“Hot!” he said in amazement.
“No,” Lukias said. “Cold. But your body reacts as if it were heat.” He looked at the door again, his expression quickening to a look of panic. “A Tay al-Ard needs time to rest between uses. If the Arch-Rike brought fifty through here, it is well spent.”
“How long must it rest?” Annon asked.
“We don’t have time,” Lukias said. “Abide the pain. We must leave!”
Annon stared at the cylinder. He had never been burned before. He was not familiar with the sensation. His palm tingled where he had touched it.
“Do this, Annon,” Khiara said, her eyes full of trust. She put her arm on his. Lukias did the same.
The sound of boots echoing down the corridor grew louder. From behind the door, they heard the muffled cries of the Rike they had sprawled on the ground. “In there! Quickly! They are inside!”
Annon stared at the Tay al-Ard. He reached through the bars again, his arm heavy with the added weight of their hands. Nizeera pressed against his leg and he gripped the skin above her neck with his other hand.
Closing his eyes, he clenched the cylinder, experiencing the freezing burn of the Tay al-Ard explode up his arm and thought of a place of safety. A place he longed for more than anywhere else.
He thought of Neodesha’s tree.
The door shuddered open on its hinges as the world lurched and began to spin.
“Hear the other side. What is usually lacking, when there is trouble, is the lack of listening. So quick we are to rush to judgment. We would do well to listen more. There would be far fewer disputes.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The look of alarm and misery on the Dryad’s face wrung Phae’s heart. She rushed to the other girl, clutching her arms. “What is it? What do you see?”
The other girl’s eyes were wide with terror. “I cannot see it. It is what I feel. Memories flitting through the aether, summoned here because of the bond we share.” She gripped Phae’s forearms with surprising strength for one so slight. “He may die! Annon, be still. Be very still.” The girl shrank against the trunk of the oak, huddling small, like an acorn. Phae lowered with her, still holding the girl as if she were one of Dame Winemiller’s orphans.
“Who is it?” Phae asked, stroking her shoulder.
The girl shuddered as the memories assailed her. “A moment. There is danger. So much danger. If he dies, I will know it. Our bond will be severed.” She put her face in her hands and wept softly.
Phae hugged her, nestling against the bark of the tree, feeling wave after wave of emotion passing from the Dryad. She was quiet herself, just being there to comfort the girl—her sister in some strange way. The wind rustled through the trees, bringing the smell of soot and forest. They hugged each other, sharing the lack of words, the surging feelings. In time, the Dryad’s panic began to ebb.
“Thank you.” The girl patted Phae’s arm. “Normally I am the one who comforts. The threat is still there, but I do not sense the same fear. He has survived the danger for now.”
Phae bit her lip. “It must be awful to feel such premonitions but be unable to help.”
The girl shook her head. “I can help, in a small way. If he is calm in his heart, my thoughts can reach his mind. The talisman he wears aids in this. The Druidecht have always been our fiercest guardians. We need them, you see. They are the way we can be free of our duty.”
Their voices were soft, nearly whispers. “He can free you by marrying him, is that how it is?” Phae asked solemnly, eyes downcast with embarrassment.
The girl smiled. “It is not as you probably fear. Annon saved my tree when the Boeotians came to hack it down. His friend perished, right over there. He could have fled. We share a special bond. I’m not sure it has grown yet into love.” Dimples appeared within a timid smile.
“How old are you?”
The Dryad looked at her as if she had asked a strange question. “Age means nothing to me anymore. How many leaves are in a forest? Does it matter? Why bother counting them?”
Phae shook her head. “Is it…miserable at times, being Dryad-born? Are you very lonely here in the woods?”
The girl straightened, her look turning to amusement. “You misunderstand a great deal. I guard this portal. I control access to who may pass and who may not. I protect memories. But I do not live here. My home is Mirrowen. When someone approaches my tree, I sense their presence. To me, a year passes quickly, like a moment. A man may age and die in a single day. I am never lonely. There are my sisters, of course, to keep me company. And there are others who have earned the right to live in Mirrowen. And then there is the Seneschal.” She lowered her voice reverently.