“Watch this,” she says, nodding her head to the five fae who have gathered around the new frame of the building. The branches of a massive oak tree nearby stretch toward the structure. Limbs weave themselves between the metal beams, growing quickly in a crisscross pattern. When an entire section is fully covered, the leaves die off, leaving only the wood from the tree wrapped tightly between metal beams. A fae chops the tree each place it connects to the building, and the branches that had stretched out return to the tree. Several humans climb up on the structure and begin sanding down the woven wood until it’s smooth. They repeat the process again on the next structure.

“That’s incredible,” I whisper, and Laurel gives me a wide and genuine smile. “And so efficient.”

“Thayarians are powerful plant channelers, and we use that in as many ways as we can,” she says, genuine admiration for her people clear in her expression. We stand together while the build team covers the structure in wood and sands it down. Fionn and Silene join us, the same awe on their faces.

“Imagine if we could do this in the Floating Market,” Fionn murmurs. “Merchants could replace the worn wood every year to keep the buildings safer and more secure.”

“All you need is a few plant channelers and the right materials,” Laurel tells him. “You can even bring in a potted tree if there are none nearby. Something that’s water resistant.”

“If there are light channelers here who got stuck after the war, there are certainly plant channelers in Velmara who are afraid to identify themselves,” I say, and Laurel shudders. Silene grips her hand, always aware of the comfort others need, and I regret my words. Of course they make her feel guilt—I should have been more careful.

Fionn coughs, then adds, “We’ll have to try it when we get home. Whenever that is.” Laurel only nods.

Desperate to change the subject and bring the smile back to her face, I bump her with my hip. “I’m sure Laurel is ready for us to depart any day now.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again, before looking between the three of us. “You know,” she says, “I’m actually not. I can’t even jest with you. I’ve enjoyed getting to know all three of you.” Her cheeks redden at the admission, and I smirk, though internally my organs feel like they’re exploding. Her small admission lights me up with hope and longing.

“We’re irresistible, we know,” I tease, trying to break the tension for both her and myself. Laurel and Silene both snort, then link arms and sashay away together.

“Those two are trouble,” Fionn says in mock seriousness before grinning at me.

“Trouble is an understatement.”

Hawthorne