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Grabbing her ankles, the bark monster turned her upside down again. She swung out to the side like a pendulum. Arms flailing, feet imprisoned, she pumped her knees, struggling to break its hold. The creature’s gnarled wooden fingers lengthened, snaking up her legs and —

“It’s alright, Eblin,” a woman said. Perfect English. Hint of a British accent. The voice’s owner standing somewhere behind her. “Put the Door Master down and return to patrol. I will take it from here.”

More clicking noises.

A moment later, Truly hit the ground. Air left her lungs as dry leaves flew up around her. Coughing, she flipped over. Knees churning up dirt, she spun around and spied the woman standing six feet away. Taking a moment to steady herself, Truly drew a much-needed breath and studied her. Dressed in a white robe. Hands tucked into wide, bell-shaped sleeves. Dark skin glowing with vitality. Long gray dreadlocks spilling over her shoulders. The face of an angel, without a single blemish or wrinkle.

Truly frowned. “You’re human.”

“Indeed, I am.” A soft smile played over the woman’s face, making her even more beautiful. “Welcome to Weeping Hollow, Truly of the House of Turnbolt. I am Azalea, leader of the Human Legion. I am so very pleased to meet you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“My friends.”

“All will be seen to in time.” Another cryptic smile. This time, though, it reached her eyes. “Now, up, child, and follow me. I have much to tell you.”

Pushing to her feet, Truly looked over her shoulder. She watched the bark monsters retreat, disappearing into the gloom.Questions. She had so many questions. Azalea intimated she held the answers, but…

Did she really?

Her eyes narrowed on Azalea’s back. Friend or foe? A hinderance or a helping hand? Or was her friendliness a trick — a trap, misdirection designed to put her at a disadvantage?

A distinct possibility.

Nothing in Azlandia was ever what it seemed.

Everything corkscrewed, tumbling down twisted paths into even more unknowns. But as she followed the leader of the Human Legion (whatever that meant), her senses twitched.Answers.Trueunderstanding. A chance to possess what she needed to keep herself and others safe. A wealth of knowledge within easy reach, at her fingertips.

The allure was too tempting to resist. So instead of making a break for it, Truly walked along the winding path in Azalea’s wake, stepping over thick roots and around stones, gaze scanning, on high alert, the need to know a living thing inside her. Maybe if she dug deep enough, understanding would come, and she’d never be outmatched again.

A worthwhile goal.

But first…

Westvane.

And Montrose.

Instinct warned her neither was safe inside Weeping Hollow. The forest spirit didn’t want her friends here. Which meant she must find them, and do it fast. Before the malevolent being who protected the woodland took its toll and ended their lives.

29

BEWITCHING ARMS OF THE UNKNOWN

The pain came in waves, like splashing acid being poured over open wounds. Westvane rolled in the current, struggling to tear away from the straps holding him down. The ropes should’ve been easy to break. He was strong, smart, able-bodied… practically indestructible.

Or so he’d been led to believe.

The agony, though, told a different story.

Swimming in anguish, Westvane forced his eyes open. Absolute darkness, nothing but black spiraling into black, despair so dense he couldn’t find his way out. Self-preservation jabbed at him. He flexed his hands, trying to move his arms. Thin bands tightened around his wrists, crisscrossing his body, securing him with gentle tugs. Hushed voices whispered around him, tones soothing with tender persuasion, beguiling him, lulling him toward relaxation.

His eyes drifted closed.

He shouldn’t feel this way — compliant and non-combative. The idea was foreign to his nature. An insult to everything his mother made him, and all she hoped he would become.