Ellerie did her best to ignore the commotion as the foraging crew loaded baskets and sacks full of berries into the wagon bed. She was supposed to be working out a schedule for Shavala, but she had too much on her mind to make any progress. Leena had visited Terevas that morning only to find out that Revana’s heart had stopped briefly the night before, then was started again by her attending healer—much to Revana’s anger. According to Vilisa, Her Exalted Majesty had left orders that healers were no longer allowed in her presence.

Ellerie had been debating whether to return home again, but was there any point? It was too late to save her relationship with her mother, and she would only be a distraction for Vilisa, who was attempting to shore up her position with the noble houses.

A hand waved in front of Ellerie’s face and she blinked, realizing someone had been speaking her name.

“Are you all right?” Shavala asked.

“I’m … yes, I was just thinking. Will one wagon a day be enough?”

The plan was for the foragers—mostly refugees who hadn’t found other work—to keep some of the haul for themselves, sell some to the other settlers, and dry the rest for long-term storage. It was a partial solution to multiple problems, allowing the refugees to stock up for the winter while bringing in a bit of coin to support themselves. Once the harvest came to an end, the foraging crews would have enough time to claim land for themselves before the next growing season.

“For the berries, yes,” Shavala said, tracing shapes in the air with her finger to keep the little dragon distracted and away from the work crew. “I’d like to go for the apples next week, and we’ll need five or six wagons a day for those.”

“You have apples this early in the year?” Ellerie asked.

Shavala shrugged. “I was regrowing the orchards anyway, so I accelerated the growth. Probably more than I should have—it took two days, even with the staff—but Corec asked me to keep people busy, and most of the other crops aren’t ready for harvesting yet.”

Ellerie nodded. “We can get you six wagons. We have plenty of them, and plenty of mules with nothing to do. Boktar will make sure you have what you need.”

“I thought he was coming out today.”

“He’s training new drivers for that coal-mining crew from South Corner, so I offered to take his place,” Ellerie said. Plus she’d needed the distraction.

The foragers had finished loading their haul for the day, and the driver looked back at Ellerie for direction. She gestured for him to go ahead without her, so he clicked his tongue and the mules set off to the east. The foraging crew followed behind the wagon, on their way back to the newly settled villages of Pinewood and Skunk Hollow.

“You’re not going with them?” Shavala asked.

“I wanted to talk to you first,” Ellerie said. “You probably haven’t heard that Yelena’s in Sanvara City now. And Leena says the Seekers found the branch of the snake cult that attacked the Zidari camps. The Travelers and the army are going after them.”

Shavala sighed, staring out at the horizon. “A waste of life,” she said, though it wasn’t clear whether she meant the initial attacks or the idea of the perpetrators being hunted down. Knowing Shavala, it was probably both.

Ellerie envied her sometimes. “What is the tree bond like?” she asked.

Shavala tilted her head to the side, wrinkling her brow at the change of topic. “We’ve talked about that before.”

“No, not that. I mean … what is it really like?”

“I wouldn’t know who I was without it,” Shavala said. “I don’t know how you manage, not being able to feel that connection.”

“You told me once that I still have the bond, but that it’s broken.”

“Not broken, just different.”

Ellerie watched Risingwind curl up for a nap. “Can you fix it?” she said. If the other woman had been able to give the tree bond to the young dragon, surely that was within her power as well.

Shavala hesitated. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “I asked Zhailai to bring two seedlings just in case. One was always meant for Risingwind if he needed it, but the other was going to be for you. Then things didn’t go how I expected with him, so I decided not to mention it.”

“Wouldn’t that just be because he’s not an elf?”

“Yes and no,” Shavala said, her voice distant. “Dragons are part of the elder magic, like our own people are, but there was something else there too.” Then she shook her head. “But that wouldn’t matter for you.”

“Then you’ll try?” Ellerie asked. Shavala always projected an air of peaceful serenity, even when she was jumping into something without thinking it through. If Ellerie could feel some portion of that, perhaps she could mend things with her sister. Perhaps she could face her mother one last time.

“Do you really want me to? If it works, I won’t be able to undo it.”

“My mother is dying,” Ellerie said. She wasn’t sure if anyone had mentioned that to Shavala yet. “My sister is mad at me for leaving. Leena wants to try something dangerous and she won’t talk to the others about it first. We’re all expecting to be attacked by Larso, but we can’t tell anyone about it until we know for sure. I just need … something. The dorvasta are always so calm.”

