Grow faster, she told the tree spirits, and they whipped around her ankles.
The tiny tree spurted higher, and Naelin grabbed on to the center stalk. It thickened in her hands until she was hugging it. Ven squeezed her, his arms a comforting warmth, holding her steady. Her heart was thumping so fast it felt like fluttering wings within her rib cage. The branches beneath their feet widened until they were standing on them firmly as the tree grew faster and faster, shooting toward the sky.
Branches spread and leaves popped to life: first, pale spring green, then deep summer emerald, then fall yellow, crinkling as they browned. The new tree blended with the canopy all around them.
“Very nice,” Ven said in her ear.
She giggled—a sound she hadn’t made in years, but it felt good. I’m getting better at this. She’d learned a lot since her last encounter with Merecot. I’m ready for her.
“Right there.” Ven nodded at the next tree.
She saw the delicate line running past them. He pulled out harnesses with clips for each of them and helped attach hers.
“I’ll lead,” Ven said. “Follow me.”
Hooking onto the wire, Naelin and Ven attached themselves to the path and pushed away from the new tree. Naelin glanced back to see the tree spirits scampering over the branches and up and down the trunk. She heard them babbling to one another, and she felt—joy. It infused them and leaked inside of her, the joy they felt in growing that tree. It was the kind of joy a child feels when she’s fully in the moment, separated from any regrets or worries or anything that isn’t the splendor of the now. It was the joy of a sunrise, the first moment of an unstained day, in the breath after a dream faded but before memories returned. It was the joy of an awaited kiss. The joy of light after rain.
They sailed across the top of the forest as the sky deepened to a darker blue and the stars began to gleam. The moon was a pale crescent, barely visible and translucent, as if it were shy about joining the stars in the sky.
Ven called out instructions as they reached junctions in the wires, and they switched from path to path. “One more mile!”
As they flew closer, Naelin saw firemoss light glowing in the branches. “Be ready to release,” Ven barked. “The path ends just ahead.” He put his hand on his clip, and she did the same.
“Now!” Ven released the clip and plummeted down to land in a tarp that had been stretched between the branches—a landing pad. Behind him, Naelin released her clip and fell. She felt the breath pushed out of her as she landed on the tarp beside him and bounced twice.
Near the tarp was a bridge that had seen better days. Frayed, it creaked under their weight. Around and below them, the forest was dark, the floor impossibly far down and sheathed in so many shadows that it was all a morass of gray. Light came from the stars above and the firemoss lights ahead. As the wind blew through the trees, the firemoss seemed to twinkle.
Belatedly, she realized Ven was talking, telling her a story about him and his sister and the first time they’d visited the forest floor. “. . . she’d heard so many stories about wolves and bears and boars that she was convinced she was going to die if her feet touched the soil,” Ven was saying. “So you know what my mother did? She brought me down to the forest floor and said to my sister, ‘If you’re right and the floor is death, then you’d better save your brother before he’s gored. And if you’re wrong and he doesn’t die, then you can admit it and go down without any more fussing. Either way, you’re going down to the forest floor.’”
“How old were you?” Naelin asked.
“Three. It took all night, but by dawn my sister had decided she’d better save me. So she came down to the forest floor and carried me back up. I was too small to climb on my own. Don’t know how she did it either. She was only five, and I was a big three.”
“You weren’t eaten by wild beasts or mauled by earth spirits, so she must have found a way. Did your sister stop being afraid of the forest floor?”
A woman’s voice said, “Backfired, unfortunately. Can’t get her out of the treetops. She hasn’t been to the floor in over thirty years.” Ahead of them, a woman dropped onto the rope bridge. She had a bow and a quiver of arrows on her back, and was dressed in all green leather, with the pin of a border guard of Aratay affixed to her collar. She had moonlight-silver hair and dark eyes. “This is a surprise, Ven.”
“Hello, Mother,” Ven said. “It’s nice to see you. You’re looking well.”
She snorted. “You look old, flabby, and soft. Have all the champions abandoned strength for sentiment, or is that only you?”
Well, this explains a few things, Naelin thought.
“Mother, we have a journey ahead of us and were hoping to take advantage of your hospitality for the night.”
Naelin had never heard him sound so polite or so formal. She studied him carefully. He was as tense as he’d been in the Queen’s Grove when they’d been waiting for Queen Merecot and her army. His fingers twitched as if he wished he could close them around the hilt of his sword.
“I’m not hospitable,” his mother said. “You know that. Is this your new candidate?” She walked in a circle around Naelin, examining her. Naelin thought about introducing herself, but was curious what Ven’s mother was going to say, and if Ven hadn’t introduced her . . . I’ll follow his lead. “Bad choice,” Ven’s mother proclaimed. “She looks as if she’s better suited to picking herbs. She’ll face one difficult spirit then she’ll crumble. Honestly, Ven, I know you believe yourself infallible since you chose Queen Daleina, but her ascension was a fluke. You can’t afford to be complacent when your role is so vital to all of Aratay.”
He sighed and shot Naelin a look that was so full of apology that Naelin nearly laughed. “I take it you’re still angry at me,” Ven said to his mother.
“You left without even a goodbye. And you sent no word. For years, I have to hear news about my youngest child only through stories and songs. Your sister knows more about you than I do, and all she knows is in verse.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I was busy.”
“You were hiding from me.” She gave another snort. “You knew I’d disapprove. What were you thinking, involving yourself with a queen?”
Naelin flinched. His mother knew about them already? And disapproved? That wasn’t anything she thought she’d have to contend with. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. Parental approval hadn’t been a concern in decades, and it hadn’t occurred to her that it would be an issue now. After all, she wasn’t even certain that they were still in a relationship—they had barely touched since Redleaf.
“You should have been focused on your duty,” his mother continued. “Queen Fara should have been untouchable.”
Oh.
Not me.
Naelin didn’t know whether to be irritated or amused. Clearly, Ven’s mother was a woman with strong opinions who didn’t hesitate to express them. Naelin didn’t blame Ven for keeping his distance. The only surprise was that he’d offered to come here now.
“I don’t want to talk about her, Mother.”
“Bah, you never did want to talk about anything important. I’d expected that by now, you’d have learned to face straightforward honesty.” His mother tapped her foot on the branch. “You’d better come inside. Your sister won’t forgive me if she doesn’t get to see you. Brace yourself for tears. She’s liable to get emotional.” Without another word, she pivoted and then leapt across the thin branches of the upper canopy, as nimble as a squirrel. She barely disturbed the leaves in her wake.