“What is it?” Croi nods. “Are you thinking I’m not up to the task of transporting your SoulSeed? You should have thought of that before I gave my word! You aren’t going to change your mind now, are you?”

The dryad doesn’t reply and Croi gets more anxious.

“These Caisleáns aren’t places I can easily waltz into… right?” She thinks of Irial and brightens. He lives in the Caisleán. He can help her find the central hall. As for getting to the Caisleán, she’ll find a way.

“The high fae live in the Caisleáns, so no, they’re not places you can simply dance into,” Uaine replies.

“What are high fae? Are there low fae? Why do you all have to make life so complicated?” Croi tries to run her hands through her hair, but it’s too tangled, so she gives up.

“High fae are those descended from the ranks of Fionar and her companions,” Uaine says, as if this is all general knowledge. “Lesser fae are those whose original forms are beasts of various kinds.”

“What kind of a person was Fionar?” Croi asks with some interest.

“Why are you asking me?” Uaine frowns.

“You’re old enough to have known her, right?” The dryad’s age actually has a physical weight. Interacting with her is exhausting because her age translates to power. She’s like cheese; the older it is, the riper it is. Croi smirks to herself at the thought.

“I am,” Uaine says softly. “She was an idealist and a pacifist. She gave up her magick and her life for peace. Not many kin could do that.”

“I certainly couldn’t do that,” Croi replies. “One last question. How do you know which elemental kingdom you belong to? Can you choose?”

“Didn’t your Hag teach you this?” Uaine asks.

“She might have, but at that time, I didn’t think it necessary for me to know,” Croi mutters, chagrin coloring her cheeks red.

“By the magick you wield. Kin can only wield one elemental magick. That’s why Fionar’s sundering works so well.” Uaine sweeps a glance over Croi. “The eyes of kin are usually a giveaway too. Talamh kin have eyes ringed by different shades of green and brown, as those of Talamh wield earth magick.”

Croi’s stomach growls loudly in the silence that follows the dryad’s words, and she rubs her stomach. It has suffered. “How do I get to the Otherworld from here?”

“Follow the magick,” Uaine says.

“That simple?” Croi looks at her doubtfully.

“You will find out,” she says.

“For your sake, I hope you’re right. Now give me your SoulSeed, and I will be on my way.”

The dryad seems to shrink in on herself for a second before she straightens. “If my sister isn’t around and there is no time, plant my SoulSeed in the earth.”

“I will do my best. What is your sister’s name?”

“You won’t need it.”

Croi holds out her hand for the SoulSeed. Uaine looks at Croi’s outstretched hand and then at her tree. She takes a step closer to it and embraces it for a long moment. Croi lets her hand fall back to her side. The dryad moves away from the tree and stands in front of Croi, who starts at the look in her eyes. Terror tinges the tree creature’s irises dark. The dryad takes a deep shuddering breath, and before Croi can say or do anything, she plunges a hand tipped with sharp nails into her own chest.