Page 62 of The Shadowbound and the False God

Let him,Aisling nearly shot back. Yalde could search until the end of time; she wouldn’t allow him to make Kael his puppet again—no matter whether some part of Kael might still wish to be.

“The bowl?” Returning her attention to their task, Sudryl had vaulted with that ethereal Fae grace up into the branchesoverhead and was perched close to the trunk of the fourth tree they’d worked on.

Aisling stood on her toes to pass the bowl up to her waiting hands.

“I had to remove a dead branch some time ago,” the faerie explained as she scooped out a handful of the white paste. She smoothed it over a deep divot in the bark. “This helps it heal.”

“Does it rain very much here?” Aisling called to mind the instances of her gathering rainclouds overhead, the droplets cooling and calming the hot flames of panic and anger. Surely if she could call the rain, it must exist naturally, too.

“Rarely,” Sudryl said as she swung down from the branch and landed soundlessly at the tree’s base. Anticipating Aisling’s next question, she added, “Antiata gives them everything they need.”

“Water?”

“Underground. Here—” Sudryl grasped Aisling’s wrist and pulled her to kneel in the dirt. She pressed Aisling’s hand flat beside a small green sprout. “Feel it.”

An order, not a question. At first, Aisling felt only the damp soil, until she shut her eyes and concentrated on the earth beneath her palm. There was a vibration—faint, barely noticeable. But she felt it, just. She nodded.

Sudryl released her grip. “Natural springs. They formed around the root network to keep our gods alive. As cruel as this realm can be, there is kindness here, too.”

Leaving Aisling there still feeling the vibrations—the kindness—beneath the soil, the faerie dusted off her knees and moved on. Aisling stayed a moment longer, eyes closed. She felt connected to the earth in Antiata in a way that she’d only ever felt on Brook Isle. Sudryl’s gesture reminded her of the days she spent with her mother in the woods, learning every inch of the trails, collecting stones and counting rings on nursing logs. It broughta smile to her face—it was the first fond memory of her mother she’d allowed herself in a long time.

Just as Sudryl had knelt at the roots of the rowan trees, Raif was crouched before the great oak atop the cairn, one hand braced against its gnarled bark as he leaned in close. He held himself Fae-still and his brow pulled together as he studied the ruined wood.

“That’s Orist?” Aisling stopped to watch him as she made to join Sudryl at the next rowan tree. She let her eyes trail up the ruined trunk, traveling over the branches to the very top. Some leaves still hung on there, where the blackness hadn’t yet reached.

Sudryl hummed.

“What’s wrong with her?”

The small faerie huffed as she dropped her basket and moved to join Aisling, tilting her pointed chin to follow her gaze. “Darkness, disease, rot. One might think death is inescapable here, but it is inevitable. Orist has fought against Yalde’s claim for a very, very long time.”

“She’s dying?” Aisling’s voice was thick, and she was surprised to find tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away quickly with her sleeve. She wasn’t sure what about the faerie’s matter-of-fact explanation brought so much emotion to well within her—maybe it was that the tree reminded her of Kael. Of his ruined skin; of the way he, too, was fighting the call of Yalde’s darkness. Her view of him was blocked by the cairn now, but she knew he was there, pacing. Listening. Resisting.

Sudryl gave a small nod. “In Wyldraíocht too, from the sounds of it. The state of the Veil tells me it may have reached your home as well. Sickness so vile as this cannot be contained to just one realm.” She paused, then asked, “Your soldier there—you believe him to be a male of his word?”

Aisling looked down at the faerie, who was still watching Raif closely. “Raif? I don’t know him well but…yes. I would say he is.”

“Then he may be the only hope Orist has. The only hope we all have.” Sudryl tore her searching gaze away from Raif to sweep it over the circle of rowan trees.

“How do you mean?”

“He is the reason you’re here, safe. Though it is Antiata’s purpose, refuge isn’t free. We offered our protection for his word that he would find a way to heal her.” Sudryl returned to her basket, raising the small knife to grip its hilt between pointed teeth before disappearing up into the branches.

Instead of joining her, Aisling approached the cairn. Its stones were cool and damp to the touch as she dug the tips of her fingers into the plush moss. Carefully, she pulled herself up and slid her toes into the natural footholds between the rocks. It held her weight easily as she climbed up the side. Raif was waiting for her at the top, one hand outstretched to help her stand. Kael was in full view. Pacing, still. From the higher vantage point, Aisling could see the tension he carried in his shoulders—could practically feel it radiating off of him.

“You might go to him,” Raif suggested. He faced away from her now, having already knelt back down beside Orist.

Aisling changed the subject: “How are you going to heal her?”

Without skipping a beat, Raif changed it right back. “You missed him.”

“Of course I did.” Aisling knelt at his side, placing her own palm against the blackened wood next to his. It was warm. “I still do.”

“And yet you sit here with me when he is there.”

“He isn’t there. He’s still with Yalde.” Raif’s accusation, however true, raised Aisling’s defenses. She did her best to keep her tone even, to keep bitterness from coloring her retort, but it came out harsher than she would have liked regardless.

Raif sighed and looked up at the tree once more. “My hope is Elasha might have an idea. She is far better at this sort of thing than I—healing.”

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