After returning, she was whisked into the council chambers, where she suffered through an endless-seeming lecture from the elders, with their endless talk of ancient duties and the prophecies of the darkness resurgent, and the Black Triad, destroyers of the Empire, the true rulers of the world, who had, in their passing, left a gap to be filled by the lesser races; dwarves, men, dragon-kin and so on. Dragons themselves were mentioned, but only in passing, and according a rank equal to the elves of old, largely out of respect for their power.

After much waving of hands in ancient and mostly pointless rituals, blessings being pronounced, honours declared, portents drawn and so forth, Parth was finally allowed to leave their chambers, glad to exit the fusty rooms for the sweet, clear forest air outside. Did they have to use so much incense? And hearing the festivities starting outside had been irritating, when technically they were in her honour, yet she couldn’t join them.

Outside the council chambers, crafted from living wood, and wound about with ancient magic, the atmosphere was raucous – Cyentanne was surrounded by a group of other elves, all of about their age, many years away from having any respect or power. She held up a goblet of wine, tilting it towards Parth.

‘And here she comes, the victorious thrice-Queen!’

Parth did an overly-elaborate bow, before standing up and spreading her arms in acknowledgement of the applause.

‘Now come have some drink! I don’t know if you deserve it, after that stunt you pulled, but they’ve opened up the good stuff.’ The circle opened up to allow Parth access, her comrades congratulating her with inclinations of their goblets. ‘Managing to summon up an animal in the middle of a fight, that takes a lot of guts, right, Parth?’

‘Summon, yes. That’s what I did. I summoned a mighty creature to defeat you. Huge of body and savage of claw.’

Cyentanne leant in close. ‘Don’t lay it on quite so thick. You can’t actually summon anything, can you?’

‘You want them to know about Sir Weasel White-Tooth, Knight of the Everfrost Mountains?’

‘Fine. But don’t be surprised if someone asks you to do something that you can’t. Anyway, the elders, in their ancient and revered wisdom, have actually opened up the vaults and broken out the good stuff.’ She handed over a metal tumbler, filled with a thick, green liquid, glowing with an inner light. Parth took a sniff of it, the strong, clear scent of herbs and nature, above the piercing odour of alcohol. She dipped her finger in it, a drop falling to the ground, where the grass rustled and grew, suddenly sprouting up to knee height. Parth knocked the drink back in one, the stuff burning her throat, before she coughed and spluttered.

‘Damn, it’s meant to be taken a bit slower than that! Easy there, queen or no – you do that fast, and you’ll be spewing it up again. Tastes good though, I’ve never had pure Woodblood before. Takes decades to brew, and this stuff predates the fall of the Empire!’

Parth took a deep breath, as the stuff burnt into her stomach. The flavour was fantastic, lingering long on the tongue, cooling and energizing her. The magic bound into it flushed through her, the powers of the ancient woods bound into physical form, collected droplets of magical essence bound into liquid. The distant susurration of the land, the slow and powerful heartbeat of the forest, sounded in her head for a moment, countless individual lives all bound together into a single entity, far vaster than the sum of its parts.

She was dragged back to awareness by Cyentanne poking her in the forehead. ‘A thrice-Queen really should pay attention! Your eyes are glowing a bit, are you doing that whole weird forest-trance thing again?’

‘Yes. Sorry about that.’

‘Hey, don’t apologise! Not like any of us can do it. Guess growing up with just your parents in the deep, dark, woods means you know the “old, true ways” and all that stuff the Elders keep banging on about? Strange to think that we all used to be able to do stuff like that. Although you might want to move before that stuff wraps around you.’ She pointed down, where the grass was still growing, starting to weave itself around Parth’s feet and ankles.

She carefully extricated herself from the growth, trying to do so without causing it any harm, whispering a soft apology as she did so. It rustled in an unfelt wind in response. ‘My parents taught me much of the ancient lore. From before the Triad came, before the fall of the Empire, even though much of it seems hard to make sense of. But I lack knowledge of much outside of the woods. I am thankful for you, as a friend, showing me.’

