

Lark had once asked what would attract me to a partner. We were playing a truth-or-jest game at the time, the three of us huddled in our caravan at midnight.

I had said my illusive partner would have to be a scholar. Cove had smiled, but Lark pretended to snore, so I’d tackled her until we laughed and forgot the game.

Actually,partneris my preferred term. Lark’s had beenlover, which…just, no. I can be drawn to someone without such extracurricular activities.

Wings flap overhead. Beyond the hole’s exposed half, feathers splay from an avian figure cutting through the clouds. The owl swoops across the sky and vanishes. Based on its trajectory and the geography I’ve puzzled together thus far, the raptor had been flying toward the chiseled peaks of The Solitary Mountain.

Lark.

The foundation trembles beneath me. I hunch over, pressing my ear against the ground and listening to the distant hiss of water. The rumble of liquid eddies from someplace far below, a hidden river gushing under the earth, flowing into a serpentine network of mystical caves and canals.

Cove.

A sour lump swells in my throat. Thankfully, Puck appears lost in his own world. For once, he’s watching our surroundings rather than me, his eyes tracking the roots. If he hears the thoughts of a little plant, can he hear the roots? What do they tell him?

What do the fauna say to him? How does he reply?

In The Redwoods of Exile, Puck had shown a kinship with Sylvan, handling her with tenderness and reverence. He’d ridden the doe into the elms where I’d spied on him, Cypress, and Tinder. So by my estimation, Puck must have a bond with the creature.

Does that extend to all the animals of this weald?

“May I ask you a question?” I broach.

Puck swings his head my way. “No, you can ask me three. So long as you agree to a condition.”

“A condition,” I repeat, stressing that fact for all it’s worth. “Not a bargain.”

“Yes, yes, what you said. And my condition is simple.”

“Nothing is simple with you.”

“This is: Call my brothers demons again, and I’ll toss you back into The Redwoods of Exile.”

Earlier, he had mentioned his siblings, but I’d assumed I hadn’t heard him correctly. Since when do the rulers of this wild call one another brothers?

Puck reclines further, enjoying my astonishment. “Didn’t you know? Cerulean, Elixir, and I are brethren. By the way, you haven’t yet agreed to my merry condition. You don’t want to keep me waiting, seeing as my cooperation comes with an expiration date, and why are you gawking at me like that?”