“The Green Man is expecting you,” she said. She raised her head to look at Shakespeare and Saint-Germain and they both quickly bowed. “Does he know you are bringing company?”

The knight nodded. “I told him that I wish to petition a favor.”

The hamadryad turned away and the knight fell into step behind her, taking care not to trip on the cloak of elm leaves that swept along the ground. “The dryads are new,” he said lightly. “I’ve not seen them before.”

“He has called together the forest and tree spirits from all across this Shadowrealm,” the hamadryad said, leading them deeper into Sherwood Forest. “They have been gathering for months.”

Palamedes nodded. “I wondered why I had not heard from him in such a long time. I had heard rumors that he was spending a lot of time in the Shadowrealms.”

Ptelea bowed respectfully as they passed an ancient oak tree, and for an instant the hint of a beautiful female face appeared in the wood; then it sank back again, only the huge golden eyes remaining on the tree trunk, watching them.

Shakespeare and Saint-Germain looked at one another but said nothing. It took an enormous effort of will not to stare at the tree.

“A sister?” Palamedes asked.

“Balanos,” she said.

Palamedes nodded. He knew Balanos was the hamadryad of the oak, but he’d never seen her in Sherwood Forest before.

“Are all the forest spirits here?” Shakespeare asked. “Dryads, hamadryads, wood nymphs…? I would very much like to see them.”

“They are all here,” Ptelea whispered.

“Why?” Palamedes wondered. He understood that the forest spirits were solitary creatures, living in isolated forests and woods across the world.

When Ptelea spoke, the knight could hear a thread of excitement in her voice. “The Green Man has spent the last five centuries re-creating his favorite Shadowrealm, the Grove of Eridhu. It will be ready soon,” she added, “and then he will lead us away from this foul and poisoned place and return us to a world of trees.”

Looking at the Bard, the knight raised his eyebrows in a question.

“And what will happen to this world without the Green Man?” Shakespeare asked.

The hamadryad waved her long arms dismissively. “It is not our concern.” Her head turned completely around, with the sound of cracking wood, and all three immortals quickly looked away from her face. “I have heard that this Shadowrealm will soon return to its Elder masters. We do not want to be here when that happens.”

“Where did you hear that?” Palamedes demanded.

“I told them.” The voice that spoke was male: slow and deep, it vibrated up through the ground, shivering in the air, setting all the leaves trembling.

Ptelea pulled her leafy cloak around her and stepped aside. Pressing herself against an elm tree, she sank into it. For a moment her beautiful face lingered on the bark of the tree; then she closed her eyes and vanished.