Blood? Suddenly the splinter in Croi’s hand digs deeper, and the dryad closes her eyes as if relishing some flavor on her tongue.

She shakes her head after a while, looking frustrated. “Your blood tastes as though I know it. I feel as though I should know its name, but strangely, I can’t speak it. Is what you are a secret?” Her eyes are bright. “I do so love secrets. Tell me.” She moves closer to Croi with each sentence until her face is barely a breath away.

“I used to be the Hag’s brownie,” Croi offers.

“The Hag?” The dryad’s voice drops several octaves, and a peculiar expression arranges her features. A story is limned on that face. This dryad has her own secrets.

“The Hag of the Wilde Forest? Perhaps you know her?” Croi hopes the Hag’s name and reputation are enough to save her.

“You used to be the Hag’s brownie?” The dryad eyes her. “Are you no longer? Why can’t I recognize you as kin?”

“I’m no longer the Hag’s, nor am I a brownie,” Croi replies after a long moment. That particular betrayal is far too fresh to speak of.

“What are you, then?”

Croi shrugs. “I have no idea.”

The dryad doesn’t seem to believe her words. A second later, the splinter burrows farther into her flesh. Croi hisses her pain, but the dryad’s face clears.

“It turns out that your blood is heavily magicked, and with dragon magick at that. Hmm. A Glamouring this strong has to be done with the aid of dragon magick. Who has been consorting with dragons without my knowledge? But, ah! The Glamour is breaking, is it not?”

Croi stares at the dryad wide-eyed. “Did you say ‘dragon magick’? No, more importantly, do you know what I am underneath this Glamour?”

The dryad gives her a long look, something suspiciously like pity flitting through her eyes. In the end, however, she doesn’t answer Croi’s questions and lifts a shoulder in a languid shrug. “You will find out when you need to.”

Croi scoffs. Here is someone else who doesn’t want to answer her questions. “Did someone trap you in here?” she asks the older kin instead.

“Trap me?” The dryad’s laughter is a rich concoction of confidence and power. “No one can trap me. I am the keeper of this clearing, little maybe. I take care of the humans who wander where they should not.”

“But why are you holding me? I’m not human!” Croi is greatly offended.

“You aren’t, but as I said, I can’t tell if you are kin. The magick can’t either, so it brought you to this clearing for my evaluation,” the dryad explains.

“Now that you know I’m kin, can you let me go?” Croi shakes the wrist the vine is wrapped around.

“If I don’t hold you, you will be walking to wherever the spell is summoning you.” Croi winces, unable to deny the tree creature’s words. “Who is summoning you?”

Croi doesn’t reply. She doesn’t know the answer.