Chapter 21

Ellerie did her best to ignore the commotion as the foraging crew loaded baskets and sacks full of berries into the wagon bed. She was supposed to be working out a schedule for Shavala, but she had too much on her mind to make any progress. Leena had visited Terevas that morning only to find out that Revana’s heart had stopped briefly the night before, then was started again by her attending healer—much to Revana’s anger. According to Vilisa, Her Exalted Majesty had left orders that healers were no longer allowed in her presence.

Ellerie had been debating whether to return home again, but was there any point? It was too late to save her relationship with her mother, and she would only be a distraction for Vilisa, who was attempting to shore up her position with the noble houses.

A hand waved in front of Ellerie’s face and she blinked, realizing someone had been speaking her name.

“Are you all right?” Shavala asked.

“I’m ... yes, I was just thinking. Will one wagon a day be enough?”

The plan was for the foragers—mostly refugees who hadn’t found other work—to keep some of the haul for themselves, sell some to the other settlers, and dry the rest for long-term storage. It was a partial solution to multiple problems, allowing the refugees to stock up for the winter while bringing in a bit of coin to support themselves. Once the harvest came to an end, the foraging crews would have enough time to claim land for themselves before the next growing season.

“For the berries, yes,” Shavala said, tracing shapes in the air with her finger to keep the little dragon distracted and away from the work crew. “I’d like to go for the apples next week, and we’ll need five or six wagons a day for those.”

“You have apples this early in the year?” Ellerie asked.

Shavala shrugged. “I was regrowing the orchards anyway, so I accelerated the growth. Probably more than I should have—it took two days, even with the staff—but Corec asked me to keep people busy, and most of the other crops aren’t ready for harvesting yet.”

Ellerie nodded. “We can get you six wagons. We have plenty of them, and plenty of mules with nothing to do. Boktar will make sure you have what you need.”

“I thought he was coming out today.”

“He’s training new drivers for that coal-mining crew from South Corner, so I offered to take his place,” Ellerie said. Plus she’d needed the distraction.

The foragers had finished loading their haul for the day, and the driver looked back at Ellerie for direction. She gestured for him to go ahead without her, so he clicked his tongue and the mules set off to the east. The foraging crew followed behind the wagon, on their way back to the newly settled villages of Pinewood and Skunk Hollow.

“You’re not going with them?” Shavala asked.

“I wanted to talk to you first,” Ellerie said. “You probably haven’t heard that Yelena’s in Sanvara City now. And Leena says the Seekers found the branch of the snake cult that attacked the Zidari camps. The Travelers and the army are going after them.”

Shavala sighed, staring out at the horizon. “A waste of life,” she said, though it wasn’t clear whether she meant the initial attacks or the idea of the perpetrators being hunted down. Knowing Shavala, it was probably both.

Ellerie envied her sometimes. “What is the tree bond like?” she asked.

Shavala tilted her head to the side, wrinkling her brow at the change of topic. “We’ve talked about that before.”

“No, not that. I mean ... what is it really like?”

“I wouldn’t know who I was without it,” Shavala said. “I don’t know how you manage, not being able to feel that connection.”

“You told me once that I still have the bond, but that it’s broken.”

“Not broken, just different.”

Ellerie watched Risingwind curl up for a nap. “Can you fix it?” she said. If the other woman had been able to give the tree bond to the young dragon, surely that was within her power as well.

Shavala hesitated. “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “I asked Zhailai to bring two seedlings just in case. One was always meant for Risingwind if he needed it, but the other was going to be for you. Then things didn’t go how I expected with him, so I decided not to mention it.”

“Wouldn’t that just be because he’s not an elf?”

“Yes and no,” Shavala said, her voice distant. “Dragons are part of the elder magic, like our own people are, but there was something else there too.” Then she shook her head. “But that wouldn’t matter for you.”

“Then you’ll try?” Ellerie asked. Shavala always projected an air of peaceful serenity, even when she was jumping into something without thinking it through. If Ellerie could feel some portion of that, perhaps she could mend things with her sister. Perhaps she could face her mother one last time.

“Do you really want me to? If it works, I won’t be able to undo it.”

“My mother is dying,” Ellerie said. She wasn’t sure if anyone had mentioned that to Shavala yet. “My sister is mad at me for leaving. Leena wants to try something dangerous and she won’t talk to the others about it first. We’re all expecting to be attacked by Larso, but we can’t tell anyone about it until we know for sure. I just need... something. The dorvasta are always so calm.”

“You’d be surprised,” Shavala said with an enigmatic quirk to her lips. Then she took the staff from where she’d left it propped against one of the old cabins. “Let’s go. I planted your seedling with the other tershaya.” The grove was visible on the far side of the abandoned village.

“What, now?” Ellerie asked. “Will it be dangerous?”

“No,” Shavala said. “It was only dangerous with Risingwind because he bit me. For you, it’ll either work or it won’t. I just didn’t want to promise you something until I was sure I could do it.”

They made their way to the grove, where a single tiny seedling was surrounded by other young trees. They were small for tershaya, but each had plenty of room to grow.

Shavala drew her belt knife. “I’ll need a bit of blood,” she said, gesturing to Ellerie’s hand.

“For the magic? I thought blood didn’t actually do anything.” Ellerie wasn’t an expert on dorvasta magical rituals, but she’d read enough to know that.

“There was a time when it did, and this magic is very old.”

Ellerie held out her palm, trying not to wince when Shavala sliced into it. Blood welled up into a little pool in her cupped hand.