“You’d be surprised,” Shavala said with an enigmatic quirk to her lips. Then she took the staff from where she’d left it propped against one of the old cabins. “Let’s go. I planted your seedling with the other tershaya.” The grove was visible on the far side of the abandoned village.

“What, now?” Ellerie asked. “Will it be dangerous?”

“No,” Shavala said. “It was only dangerous with Risingwind because he bit me. For you, it’ll either work or it won’t. I just didn’t want to promise you something until I was sure I could do it.”

They made their way to the grove, where a single tiny seedling was surrounded by other young trees. They were small for tershaya, but each had plenty of room to grow.

Shavala drew her belt knife. “I’ll need a bit of blood,” she said, gesturing to Ellerie’s hand.

“For the magic? I thought blood didn’t actually do anything.” Ellerie wasn’t an expert on dorvasta magical rituals, but she’d read enough to know that.

“There was a time when it did, and this magic is very old.”

Ellerie held out her palm, trying not to wince when Shavala sliced into it. Blood welled up into a little pool in her cupped hand.

They knelt down together and Shavala had her wrap her hand around the seedling’s stem. Or its trunk. Ellerie wasn’t sure of the right terminology when it could hardly be called a tree yet.

“Hold onto it until I say to let go,” Shavala said. “It needs to get big enough to root-bond with the others.” She sat cross-legged with the staff across her lap, closing her eyes.

The seedling began to expand upward and outward, and Ellerie grimaced in pain as the emerging bark scraped against the cut on her palm. Her blood left a smear on the tree, and she had to stand up and take a step back to avoid being knocked over as it continued to grow.

The growth slowed when it reached the others in height, but Shavala didn’t move from her position.

Ellerie waited in silence, taking in the buzzing of insects and the scent of sun-warmed pine needles. As she did, she became aware of the faint presence of the tershaya surrounding her. Her own tree provided the strongest sensation at first, but then it slowly faded until it matched the others.

There was a brighter spot of emotions close by—Shavala’s warm friendship gently buttressing Ellerie’s thoughts.

A bundle of curiosity came bounding over. Risingwind had never paid Ellerie much attention before, but now he sniffed at her, questioning whether she’d brought him any food.

And deep below it all was the sensation that everything around her was connected to everything else. Ellerie sniffed, realizing tears were gathering in her eyes.

“This … this …” she started, then paused, unsure of what she wanted to say.

Shavala gave her a small smile. “You can let go now, you know.”

“Is this how you feel all the time?” Ellerie asked.

“I changed it,” the other woman said. “The dorvasta tree bond is too strong. It forces us to come to a consensus even when we don’t agree. You’ll feel what we feel, but you’ll always be able to choose for yourself.”

Ellerie nodded, her mind made up. “Will you come with me to Terevas?”

--

Trentin peered out at the dusty smudge to the northwest, then brought his spyglass back up to his eye. A dozen men on horseback led the procession, followed by many more on foot. The figures were too far away for him to see any details, but the whole thing had a military feel.

“Is there a big group due in today?” he asked.

Cason shrugged. “Not that I know of, but there have been a lot of messengers going back and forth.”

The two of them were on duty at the lookout tower facing the Telfort Road. Watch duty was tedious, but at least it was half-pay, which was better than Trentin had managed since returning to Fort Hightower. Even after Kevik’s expulsion, the dragon fighters were still out of favor with the senior knights.

Trentin handed over the spyglass so Cason could take a look.

“Are those soldiers?” Cason said. “I thought we were supposed to be sending the extra men here back the other direction, not getting more.”

“Has Matagor been making noise?” There hadn’t been any border disputes in over a century, but unless the hillfolk somehow got themselves organized, Matagor was the only nation large enough and close enough to offer a true threat.

“How would I know?” Cason said. “Nobody tells me anything anymore.”

Trentin nodded. “I’ll run it in.” Although the knights had an official policy of stationing a messenger at each tower, the priests refused to pay for them. They insisted that when the kingdom wasn’t at war, the duty officers could do the job just as well.

At ground level, Trentin retrieved his horse from the small stable attached to the tower. Walking would have probably been fast enough—the Telfort Road was the safest approach in the region, and no one would attack Hightower from that direction—but he didn’t want to risk losing the one duty he’d been allowed to take on. After saddling the mare, he set out, crossing through the town’s main residential district on his way to the inner fortress.

