Page 20

“And these?” Raif reached out and touched a low-hanging leaf of the nearest rowan tree. It was small, as were the others. Most barely stood taller than his shoulder.

“Orist has never needed worship to give her power as lesser gods do. The dark one weakened these over time as he stole their worship for his own. As Elowas collapsed, they gave every drop of power they had left to protect Orist in exchange for the preservation of their aneiydh. It was their final stand, at the cost of their own lives and freedom.” Sudryl crouched beside the tree, lovingly patting down the soil around its base.

She picked up several fallen leaves and tucked them into a pocket in the lining of her tattered coat.

“In thanks,” she continued, “Orist made them each into their own tree. They are all interconnected, all sustained by a shared web of roots.”

“It’s beautiful,” Raif said sincerely. He hadn’t imagined he might find something so whole in a realm so broken. The way it felt all around him—the stillness, the peace—was almost enough to make him forget where he was entirely. “You have done a wonderful job caring for them.”

“Do not flatter me, soldier. It won’t endear me to you.” Sudryl shot him a condescending look, though her eyes shone with pride.

He smiled gently. “That was not my intention.”

Sudryl sighed, looking up at Orist once more. A shudder wracked her body and brought her wings to tremble. “She is dying. The sickness began at her roots, and it only continues to grow. If she dies, the lesser gods will follow. And with them, the last bit of light in this dark place.”

Raif’s smile faded. “I am sorry.”

“You should be—it is not only in Elowas that she is fading. It began here, closest to the dark one’s corruption, but it will spread. To her mirror in Wyldraíocht first, and the human realm after that.” Still crouching, the alseid drew three crude trees in the soil with her finger as she spoke.

Without allowing Raif time to respond to the revelation, Sudryl stood. She brushed the dirt off her hands with some finality before she remarked, “You said we—you came with others?”

“There are four of us. I…we hope it will soon be five,” he said, focusing again on why he was there to begin with.

“You came here looking for someone.” Her eyes narrowed again; she wasn’t asking.

“The Unseelie King,” he confirmed, no longer so reluctant to share the full details of his party’s campaign.

The alseid’s verdant skin paled slightly. “Souls cannot come back from here. Not without—”

“We sent his body to collect,” Raif preempted her warning. “Merak has guided the process from the start.”

“Even still, he will not be the same.” She shook her head once, then again, harder. Trying to banish the thought of an aneiydh returning to the living realm, it seemed.

“I’ve come here to ask for sanctuary once we’ve found him, for myself and my companions,” he declared finally.

“And what do you have to offer in return?” Sudryl challenged, crossing her arms. A shrewd little faerie, no longer so bothered by the dark thoughts now that there was an opportunity to negotiate an exchange.

“What would you like?” Raif considered what he had with him, which was precious little if she didn’t care to wield a soldier’s weapons. Even the knife he carried in his boot was likely as long as her forearm, and even heavier besides.

“There is very little I want for. I’ve come to enjoy my simple life in the grove.”

“There must be something,” Raif insisted, his growing impatience only thinly masked.

Sudryl thought for a moment, eyes darting between Raif and the rowan tree beside him. “Tell me of the Veil, soldier. Does it still stand?”

“It is damaged,” he said cautiously.

“Then things are graver than I imagined. If Orist perishes in one realm, she perishes in all three. Yours will fall to ruin, and the insidious rot will leak into the human realm. What happens there is of little consequence to either of us.” She waved a hand dismissively before adding, “But, as I remember it, Wyldraíocht was a place of great beauty.”

There was a warning in Sudryl’s simple assessment that she left unspoken.

Raif saw Elasha then, and his unborn son—he was sure they had been given a son—in a crumbling Wyldraíocht.

One just as twisted and cruel and diseased as that which he found himself in now.

It sickened him to picture his child growing up in fear; to see Elasha’s pure, radiant light swallowed whole by insidious darkness.

Sudryl’s lips curved into a sly smile. “If I guarantee you and your companions protection in Antiata, you must find a way to heal her.”

Raif raised his eyebrows—it was far from any bargain he expected. “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“That’s for you to sort out,” she taunted.

“It sounds as though you’ve given me an impossible task,” he growled, that nagging impatience now on full display. “We do not have that sort of time.”

“You give me your word, and I will allow your companions entry. I do not expect you to have found a solution before your return. I simply ask that, once your quest is through, you will devote yourself to seeking out a cure.”

“If it is so easy, how come you have not done so yourself?” he demanded.

“I cannot leave the grove unattended,” she said simply.

Raif ground his teeth, working his jaw from side to side as he thought.

But in truth, he had little choice. He hadn’t any idea what state they’d find Kael in, if at all.

They needed a guaranteed place of refuge.

Even if it meant he’d spend the rest of his days searching, he would agree to it—for his king, and for his son.

Finally, he held out his hand and said, “You have my word.”

Sudryl reached up to shake. Her skin was the texture of tree bark, rough against Raif’s palm. “Go then. Antiata awaits your return.”