“Even if they are dying in front of them?”

“Even then. Can I go on with the story, or do you have any more questions?” Croi wisely shakes her head, and the pixie continues. “Dryads can live forever, but if their tree is destroyed, they will die. Blanaid’s preference for the young prince made her a target for his enemies. One account of the night the dryads fell says that Blanaid was with the prince when the enemies burnt down her tree. She would have died had it not been for Uaine, who was forced to break her neutrality to save her sister. Though she succeeded in saving Blanaid, a large portion of the Caisleán was destroyed in the fight.” Tinder stops speaking.

“Why are you stopping? That can’t be the end! How can you stop?”

“I just paused to catch my breath! Anyway, the prince Blanaid was in love with gave her a new tree, but one that cost her the heart with which she had loved him. Her new body was made from wood and stone.”

“What?” Croi’s voice cracks, and she has a hideous feeling she knows who Blanaid is.

The Hag.

“I know. Songs are still sung about her sacrifice because though she lived, she could no longer love. Her relationship with Uaine soured, and they become estranged. Uaine blamed Blanaid for forcing her to break her vow and left the Caisleán, unable to carry on protecting what she helped destroy. Blanaid left next; the reasons for her departure are not recorded by the books. The youngest dryad, Enya, retreated to the heart of the Caisleán, no longer venturing out to walk the grounds and sing the songs of magick.”

“So only the youngest dryad was present when the Forever King was killed during the last Saol ceremony?” Croi asks.

“I would assume so. Uaine and Blanaid haven’t been in the Otherworld for centuries.” Tinder sighs. “Do you think things would have been different had they been present?”

No. Uaine wouldn’t have interfered in the business of the kin—not unless the Caisleán was threatened.

Croi says as much, and the conversation fades.

Why do you think Uaine chose us to bear her SoulSeed?

“Because there was no one else. She said as much.”

Surely you didn’t believe her. There may have not been anyone present, but do you think she really needs a kin to transport her SoulSeed? She has enough magick to figure out a way to get her SoulSeed to her sister without us.

“So she wants something from us?”

But what could it be?

“Perhaps the same thing the kin who summoned us does.”

Croi sinks deep into her thoughts and rides silently, watching the trees that she passes by. The magicks of the various flora are pale in color, and that is concerning enough, but the magick of the earth in which they grow is also weak. The strands are slow and sluggish, thinning in places they have no business thinning.

Suddenly a keening cuts through the diminished Talamh song; the sound pulls at Croi’s heart so intensely that it burns hot in her chest. She gasps, and Enbarr, her sand-horse, reacts to her pain. He, entirely of his own volition, steps out of the procession. Though the Tine kin and the soldiers watch her leave, no one makes any move to stop her. Croi closes her eyes against the pain and allows Enbarr to move off the road and into the forest.