He glanced over at Neodesha’s tree, longing to speak to the Dryad again.
Phae must have caught his look, for she tugged at his sleeve. “This is why I wished to speak to you alone. She wants to see you again, Annon. She knew as soon as you arrived. Go to her.”
“One can never predict the true course of action in a war. It is by nature unpredictable. But knowledge is surfacing in the city that there was a thwarted assassination attempt against the Arch-Rike as he traveled to counsel with the King of Wayland. These are surely tumultuous times.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Annon winced at the gashes in the trunk of the mighty oak. The foliage that had been burned was already beginning to heal and revive. It constantly amazed him how fire caused a forest to be reborn. They were as natural companions as water and wind. His fingers grazed the jagged bark of the tree.
He heard Neodesha’s voice before he saw her.
“I told you the injury to the tree does not harm me,” she said lightly, a smile lilting the sound. She appeared around that side of the tree, wearing the same dress he had seen her in before. Her bare feet crunched on the leaves.
“I’ve not forgotten anything you’ve told me,” he answered, his heart suddenly in pain with longing. “How far does our connection reach, Neodesha? I could swear I heard you in Basilides.”
She gave him a pretty smile that tortured him. “It is not so much the distance as the state of your emotions. I felt your terror, Annon. When you are calm or quiet, I cannot hear or see you very well. I’m grateful you survived.”
He smoothed the back of his hand across the bark of the tree, gazing up at a sprig of mistletoe and feeling the strong urge to kiss her. He tried to control himself.
“You have suffered much since we parted,” she whispered. “The loss of a friend. The worry over whether you can trust the Rike in your company. You are conflicted about Tyrus’s death—or that he survived but did not tell you.”
“How easily you read me.”
She shook her head. “It is not difficult. Dryads learn much about the mortal world through our calling. It is a tumultuous existence. There is no death in Mirrowen. I wish I could bring you there.”
“Some Druidecht are allowed, eventually, to visit. Isn’t that so?”
She nodded.
“How does one earn that right?”
“I have never known anyone who has earned it. It was more common in the past, I think.” She gazed shyly down at the forest floor.
“So you do not know?”
She shook her head and looked down at her feet. “I do not.”
“What is it?”
Neodesha glanced up at him. “You’ve changed me, Annon.”
He cocked his head, his heart starting to burn again. He felt a small tremor begin in his knees.
“The change you wrought on me is more obvious,” he said. “I see the world differently now. Being able to remember everything is a blessing as well as a curse. When I think of Erasmus, my heart throbs with pain. It is an ache that will never dull. Yet when I think of you…I feel quite differently but equally powerful. How does one tame such emotions?”
“I wish I knew,” she said, coming around the tree and standing before him. “But I am struggling myself. I was content to be a Dryad. There is much solace and peace in our existence. Dangers do not threaten our trees very often. I existed between both worlds. Time has always been ephemeral to us. Until now. The boon I gave you bound us together. I worry about you now. I seek your safety and welfare. I do not want you to go to the Scourgelands.”
Annon’s stomach roiled with confusing emotions. He saw her hand resting against the tree trunk and he yearned to hold it. He remembered laying against her lap, reliving the emotional memories of his past. Her very presence comforted him, soothing the guilt and anguish of his life. He had no desire to return to Wayland, not for all the slices of honeyed bread Dame Nestra could bake.
“But I must go there,” he said softly.
“I know,” she answered with a sigh. “I…care for you, Annon. I will worry.”
She had said it and he felt a rush of relief, grateful to believe that he was not totally alone, that his feelings were not solely at risk. It had not been long, yet their connection was powerful. He nudged closer to her, staring at her hand.
“In the many years that I have guarded this tree,” she said softly, trying to meet his eyes, “I have thought often on my duty and the peace of my existence. I have not felt the desire to relinquish either.” She bit her lip. “Until now.”
He felt his throat tighten. “You know I must go,” he said in anguish.