She laughed, taking another drink. ‘Dammit, I’m not your friend, we’re rivals! I’ll beat you one day. Just because you use the old magic well, all the elders think you’re something special. Not like any of it matters though – we’re all holed up in the woods or scattered out on the islands. The old Empire lands aren’t ours anymore and haven’t been for generations. I hear there’s some of us that live in the human lands, although the elders denounce them. But it all seems a bit pointless really. Makes for good sport, I suppose, but how many of us have even seen the lands we supposedly rule?’

Parth nodded. ‘Our legacy has been lost. But the forest endures, and so do we. And we’re not dead yet.’

Silence rippled through the crowd like a harsh winter wind, as a pair of robed figures approached, revelry coming to a sudden stop, the group parting around the newcomers.

Parth placed a hand over her heart and bowed, managing to keep her balance although the drink coursing through her was starting to have an effect. ‘Givers of life, you honour me.’

They lowered their hoods, revealing the faces of Parth’s parents, their pointed ears studded with brass jewellery, beads of amber strung throughout their glossy hair. ‘And you honour us by deed. A most impressive victory, I am told. Although I didn’t know that you were able to summon creatures to aid you. I am glad to see that you are progressing in your teaching, even absent my tuition. Considering that this place allows it’s youth to indulge themselves in all sorts of vice, then I am proud that you have not succumbed to such temptations.’ She sniffed the air. ‘Truly, they honour you. Woodblood, and of an ancient vintage, if I am any judge?’

Two metal tumblers were produced and handed over, each of her parents taking one. They raised them in salute as another drink was given to Parth. ‘To you, my daughter, and the hope of our people.’ She drank it down in one, eyes glowing green. A faint smile came to her face, a rare expression. Her father, as ever, was more reticent, although he bent slightly to run his hands through the long grass, whispering something to it, before smiling at Parth, showing pride without words.

Cyentanne approached. ‘High Woodwarden Amadiffynwyr. An honour you join us.’ She made a sign of respect with her hands

The smile left her face. ‘Ah. Cyentanne Koranurena. I hear your clan is trading with the oathbreakers? And yet you have the gall to believe yourself worthy of becoming a regent? No doubt you would allow them into our most sacred places for their trinkets, rather than scourging them from the lands in fire and flood, as they deserve?’

The silence deepened, everyone looking awkward, taking sips of their drink. Cyentanne’s face flushed with anger as Parth stepped between them. ‘Water through the woods may take many streams. Information is power, and to not utilise such is a weakness, is it not?’

‘Hmm. I have raised you well. I suppose knowledge of the usurpers may have some use, to know their strengths and weaknesses.’ She had acquired a flask of the Woodblood from somewhere, pouring Parth another shot. ‘But to trade with them, to treat them like they’re equals? To encourage them to think they have any right to the lands they stole from us? Foolishness. Dangerous foolishness.’

Parth drank again, this time able to enjoy it more, now she was prepared for the burning sensation. ‘There is danger in confrontation, though. They have great numbers, which we lack.’ The resumption of old arguments was fortunately cut short, as the other elders walked through the crowd, taking Amadiffynwyr away with them, assembling in formal council, to discuss whatever matters they deemed important.

Parth sank back, as Cyentanne took a deep breath. ‘That was intense. She, uh, really doesn’t like humans, does she?’

‘The Usurpers? No. She wants them dead, or broken to our will. They have stolen our lands, after all, and made it impossible to return to our rightful place as rulers of this world.’

‘It’s not like we have the population to hold anything like the reach of the Empire, there’s barely enough left to hold our current lands! If we anger the humans, then we’ll get wiped out. Plus, have you seen some of the stuff they make? Sure, a lot of it isn’t that tough, but they churn it out damn fast! Although you might want to hide those arrowheads; your parents might be upset if you’re not using something millennia old. But it’s good steel, and nice to not have to try and retrieve all of the arrows afterwards or get an ear-bashing.’

