Contents ( 41)
- CAST OF CHARACTERS
- ACT ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- ACT TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- ACT THREE
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- ALSO BY NAFIZA AZAD
There is a scream. It may have been Croi’s. Or the dryad’s. Croi watches, shock turning her limbs to stone, not knowing what to do.
Only a few seconds pass, or perhaps an entire lifetime, before the dryad wrenches her hand out of her chest and holds it out to Croi. In her hand is a seed, the size of a small human’s fist, covered in green sap. It is pulsing softly; the dryad’s gold-green magick runs in veins around the surface of it.
“Take it,” the dryad says, her voice torn and ragged, her eyes stormy and wet. “Take it,” she begs.
TEN
WE ARE WORDS, CROI. BREATHING words, walking words, words come to life, and words become flesh and blood. When we gather, we have meaning, we tell stories. But sometimes, we come undone. And sometimes”—Uaine looks at Croi, her eyes glittering—“our stories end.”
She is sitting on the forest floor as though her body won’t support her anymore. Trembling, the dryad presses her cheek against her tree trunk. She is diminished. The magick has left her body and now resides inside Croi’s pack, wrapped in one of the diaphanous scarves she filched from the market.
“Get my SoulSeed to my sister.” Uaine’s voice is a mere rustle. Her eyes find Croi’s and hold on. “You must not fail me.”
Croi laughs slightly, and the dryad raises her eyebrow in question. “You speak as though I have the strength to resist anyone with more power than me. Sure, I am going to exert all effort to get your SoulSeed to where it should go, but I might still fail in the end. You speak in absolutes. Have you forgotten that you initially called me ‘little maybe’?”
Uaine shrugs, the gesture not as eloquent as it would have been half an hour ago.
“Why do you take this risk?” Croi asks. “You don’t know who I am or what I am.” Of course, Croi doesn’t know who she is either, but she’s not the one handing her heart to strangers.
“Because there isn’t anyone else around,” Uaine replies, looking at Croi with her head tilted to one side. A grimace contorts the dryad’s features and she convulses in pain. “I will sleep now.” Uaine uses the lower branches of her tree to pull herself up. Croi gets to her feet as well. Uaine faces her tree and shudders.
She turns around as though she has forgotten something, and Croi stiffens, wondering if the dryad has more commands for her. She watches Uaine reach for a majesty that is no longer present. The dryad’s composure slips, and, looking haunted, she takes a step toward Croi, stretching out a hand toward the not-brownie’s pack. Croi stands still, some previously dormant instinct for survival rooting her in place. The dryad stops before her hand touches the pack and squeezes her eyes shut. Her hand falls back to her side. She presses the palm of her other hand to her chest, right above where her SoulSeed used to reside.