Hightower was a less welcoming place than it had once been. Willem was dead, Kevik was gone, and the few remaining members of the squad had fallen under a cloud of suspicion. Even Sir Hordin, who’d been part of their squad, would only stop to talk if no one else was around to see them together.

Trentin couldn’t really blame him. Kevik had sent Hordin to Telfort before the rest of the group had run into Corec, so the man had managed to avoid any damage to his reputation. He wanted to keep it that way.

Trentin’s own reputation hadn’t been that strong to begin with, and now it was in tatters. He could fight well enough—despite Georg’s comments to the contrary—but he wasn’t good at leading people the way Kevik was, and he’d never managed to distinguish himself in any way. The dragon should have changed that, but instead it had made everything worse.

How was he supposed to face his family? His father had scrimped and saved for years until he could afford to buy Trentin a place within the knights, wanting to give him an honorable and respected position. Now that position hung by a thread.

Trentin hadn’t made the trip home to Saldar yet, but rumors must have reached them by now. He was sure to get a letter soon. He’d spent a good chunk of time thinking about how he’d compose his reply.

At the fortress’s inner courtyard, the only full knight out and about was the new armsmaster, Sir Levit, who was showing a new batch of trainees how to fight against a man in armor. Levit was one of the priests’ toadies, but luckily he wasn’t in the chain of command, so Trentin didn’t have to stop to talk.

He found Sir Loris in the man’s personal quarters. After the explanation, the senior knight just nodded. “Understood. You may go.”

“They’re expected, then?” Trentin asked.

“Of course.”

“Who are they?”

Loris stared at him for a moment before responding. “That’s none of your business, knight. Return to your post.”

Trentin turned and left without speaking, stalking out of the inner fortress before he could say something that would get him into more trouble.

He was nearly back at the lookout tower when he saw a familiar figure ride in through the Telfort Gate, followed by a squad of the king’s mercenaries in their black armor.

“Barat?” Trentin asked. “What’s going on?” The group had to have come from the larger force marching toward the town.

Barat looked back at the squad commander. “Go to fort,” he told the man, pointing him in the right direction. “I will come soon.” His accent was as strong as ever.

The mercenary saluted, then waved at his men to follow.

Barat waited until they were gone, then dismounted and joined Trentin. “Is war, my friend,” he said. “More knights and mercenaries are coming from Northtower. We muster here.”

“War?” Trentin said. “With Matagor? Or the hillfolk?”

“Neither. We march against Corec Tarwen.”

Trentin blinked. “What?”

“Is traitor.” An odd grimace passed over Barat’s face as he spoke.

“What are you talking about? Corec’s in the free lands. How could he possibly be a traitor?” Even considering that Corec was a mage, Larso had no say over the use of magic outside its borders.

Barat glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “He sent assassin to kill the king.” Again that odd grimace. “His Majesty must respond.”

“An assassin? Barat, you’re not making any sense. Corec wouldn’t do that.”

Corec had been away from Larso for a long time, and Trentin couldn’t claim to know him all that well these days, but he still remembered how Corec and Kevik had watched out for him when he’d first arrived at Hightower. Kevik had been a squire since he was seven years old, and knew all the ins and outs of the Order, while Corec, as a son of the peerage, was accorded more respect than the other trainees, and wasn’t subject to the bullying that some of the younger, quieter boys faced. Together, the two friends had helped Trentin adjust to his new life.

People could change—and Corec had changed a great deal—but underneath his new air of command, he was still the same person. Would a traitor spend his own money to save the freelanders from a dragon? Would a traitor have led the battle himself?

“I know you were with him,” Barat said. “The king says I am general now. You must tell me all you know about Matagoran keep in free lands. Size, defenses, armaments. I hear there is bridge. Is it west, along our approach? Or north?”

The bridge was north of the keep, but Trentin could only stare at his friend in confusion. Defenses and armaments?

“The keep’s an old mess in the middle of nowhere,” he said. “What do you need an army for? He’s only got a handful of men. Just talk to him!”

“This will not end in talking.” There was a sense of finality in Barat’s words. He nodded in the direction his men had gone. “I must report in. I find you tonight to speak more. You, Sir Georg, Sir Osbert, and Sir Cason.”

“Georg’s gone.” The man had disappeared at the same time as Kevik, leaving only a note that he was retiring from the Order.

