Page 24

Chapter Nine

T he dark woods were full of strange and wonderful creatures, like the dryads who sang to trees to make them grow and the dwarves who dwelt in the Black Hills in their palace of Vol Buldohr, where they whispered incantations over their treasures of gold.

—Anon., Tales from the Twilight Court

Roan knelt on the ground, the tip of his sword buried in the fire-blackened earth as he stared helplessly at the dying dryad before him. The beautiful creature’s tawny eyes were filled with unspeakable pain.

Roan, Hagni, and a group of Unseelie Shadow Guards had traveled to the woods just moments ago from the palace and had come upon the destroyed forest and the massacre of the dryads.

Fires set by Seelie warriors were still burning and caught upon the wind, blowing embers over the ruined landscape.

But none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was the lone surviving dryad before him.

Lady Kyma, the queen of the dryads, had skin the color of night and hair like snow. She was an ally, a friend , and Roan was going to do all he could to save her.

He gathered the ancient soil in his hand and settled it in Kyma’s palm, closing her trembling fingers over the soil. He opened his mind, body, and soul to the magic in his blood. His hand shook as grief and rage warred within him, and he wasn’t sure which emotion would conquer him.

“Save my sisters...” Lady Kyma begged, her gaze starting to drift into the distance.

“They are gone,” Roan whispered. “You are the last, my lady.” He could barely speak the words that cut like broken glass as they left his lips. The truth, this truth , above all others, was one he wished was a lie.

He didn’t dare take his gaze away from the dying dryad.

If he did, he would be forced to look once more upon the charred remains of the noble trees that had formed the dark woods.

Trees that held power and secrets too old to name.

Trees that deserved to grow beneath the moonlight and give life to the fauna within.

At the base of those wrecked trunks lay the broken bodies of Kyma’s sisters, the other dryads of the dark woods.

Beautiful tree spirits who had caused no harm to anyone, even though they dwelt in the land of the Unseelie.

If Roan dared to face that destruction again, his rage would take over and he would not be able to save Kyma’s life.

I must save her. She is the last of her people, the last dryad of the dark woods.

Kyma’s gaze returned to his as he clutched her soil-filled hand and brought it to his lips.

Roan wove a healing spell with the ancient tongue of the Sidhe , giving her what he could of himself and his power.

The energy flowed into her, seeking out the places where she was wounded.

The burns, the cuts... so many wounds. It was nothing less than barbarism.

“Let me join my sisters, Roan.” Kyma’s once musical voice was now a rasp of sound.

“ No ,” Roan growled as he clenched Kyma’s fingers tighter.

His magic burned within his chest, that light and healing energy pushing outward.

“You must fight. You must survive. Without you, the forest is truly lost.” How could she not know what she meant to his realm?

That her light, her beauty, her spirit were worth fighting for?

If she lived, the trees could grow again, the forest could thrive, but without her.

.. the land would remain nothing but the ashes of trees and the bones of her sisters.

Roan held her hand as he softened his tone. “You’re my friend, and I will not surrender you to death.”

Kyma’s eyes widened. She was seeing the shine he so rarely let others see as his power grew alongside his strong emotions. She gasped and the strength in her grip deepened as she drew in a strong breath. Roan pushed more of his magic into the dryad’s body until he was sure she was out of danger.

Kyma’s lips twitched as though she wanted to smile but was still too weak. “You wouldn’t let me die.”

He brushed his thumb soothingly over her fingertips. “No, my lady. Your king commands you to live on and to one day regrow your beautiful forest.”

“Then I will do my best, Lord Arun,” Kyma sighed, the sound like the wind passing gently through the foliage of her forest.

It took Roan a moment to catch his breath after having used up so much of his power to save her. He would regain his strength soon enough once the moon rose.

He called for his trusted guard. “Hagni!”

“My lord.” Hagni, who had stepped back to give Roan and Lady Kyma their space, now rejoined him, his face grave.

“We must take her directly to Andvari. He will be able to keep her close to the dark woods so that she may heal.” Roan looked at the burned woods and what was left of her forest. Perhaps with time Kyma would find a way to grow great trees once more and rebuild the forest. And if trees grew.

.. then new dryads would be born, and she would no longer be alone.

He would do all that he could to help her.

“Yes, my lord.”