Parth took out one of her arrows, carefully examining the point – sharp, well-made, but there was no love there, nothing to mark out any sense of individuality, and it bore no charms or special powers. ‘One of yours?’

‘No idea, they all look the same to me. Bought a new bunch recently though. And it’s not like we’ve got any shortage of useless shiny stuff lying around – I’d rather have a decent amount of weapons and armour than some jewellery from centuries ago.’

‘Are you not worried about meeting with them? That they might attack and betray you?’

‘They normally look nervous enough I think they’re worried I might attack them. They’re a bit stupid and they think we all have vast magical powers, it’s weirdly charming watching them flinch back all the time. Of course, their language is atrocious, but with their lifespans, it’s scarcely a surprise if they don’t bother to learn anything proper. They’ve not got long, guess that’s why they do everything so fast.’

They both took another drink, a slow sip this time, both making a pleased sigh in unison. ‘Wonder if being a thrice-Queen means I can get more of this?’

‘Hah, not likely, you know what the elders are like! They’re not giving out any of the old stuff without good reason. I’ve been asking for Hrunthingleam for years now – it is mine by bloodright, but they keep fobbing me off. Something about the “Prophecies of Wood and Sky”, which seems to say whatever they damn well want it to say. You know anything about that?’

‘A little. “The ancient shall rise anew, ancient pacts forged anew, wrath poured out upon the world. The darkness beneath the world shall steal the voice of the first word. The champion of the woods shall walk with the light, to greet the dawn amidst red ruin. The light shall embrace the darkness, and the darkness devour the light.” It’s in very ancient language and hard to interpret, and I suspect a lot of Dreamroot was consumed when it was written, nevermind when it’s read these days.’

‘Any reason in there why I can’t have my bloody sword?’

‘Probably, it’s all very vague. Maybe it’s one of the Blades of the Moon? Or part of the Regalia of Gold and Jet? She thinks that I’m the Warrior of the Fallen Leaf, which is why she trains me so hard.’

‘Is that why you spend all your time in the deep woods? Must be hard.’

‘She has taught me well. Which, by the way, is how I keep beating you; you really need some tricks, even though you’re better at fighting than me. But I must confess to a certain level of doubt about such things – even our language has changed much since they were written, such that their meaning is hard to understand, if they are even true. The gods refuse to speak of them, so any knowledge of how true they are is hard to determine.’

Gweledydd approached, bearing wooden tankards, filled with some pale, frothy liquid. ‘Thrice-Queen! And, what is it now, Duchess? Or Earl? As a mere commoner, I lose track of such elevated concerns.’ With a spare finger, he made something approximating a gesture of respect. ‘Anyway, you want to try this? Fresh smuggled from the human lands.’

Parth accepted the tankard, taking a sip – yeasty and slightly bitter, very different than the burning smoothness of Woodblood. Gweledydd took a long drink, then passed the other tankard to Cyentanne. ‘A consolation prize. Is it to your liking?’ Cyentanne must have taken it as a challenge, as she downed it in one, wiping away the froth from around her mouth. She burped, looking slightly embarrassed.

‘Not bad, actually. Sorry, did I drink too much? How long does it take to make?’

‘This lot? Almost half a moon, if my sources are correct. Say this for the usurpers, but when they set out to do something, they do it fast! My man says he can even make something flavoured with fruits or berries, if you’d prefer a sweeter taste.’

Parth sipped it again. The taste was harsher, more bitter than anything she’d had before, but it had a certain moreish quality. Although the fluffy foam on top was a little irritating, getting in the way whenever she tried to drink. ‘Humans? Are you not worried they’ll attack you?’