Barat tilted his head to the side. “Then you, Cason, and Osbert. I want full report on Corec, his men, and the keep. Tonight.” With that, he gave a nod and led his horse toward the inner fortress.

Trentin stared after him. Osbert would be happy enough to tell Barat everything he wanted to know, and perhaps Cason would as well, but there was nothing more to tell. The keep Corec had claimed might be able to handle a roving group of bandits, but it certainly couldn’t stand up to a real army.

It had taken Trentin some time to stop blaming Corec for Willem’s death, but Kevik had convinced him his anger was misplaced. All the knights had known what they were getting into when they’d agreed to go after the dragon. It was what they’d trained for—facing threats no one else could handle. Sometimes that meant losses.

Now, Corec and the other men and women Trentin had fought beside were facing a much larger threat.

Was he just supposed to tell Barat everything he knew, then march along with the attacking forces?

Where did his loyalties lie?

--

“Let me try that hat,” Razai said to the trader.

The enterprising young man had set up a roadside stand selling supplies and sundries to the travelers who were heading north toward the keep. Judging by the state of his camp, business had been good enough for him to stay in the same place for weeks.

The trader handed over a wide-brimmed straw hat for Razai to try on. Unfortunately, it fit. She suspected she looked like a country bumpkin, but she needed something to keep the sun off her face.

After paying for her purchase, she continued on her way. She’d been taking the trip easy, not wanting to overwork her animals in the heat, so she’d only come a hundred miles in four days.

The angle of the road meant she was only about seventy miles south of the keep, but even though Corec had estimated that the dragon’s territory hadn’t extended that far, the settlements Razai had been seeing were still all new.

Perhaps the people in the southern region had preferred to give the dragon a wider berth, or perhaps they hadn’t wanted to be so far away from civilization. After all, South Corner was farther away from the keep than Four Roads was.

Whatever the reason had been, it no longer seemed to be the case. The people here might fall outside the official borders Corec had set, but they’d still come north because of his actions. It was a reminder that even the newest and least experienced of the wardens could wield undue influence on the world around him.

A good reason to get away before the whole area erupted in war.

That’s not why we left, the whispers said.

Be quiet, Razai told them.

By mid-afternoon, the heat had grown worse. When Razai saw a long line of trees running along a creek, she nudged her horse off the road in that direction, causing the animal to snort in annoyance.

“Oh, stop your complaining,” Razai said. “You’ll like this better.”

The pack mule followed them placidly, not caring about the details, and soon they were making their way south again, but this time in the shade. The grasses along the route were already packed down—Razai hadn’t been the first to come up with the idea.

She rode past a young family who’d decided to make camp along the banks of the creek, but she just nodded to them without stopping to talk. She wasn’t wearing a disguise, and wasn’t in the mood to wonder about how they might react when they realized she was demonborn.

Then the whispers spoke again. Death comes.

Where? Razai asked, drawing her knives and peering down the tree line. The family was still setting up camp. They certainly didn’t appear to be preparing an ambush.

Not here. Back.

The road?

Back.

“No!” Razai said as she realized what the whispers meant. “I’m not going back to the keep. Corec knows what’s coming. I did everything I agreed to. There’s nothing holding me there!”

The whispers didn’t respond, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that they were silently judging her.

What did they expect her to do? She didn’t want to fight the only member of her family she’d met in the last hundred years, but if she went back, she’d have to. It seemed unlikely that Rusol would listen to her if she tried to reach out to him again. It was better to just go on her way so she wouldn’t have to take sides.

But then, what would happen to Ditte, who reminded Razai so much of herself at that age? Or Ditte’s brother Harri, angry at the world—a feeling Razai remembered very well?

What about the others? Nedley, who was always so earnest in his attempts to do what everyone else wanted. Shavala and Boktar, the rare sort of traveling companions who were helpful rather than annoying. Leena, the one person who’d apologized for overreacting to the news Razai had brought back from Larso.

And Corec. He’d never treated Razai with any suspicion, even after she told him she’d been sent to spy on him. Why had he always put so much trust in her? It was stupid. He was stupid.

She turned her horse around.

--

Most tershaya in Terevas grew in small groves in or near the city, the royal family’s arborists keeping careful records of each individual tree. Many had been donated by the dorvasta as seedlings, which were then nurtured for their first few years of life in the grounds behind the palace before being transplanted to their final homes.