Hagni came to Kyma’s side and crouched down by her. “May I carry you, my lady?” he asked.

Kyma managed a nod, and Hagni raised her up in his arms. Roan pulled his sword from the soil as he stood, weary from his efforts. At last he turned to face the destruction, his heart shattering at the loss of such innocence.

Roan then turned his gaze toward the Seelie lands.

“Culan,” he whispered into the wind. “You burned my beautiful dark woods. You murdered the dryads who cared for them. You will pay for your crimes, cousin .”

His cousin’s hunger for power, his jealous desire to destroy whatever he could not possess, was so unlike the other Seelie. Yes, the Seelie and Unseelie spent much time fighting, but even Roan had to admit that the Morning Court Fae were not without honor and decency. Most of them, anyway.

The Fae, while they lusted for pleasures and beauty, had far less obsession with destruction and power.

That was a human trait. Culan, however, was almost human in his greed.

He was far too much like Roan’s father, Bahden, a king obsessed with power and territory.

He had dreamed of ruling the humans by possessing their queen, Guinevere.

Thankfully, he’d been stopped, but only the Unseelie had been punished for Bahden’s greed.

Now it seemed the Seelie were at the mercy of Culan, and they were likely unprepared to deal with the consequences of the war he was about to start.

Roan swallowed a snarl of rage, knowing that his lands and his creatures would suffer because of his foolish cousin.

He and Hagni made the journey on foot into the Black Hills, flanked by the Shadow Guards.

In time, they arrived at the entrance to Vol Buldohr, the underground palace of the dwarves.

While they could have traveled by the Fae roads, it was considered rude to appear without warning upon the dwarves’ doorstep.

The obsidian entrance to Vol Buldohr was heavily guarded, but when the dwarves realized who approached, they rushed to open the tall gates to allow them entrance.

A male dwarf in golden robes greeted them. “Greetings, Lord Arun.” He bore the mark of the royal dwarvish advisor to Lord Andvari, the king of the dwarves.

“Tell Lord Andvari I must speak with him at once. We have a guest in need of sanctuary.”

“Of course. Follow me.” The bearded dwarf rushed down the long hall, his golden robes flowing behind him.

The court of the dwarves was far quieter and emptier than the Twilight Court.

Dwarves, by nature, preferred to busy themselves with the making and keeping of their treasures and did not care for political intrigue as the Sidhe did.

No one dared to challenge Roan in his own court. He was the strongest of the Fae, and his bloodline had ruled upon the Unseelie throne for several thousand years.

The vizier led them to the throne room, where a broad-shouldered, muscular dwarf sat upon a white marble throne.

Unlike many of the dwarves around him, who wore the court robes of Vol Buldohr, he wore a tunic with a silver belt around his waist that bore the hilt of a broadsword.

Several others were gathered around him, speaking in hushed tones.

Many carried battle-axes and were likely the dwarf soldiers that most often conducted patrols.

Roan wagered that Andvari had just learned of the attack on the dark woods.

The advisor pushed between the soldiers and spoke to the dwarf on the throne.

Darric Andvari, the king of the Black Hills, swept his light-brown eyes over the room until he spotted Roan.

Andvari’s dark hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back at the base of his neck, and a smattering of gold beads threaded his beard.

The dwarf bowed his head. “Lord Arun. I understand you are here bearing grave tidings, old friend.”

Roan nodded. “Lord Andvari. I see you’ve just been told of the attack on the dark woods.”

“Yes, we heard of the attack too late to assist them.” Andvari’s eyes were bright with a rage that came from the dwarves’ innate dislike of injustice.

They were a people who placed value on rules and order.

They had always adhered to the treaties between the Seelie and the Unseelie, and the attack on the dryads would be seen as a declaration of war.

Andvari’s gaze then strayed past Roan to the dryad Hagni held in his arms.

“Lady Kyma!” Andvari gasped and rushed past Roan to the dryad. “I did not know you survived!”

“Andvari, it is time,” Kyma whispered. “You must tell Lord Arun…” The dryad raised a hand to touch the dwarf’s bearded face with an affection born of centuries of their people living as neighbors. Andvari’s eyes glistened with tears.

“Lady Kyma is very weak,” Roan said softly. “I must ask that you shelter her here so she may be close to her woods—what’s left of them,” Roan said.