They knelt down together and Shavala had her wrap her hand around the seedling’s stem. Or its trunk. Ellerie wasn’t sure of the right terminology when it could hardly be called a tree yet.

“Hold onto it until I say to let go,” Shavala said. “It needs to get big enough to root-bond with the others.” She sat cross-legged with the staff across her lap, closing her eyes.

The seedling began to expand upward and outward, and Ellerie grimaced in pain as the emerging bark scraped against the cut on her palm. Her blood left a smear on the tree, and she had to stand up and take a step back to avoid being knocked over as it continued to grow.

The growth slowed when it reached the others in height, but Shavala didn’t move from her position.

Ellerie waited in silence, taking in the buzzing of insects and the scent of sun-warmed pine needles. As she did, she became aware of the faint presence of the tershaya surrounding her. Her own tree provided the strongest sensation at first, but then it slowly faded until it matched the others.

There was a brighter spot of emotions close by—Shavala’s warm friendship gently buttressing Ellerie’s thoughts.

A bundle of curiosity came bounding over. Risingwind had never paid Ellerie much attention before, but now he sniffed at her, questioning whether she’d brought him any food.

And deep below it all was the sensation that everything around her was connected to everything else. Ellerie sniffed, realizing tears were gathering in her eyes.

“This ... this...” she started, then paused, unsure of what she wanted to say.

Shavala gave her a small smile. “You can let go now, you know.”

“Is this how you feel all the time?” Ellerie asked.

“I changed it,” the other woman said. “The dorvasta tree bond is too strong. It forces us to come to a consensus even when we don’t agree. You’ll feel what we feel, but you’ll always be able to choose for yourself.”

Ellerie nodded, her mind made up. “Will you come with me to Terevas?”

Trentin peered out at the dusty smudge to the northwest, then brought his spyglass back up to his eye. A dozen men on horseback led the procession, followed by many more on foot. The figures were too far away for him to see any details, but the whole thing had a military feel.

“Is there a big group due in today?” he asked.

Cason shrugged. “Not that I know of, but there have been a lot of messengers going back and forth.”

The two of them were on duty at the lookout tower facing the Telfort Road. Watch duty was tedious, but at least it was half-pay, which was better than Trentin had managed since returning to Fort Hightower. Even after Kevik’s expulsion, the dragon fighters were still out of favor with the senior knights.

Trentin handed over the spyglass so Cason could take a look.

“Are those soldiers?” Cason said. “I thought we were supposed to be sending the extra men here back the other direction, not getting more.”

“Has Matagor been making noise?” There hadn’t been any border disputes in over a century, but unless the hillfolk somehow got themselves organized, Matagor was the only nation large enough and close enough to offer a true threat.

“How would I know?” Cason said. “Nobody tells me anything anymore.”

Trentin nodded. “I’ll run it in.” Although the knights had an official policy of stationing a messenger at each tower, the priests refused to pay for them. They insisted that when the kingdom wasn’t at war, the duty officers could do the job just as well.

At ground level, Trentin retrieved his horse from the small stable attached to the tower. Walking would have probably been fast enough—the Telfort Road was the safest approach in the region, and no one would attack Hightower from that direction—but he didn’t want to risk losing the one duty he’d been allowed to take on. After saddling the mare, he set out, crossing through the town’s main residential district on his way to the inner fortress.

Hightower was a less welcoming place than it had once been. Willem was dead, Kevik was gone, and the few remaining members of the squadron had fallen under a cloud of suspicion. Even Sir Hordin, who’d been part of their squad, would only stop to talk if no one else was around to see them together.

Trentin couldn’t really blame him. Kevik had sent Hordin to Telfort before the rest of the group had run into Corec, so the man had managed to avoid any damage to his reputation. He wanted to keep it that way.

Trentin’s own reputation hadn’t been that strong to begin with, and now it was in tatters. He could fight well enough—despite Georg’s comments to the contrary—but he wasn’t good at leading people the way Kevik was, and he’d never managed to distinguish himself in any way. The dragon should have changed that, but instead it had made everything worse.

How was he supposed to face his family? His father had scrimped and saved for years until he could afford to buy Trentin a place within the knights, wanting to give him an honorable and respected position. Now that position hung by a thread.

Trentin hadn’t made the trip home to Saldar yet, but rumors must have reached them by now. He was sure to get a letter soon. He’d spent a good chunk of time thinking about how he’d compose his reply.

At the fortress’s inner courtyard, the only full knight out and about was the new armsmaster, Sir Levit, who was showing a new batch of trainees how to fight against a man in armor. Levit was one of the priests’ toadies, but luckily he wasn’t in the chain of command, so Trentin didn’t have to stop to talk.

He found Sir Loris in the man’s personal quarters. After the explanation, the senior knight just nodded. “Understood. You may go.”

“They’re expected, then?” Trentin asked.

“Of course.”

“Who are they?”

Loris stared at him for a moment before responding. “That’s none of your business, knight. Return to your post.”

Trentin turned and left without speaking, stalking out of the inner fortress before he could say something that would get him into more trouble.

He was nearly back at the lookout tower when he saw a familiar figure ride in through the Telfort Gate, followed by a squadron of the king’s mercenaries in their black armor.

“Barat?” Trentin asked. “What’s going on?” The group had to have come from the larger force marching toward the town.

Barat looked back at the squadron commander. “Go to fort,” he told the man, pointing him in the right direction. “I will come soon.” His accent was as strong as ever.

The mercenary saluted, then waved at his men to follow.