Ellerie and Vilisa approached the nursery grove in the dark of night, with only their mage lights to light the way. The entire grove was now surrounded by a circle of new-grown, ten-foot-tall trees. Four of the former seedlings on the west end had grown to the same height, the small smears of blood on their trunks not visible in the dark.

Shavala was waiting for them there.

Vilisa wordlessly clasped the dorvasta woman’s hands, then approached the nearest of the trees, running her fingers along the bark.

“It’s so … different,” she said, then stepped back, swaying unsteadily.

Ellerie caught her by the arm. “It takes some getting used to,” she said. It had only been a few hours since her sister had joined the tree bond. It was strange to have this new insight into someone Ellerie had known for most of her life. Vilisa was much harsher than she had been when they were younger, but underneath that, Ellerie could still feel the parts of her sister she knew and loved.

“Are you feeling better now?” Shavala asked.

“Well enough to understand the gift you’ve given us, cousin,” Vilisa said. “Everyone always said we’d lost the bond forever.”

“It was the staff that granted it to us in the first place. It seems it can still serve its purpose.”

Priestess Eloina was the next to reach the grove. She greeted them with a nod, then, as Vilisa had done before her, she approached her own tree, touching her hand to the spot where she’d bled during the ritual.

After a moment of communion, she turned to face them. “She’s on her way. When I left her suite, the porters had just finished preparing the litter.”

Vilisa nodded. “Douse the lights,” she said, extinguishing the mage light which had been bobbing above her head.

Ellerie banished her own light, along with the two she’d left along the path. Revana was sensitive to bright lights, so starlight would have to be sufficient.

Soon they could hear heavy footsteps crunching along the gravel path. Four servants were carrying Revana on a makeshift litter, surrounded by a squad of sentinels. Melithar and Commandant Jorel followed behind the procession. Eloina had tried to insist on having healers present as well, but Revana had refused to rescind her order forbidding them within her presence.

As the litter passed by, the queen held up her hand. The porters stopped, and Ellerie’s mother turned her head on her pillow to look her in the eye.

“So,” Revana said, her voice wheezing in her chest, “now we see if you’re telling the truth.”

“You don’t have to do this, Mother,” Ellerie said. “It could be dangerous.”

“One last … “ Revana stopped to take a breath. “One last adventure. Do you remember, Jorel? Vilar?”

Who was Vilar?

Jorel was the only one to reply. “Yes, Exalted, but please, you can’t—”

“Enough!” That was said with just a hint of Revana’s old strength. “I will not have this argument again.” She signaled the porters and they carried her to Shavala, setting the litter down near one of the seedlings.

Melithar gave a signal dismissing the servants. They seemed eager to leave. Ellerie doubted anyone had explained to them what was going on.

“Can’t you put a stop to this, Exalted?” Commandant Jorel hissed to Ellerie. “She’s too weak. It could kill her!”

Rumors claimed Jorel was Ellerie’s father—hers and Vilisa’s. Revana had always denied it, but she’d said the same thing about every other possibility. Ellerie had never had the courage to ask Jorel directly. If he was her father, he and Revana must have been much closer once than they were now.

Shavala hesitated, giving Ellerie a questioning look.

Ellerie faced Jorel. “How much longer do you want her suffering to continue?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “She is still your queen, and she’s made her decision.”

He scowled but stepped back, and Ellerie gestured to Shavala.

The dorvasta woman knelt down at Revana’s side and carefully cut a slash in her palm. She helped Revana hold her arm out far enough to reach the tree, then set the knife aside to lift the staff in her free hand.

The ritual had become familiar by now. Ellerie had gone through it herself, then witnessed it with Vilisa, Eloina, and two of Vilisa’s closest allies among the noble houses.

Revana held her hand to the trunk as the tree grew just tall enough for its roots to shoot deep into the earth and merge with its neighbors. As the tree’s growth slowed, Revana joined the bond, a swirling mass of anger that nearly drowned out the fear and depression she’d hidden from them all.

She took in a deep, shuddering breath, then turned to face Ellerie and Vilisa. A river of sorrow and regret wove its way throughout her emotions, followed by fondness … and a feeling of relief at whatever she sensed coming back from them.

But that was all.

Perhaps it was fitting that her final words weren’t to her own daughters.

“Thank you,” she told Shavala.

And then she died.