“I didn’t know it was spirit magic at the time,” Hettie said. “It felt dangerous, that we’d be killed if we did not escape. Once Tyrus put those stones in place, I noticed a difference then.”

Paedrin scratched his ear, looking back at Annon. “How did Tyrus manage to . . . involve you in the duel? I know about the charm Hettie stole in Shatalin to disguise herself, but he did not say anything about it.”

Annon smirked. “But Hettie caught his understanding. She’s more used to subtlety than I am. He said that Annon must face Tasvir Virk. She figured out what he meant without being told.”

Hettie beamed at Annon, then leaned over and gave him a hug. It left Paedrin feeling a little jealous even though Annon was her brother.

“I’m exhausted,” Annon said finally, stifling another yawn. “I’m going to sleep right here. If you two stay up talking and trading insults, can you keep your voices down?”

Paedrin gave him a slightly amused smile, looking back at Hettie in the gloom. So much had happened between them since they had met. So many memories were yet to be made.

“Good night, Paedrin,” she said, drawing out her blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. Before she lay down, she hesitated a moment, then leaned over and kissed his cheek.

A flush joined his smile.

She was still madly in love with him. All was well in the world.

“The war with Havenrook was brief and ineffectual, as I reported earlier. The surrender was signed between the King of Wayland, the Nobles of Cruithne, and the Preachán hierarchy. It was an interesting truce between these mighty forces. I had expected the King of Wayland to claim the territory, but he graciously conceded it to the Cruithne, who will settle Havenrook and reconstruct the ravaged city. I’m not certain what the King of Wayland gains from this, other than a cessation of hostilities against his trading caravans, which now operate unmolested through the lands. Perhaps that is what he was seeking in the first place. I do not believe the Preachán will appreciate the Cruithne overseers. It is said many are fleeing into the woods of the Alkire.”

- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

XI

Phae watched the firelight glint off Shion’s dark hair. He stared down at the ground, his face inscrutable. She wished she knew what he was thinking, that there was some way she could pry into his mind and reveal the hidden secrets there. Part of her wanted to smooth the quill-tipped points of hair away from his brow. His gaze turned up to her at that moment, and she found herself blushing.

“When you stole Virk’s memories,” he said in a low voice, keeping their conversation intimate, “you . . . suffered. There was a look on your face as if you were in pain.”

Phae recalled the sickening feeling in her stomach all too well. She nodded mutely.

“Describe it.”

She looked around the chamber, trying to put in words a sensation that was beyond description. “I’m not sure that I can.”

“Try, Phae.”

She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and then scratched her cheek. “It felt somewhat like the pain . . . the one that women have each cycle . . . except it was deeper. In my bones . . . inside my very being. I have never felt it before when using my magic.”

“You did not feel it with Trasen.”

“No. Not with him. I’m not sure if it was because Virk was mad . . . but why would that hinder it? I don’t know.” She stared down at her hands and wondered if some sickness was starting inside her.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It may be that you are drawing near the time you need to claim your birthright. As a Dryad-born, you need to bond with a tree. If that does not happen, you will lose your gift.”

“You think it’s a warning, then?” she asked. “That if I do not do so soon, I won’t be able to?”

He nodded. “Are you ready for it?”

His words caused an avalanche of dreary emotions inside of her. The pinching feeling in her stomach was nothing compared to the roiling inside her heart. She missed Stonehollow, and the thought of never seeing the Winemillers again was tortuous. What about wee Brielle, who never spoke? Would Phae never hear that little girl’s voice? What about Tate and Devin? What about Rachael? She missed them all, and the spasm of loss crushed her heart. Without wanting them, she felt tears prick her eyes.

“There is much I’ll be giving up,” she confessed, her voice so thick it came out as a whisper. “But each of us is making a sacrifice. This is my part.”

He reached out and took her hand, startling her. Glancing up, she saw him looking deeply into her soul. “I will not force you to do this, Phae. You have a choice . . . even still.”