I would speak with you, Phae replied, edging closer. The shadows thickened quickly. She could just glimpse the mammoth oak ahead. The trunk was straight and rigid, but the branches seemed a tangle of snakes.

Come alone then.

Phae squeezed his hand and then disengaged, motioning for him to wait nearby. With cautious steps, Phae approached the enormous Dryad tree. There were no longer any leaves crowning it, but thick clusters of mistletoe garnished the branches. It was almost beautiful, but it smelled of rot.

I’m here, Phae thought to her. What is your name?

You think I’m a fool and will reveal it so easily?

You’re not a fool, Phae replied. You are ancient and powerful.

Flattery.

As Phae drew closer, she averted her eyes and kept them on the ground. Her ears were keen for the sound of an ambush. She did not want to summon the Vaettir words yet, but she was ready to. She was nervous and edgy, wondering how she could persuade the other.

You are a child. An acorn. You think you can persuade a Dryad-born who has seen the ages of the world come and pass?

Phae bit her lip. What have you seen of the world trapped in this forsaken place?

I saw Tyrus Paracelsus. I saw him fail. My memories are deeper than the roots. Deeper than your timid imaginations. I have supped with kings. I have tasted the forbidden wine. You are nothing compared to me.

Phae reached the trunk and tentatively reached out her hand. Show yourself.

To what purpose, child? You are a sister, yes. But you are not here to claim my tree and free me. You spurn our kind.

Phae touched the bark. It was hard and cold, like stone. The wood was ancient beyond anything she had ever experienced. Her fingers played across the rugged grooves, imagining the memories trapped deep inside. What secrets were hidden there?

Many secrets. Deep secrets. You will die before you claim your birthright. Already your seed is failing.

Phae heard the snapping sound of twigs from the other side of the tree. Her heart began to race. She steeled her courage.

If I could free you, would you let me? Phae asked her.

A flutter of emotion blew across her feelings like a breeze—full of disdain. You did not come here to free me.

Do you yearn for freedom? Let me help you!

Another snapping sound. Phae closed her eyes tightly, listening to every movement.

You cannot help me. You cannot free me unless you bond with my tree. Save your breath, acorn. You are only a tool wielded by another’s hand. We are alike.

Phae sensed the presence of the Dryad around the side of the massive trunk. Immediately, her mind was besieged with the impulse to look at her. It was a craving, a hunger much deeper than the want of thirst for water. The urge buzzed inside her mind with immense force, the curiosity like an itch that could only be scratched by looking.

Look at me, the Dryad whispered to her. See what you will become. See the curse in your blood with your own eyes. I wish I were never born.

Phae hugged the tree, pressing her face into the hard seams and cracks in the stone-hewn bark. She shivered uncontrollably, trying to resist the imperious urge that blackened her mind.

You think you can resist me forever? You will look at me, Sister. My will has been honed on the whetstone since the woods were first lit by dawn. Look on me!

Phae shuddered, feeling sweat streak down her forehead. The force of the thought was like a huge thunderhead, making her feel as insignificant as a field mouse. How could she defy such a presence?

I exist. See the cruelty of it. The portal to Mirrowen is closed. There are no whispers. The Seneschal has abandoned us. Look and see!

Phae began to sob. She squeezed the tree so hard that her cheek burned. Tears dripped down her chin, but she refused to look, refused to give in despite the fury of the Dryad’s thoughts.

Suddenly the Dryad’s thoughts turned to hissing and fury, a woman spurned. Phae felt her father’s strong hands on her shoulders as he pulled her away from the tree.

“You’ve done enough,” he whispered to her. “You did your best. Shion, take her.”

Her emotions were still reeling from the brunt of the Dryad’s thoughts. She felt Shion grip her arm and she hugged him as tightly as she did the oak, pressing her cheek against his chest, willing the pain inside her mind to stop. The feelings of futility still staggered her. The madness inside the Dryad’s mind—being perpetually trapped inside the husk of a tree, with no one to relieve her, bound for a thousand lifetimes because there was no man willing to come and be her husband and forge a daughter to take her place. The wasting sickness of the Dryad’s mind was beyond reckoning.

“Shion,” she gasped with shock. She shook her head, trying to quell her emotions.