“They’re already gone,” Croi says. “You should save yourself.”

The Tine King must hear something in her voice because his brows draw together and he gives her a look. A look that Croi ignores.

“We will take your tree along with us,” Tinder says. Perceiving the question in Ceara’s eyes, she explains. “She can travel without taking the tree, but I’m sure she’d much rather not return here. Right?”

The nymph hesitates, then nods.

Lorcan returns to where the retinue has stopped and brings back two soldiers, who dig up the young nymph’s tree and replant it in a pot. The tree is as young as the wood nymph. She follows her tree back to the Tine procession, anxious to keep it in her sight at all times.

Tinder returns to Croi, hiding in her hair without speaking. Nobody in the group speaks. The Tine King seems lost in his thoughts while Lorcan seems alert for any kind of threat to Ceara’s safety. Croi is just glad her chest has stopped hurting.

How long do you think we have remaining?

“Can we not think about this until we reach the Caisleán?” Croi replies sourly.

Not thinking about our upcoming death won’t magickally make it go away.

Croi ignores her. At this point, Tinder regains some of her spirit and whispers, “Ceara said she mentioned your strength to Monca and how you proved yourself against her. Perhaps the brownie mother considered you a threat.…”

“I knew she looked at me wrongly,” Croi mutters.

The rest of the journey is remarkably uneventful. Three long hours have passed when Croi feels the Calling for the first time. It calls the deepest parts of her, the parts where she exists only in thought. The feeling spreads until her body is straining toward whatever is calling. This calling is not a sound she can hear but something unspoken she can feel. She urges Enbarr to go faster, but they are hemmed in by the kin around them. She wriggles impatiently, nearly upsetting Tinder from her perch on her shoulder. The pixie snaps her annoyance, and her wings almost slice Croi’s cheek open. Croi mumbles an apology, but she flies ahead to find another shoulder to shelter on. Croi doesn’t call her back. This is not an experience she can share or even translate into words.

The trees they pass, though lacking vibrant magick, are taller and more imposing, perhaps aware of their exalted positions near the center of the kingdom. The forest feels like it continues for eternity. Croi is almost out of patience when the trees suddenly fall away.

The entire group comes to a standstill on the edge of a mountain. The Caisleán is in a valley surrounded by mountains. Numerous waterfalls cascade down their sides, joining a river that meanders its way through the valley, dipping below ground, then reappearing until its path is hidden by a dense wall of trees surrounding the Caisleán. From their vantage point, Croi can see the Caisleán fully. Its beauty is more than her mind is capable of comprehending.