‘They haven’t yet. They like gold, I like beer, it works out. Their language is horrific, admittedly, but you can’t have everything. And they do make a lot of stuff, even if not very well. They do a lot of things very strangely, but they aren’t demons, they can be talked to. Although I am a little worried about their leader, I must say. There’s a whole lot of rumours about them, they’ve apparently created an alliance of all the local tribes. Did you know that there’s supposedly cities of humans, in what used to be the Heartlands of the Empire? Not just villages and small tribes, but tens of thousands of them? Built atop our cities and roads, but this place is considered quite remote. This is why the elders are worried all the time – most of them think we’re going to be attacked, like the other sanctums. It’s only because this place is so remote that no-one’s bothered with us, since the fall of the Empire.’

Parth looked around, taking in the ancient trees stretching above them, between them magnificent buildings from the heights of Empire, carefully crafted into the surroundings. And mostly empty, built for a vastly larger population, now more than could even be used for storage. The council chambers were still in their full glory, but many of the other buildings had been absorbed into the forest, roots protruding from amongst mossy marble. Was this remote and fallen? It had definitely seen better centuries, but it could still be restored, surely?

But the human drink was nice, a soft, numbing sensation, rather than the sharp, penetrating awakening of Woodblood. It was like sinking, brain-first, into something warm and soothing, the background susurration of the forest stilling for a moment. The humans probably weren’t all that bad, if they could make something like this. Although it had been a long time since more than occasional travellers from other, far-distant settlements had arrived, and the Elders kept any news to themselves. From what she had been told by her parents, the humans were no more than petty vagrants themselves, with just small, scattered villages, certainly nothing grander, carving out a scavenging existence by picking over elven ruins. But from what Gweledydd said, they were far more organised, and more numerous than Parth had imagined.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by Cyentanne, who poured her more drink, the froth growing and spilling to the ground. ‘You’re engaged now, that must be strange. And frustrating, especially when it’s someone you’ve never met.’

Parth shrugged. ‘I can always get engaged several times. There’s no rule against that, I checked.’

‘Parth! You can’t do that!’ Cyentanne sounded appalled.

‘No, you can’t get engaged multiple times. You’ve not even got a single Queendom. Not got much to draw the suitors in, have you?’ Parth coughed, covering her mouth. The human drink was making her aggressive! Maybe that was why the humans were angry all the time, if this was what they drank.

‘Hey, you want to fight, here and now? I’d have had you last time if I hadn’t been for that damn weasel.’

Parth corrected her. ‘Sir Weasel, Knight of the Everfrost, and my duly appointed follower.’

‘That’s not how that works!’

‘The Laws of the Wood, Sun and Sky don’t say that. There’s no rule saying a weasel can’t be a knight, and there’s nothing saying you can’t be engaged multiple times at once. I’m the thrice-queen here, aren’t I?’

Cyentanne shook her head. ‘For someone raised in the old ways, you don’t seem very respectful of them.’

Parth paused before responding, the human drink soaking up her thoughts. ‘They are true. And right. And correct. But also silly and out-of-date. We don’t have an Empire anymore, it’s not coming back. So why pretend? We can’t rule as we once did, and do we even want to?’

Gweledydd had found another tankard to drink from. ‘You really shouldn’t be so gloomy, especially when all of this is in your honour. Although don’t let the elders catch wind of such thoughts, they still want to restore the Empire. And definitely don’t let on about anything else! They get all sorts of touchy about marriage still, never mind anyone marrying without their sanction. I got all sorts of nasty looks from them when I returned from travelling. Just because I happened to get friendly with a few people afterwards. I’m not even looking for anything else, but because I’m an outsider, despite having lived here for decades, they get a stick up their behinds.’

Parth corrected him. ‘An ancient and sacred stick, I think you’ll find. But they have all the power and influence, and aren’t going to depart anytime soon. So we need to work around them, rather than try and go through them.’

‘This is sounding dangerously political. More than a lowly unrooted traveller wants to get involved with; smuggling in beer is quite enough for me. So, let’s get drunk and avoid talking about anything that might get me exiled, deal?’

‘That’s no fun. But you’re right. Let’s get drunk.’

They set to it with a passion, the drink rapidly getting drained, as toasts were drank, songs of celebration sung, the trees and plants rustling in time, as though also partaking of the revels.