Page 47

Sudryl released her grip. “Natural springs. They formed around the root network to keep our gods alive. As cruel as this realm can be, there is kindness here, too.”

Leaving Aisling there still feeling the vibrations—the kindness—beneath the soil, the faerie dusted off her knees and moved on.

Aisling stayed a moment longer, eyes closed.

She felt connected to the earth in Antiata in a way that she’d only ever felt on Brook Isle.

Sudryl’s gesture reminded her of the days she spent with her mother in the woods, learning every inch of the trails, collecting stones and counting rings on nursing logs.

It brought a smile to her face—it was the first fond memory of her mother she’d allowed herself in a long time.

Just as Sudryl had knelt at the roots of the rowan trees, Raif was crouched before the great oak atop the cairn, one hand braced against its gnarled bark as he leaned in close. He held himself Fae-still and his brow pulled together as he studied the ruined wood.

“That’s Orist?” Aisling stopped to watch him as she made to join Sudryl at the next rowan tree. She let her eyes trail up the ruined trunk, traveling over the branches to the very top. Some leaves still hung on there, where the blackness hadn’t yet reached.

Sudryl hummed.

“What’s wrong with her?”

The small faerie huffed as she dropped her basket and moved to join Aisling, tilting her pointed chin to follow her gaze. “Darkness, disease, rot. One might think death is inescapable here, but it is inevitable. Orist has fought against Yalde’s claim for a very, very long time.”

“She’s dying?” Aisling’s voice was thick, and she was surprised to find tears prickling in the corners of her eyes.

She wiped them away quickly with her sleeve.

She wasn’t sure what about the faerie’s matter-of-fact explanation brought so much emotion to well within her—maybe it was that the tree reminded her of Kael.

Of his ruined skin; of the way he, too, was fighting the call of Yalde’s darkness.

Her view of him was blocked by the cairn now, but she knew he was there, pacing. Listening. Resisting.

Sudryl gave a small nod. “In Wyldraíocht too, from the sounds of it. The state of the Veil tells me it may have reached your home as well. Sickness so vile as this cannot be contained to just one realm.” She paused, then asked, “Your soldier there—you believe him to be a male of his word?”

Aisling looked down at the faerie, who was still watching Raif closely. “Raif? I don’t know him well but…yes. I would say he is.”

“Then he may be the only hope Orist has. The only hope we all have.” Sudryl tore her searching gaze away from Raif to sweep it over the circle of rowan trees.

“How do you mean?”

“He is the reason you’re here, safe. Though it is Antiata’s purpose, refuge isn’t free.

We offered our protection for his word that he would find a way to heal her.

” Sudryl returned to her basket, raising the small knife to grip its hilt between pointed teeth before disappearing up into the branches.

Instead of joining her, Aisling approached the cairn.

Its stones were cool and damp to the touch as she dug the tips of her fingers into the plush moss.

Carefully, she pulled herself up and slid her toes into the natural footholds between the rocks.

It held her weight easily as she climbed up the side.

Raif was waiting for her at the top, one hand outstretched to help her stand.

Kael was in full view. Pacing, still. From the higher vantage point, Aisling could see the tension he carried in his shoulders—could practically feel it radiating off of him.

“You might go to him,” Raif suggested. He faced away from her now, having already knelt back down beside Orist.

Aisling changed the subject: “How are you going to heal her?”

Without skipping a beat, Raif changed it right back. “You missed him.”

“Of course I did.” Aisling knelt at his side, placing her own palm against the blackened wood next to his. It was warm. “I still do.”

“And yet you sit here with me when he is there.”

“He isn’t there. He’s still with Yalde.” Raif’s accusation, however true, raised Aisling’s defenses. She did her best to keep her tone even, to keep bitterness from coloring her retort, but it came out harsher than she would have liked regardless.

Raif sighed and looked up at the tree once more. “My hope is Elasha might have an idea. She is far better at this sort of thing than I—healing.”

“You wouldn’t bring her here.” Aisling frowned, imagining the apothecarist crossing into the god realm. She was good, and gentle, and compassionate—everything this place was not.

Raif shook his head sharply, dismissing the idea. “When we return, I will find the white oak. Orist’s mirror, the part of her that exists in Wyldraíocht.”

When , not if. Raif sounded so sure they’d make it back.

Aisling longed for even a fraction of that confidence.

As it was, she could scarcely imagine leaving the bounds of the Enclave, much less traversing the forest and the black sand plain to find the door again.

And if they could somehow manage to make it there, if they could avoid Yalde’s Sight and the centaurs and the gwyllion and all the rest— what if they were too late?

What if they couldn’t open the door? What if—

Aisling pressed her hand tighter against the bark as her thoughts continued to race, allowing the bite of the rougher bits to draw her focus and slow her spiral.

“Come down from there, both of you,” Sudryl chided from below.

Aisling stood stiffly and with Raif’s help, climbed backwards down the cairn.

It wasn’t a challenging descent, but the noise in her head left her feeling unsteady and her hands trembled slightly as she grasped for purchase beneath the moss.

Sudryl led the pair back inside and down a narrow, sloped passage.

The cairn reminded Aisling of the Undercastle: a tangled web of chambers and shafts and passageways that she struggled to mentally map.

This one found both Aisling and Raif stooping low until the corridor came to an end in a cold hollow.

Its walls were lined with baskets and from the ceiling hung bundles of herbs.

“It’s like a root cellar,” Aisling observed quietly, nearly knocking over a bushel of potatoes as she shuffled to one side to make space for Raif.

Sudryl hummed, already digging through a shallow hole in the chamber floor filled with thin strips of curled bark. The faerie withdrew a handful, holding each to her nose and turning them this way and that before selecting several of the largest strips and laying them in her basket.

“Three of those,” she ordered, nodding to the potatoes. Aisling chose three off the top.

“Do you forage for all this yourself?” Raif asked. He nudged one of the hanging bundles so it swung back and forth.

“Some, but not often. I only leave the Enclave when necessary. I have others that gather supplies for me who are better equipped to survive outside. Well,” she paused, correcting herself with a subtle half-smile, “ other .”

“Fenian?” Raif guessed. The faerie didn’t respond, but the affectionate twinkle in her eye spoke volumes. “The beast is not so heartless as he purports himself to be.”

“Another spot of kindness in this forsaken realm, that one. He has been here a long while.” Sudryl took the potatoes from Aisling and added them to her basket then said, “Let’s go. You all could use a proper meal.”