Page 29 of This Midsummer Heart
When I am through, I tell her I am off to see if Daegris Silverbeard has found some spare clothes and supplies for me. I’m not worried about Daegris being abed after drinking too many glasses of spirits; the man barely sleeps, despite being of low elf blood, and he can handle his liquor after years of gleefully upholding pirate stereotypes.
“Wait here,” I tell her. “I shouldn’t be long.”
Titaine offers no reply.
I open the door to a completely changed Wood. The treetops are bustling, despite Daegris’s assertion that many of their people left for Nox in the last year. Lunevelle is as busy a city as ever—even if it is because the surroundings towns and villages have emptied into this protected city.
I am surprised by the number of moon elves who bow and hurry past me as I descend the confusing connected spirals of the treetops. It’s a little strange, seeing so many moon elves out at this early hour. They usually favor the dark. But since that is no longer safe, there seem to be plenty of elves hurrying to do their laundry in the tributaries of the River Talone or descending the city in the trees with bows or empty baskets for harvest.
They’re adapting,I think,as we all must.But still, they do not think it enough.
It is strange to think of this Wood lost entirely to dark fae and dark creatures, this bright spot of elven civilization vanishing when the last of the moon elves leave. Daegris said they will join Lusida in the Wood she now rules, but it did not sound as though he approved of Cassandra’s plan.
Ever the pirate, he’d rather brave the increasingly wild seas and sail for Nox.
I may have promised him my aid, should we find working runes in that city. But it’s an empty promise, and we both know it. That sort of magic, held together by rules and fixed in place with mystic letters, won’t last long in the outside world.
My heart grows heavier as I reach Daegris’s civic office, low on one of the central trees.
“You’re in luck,” he tells me the moment I stride in. “I found you a good traveling pack, only a little worn and stitched. We have a good number of cast-offs from those who left. You ought to be able to find something to wear, too.”
The office—a sort of antechamber for those seeking to meet with the Lady of Nerania Wood—is shockingly bare. There was a time when it was bustling.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“You probably passed them,” Daegris says, a rough edge to his voice as he lifts a crate of clothing onto a desk. “We can’t hold our assistants to normal work hours, now that everything must be done in the light of day. Even a stormy day with heavy cloud cover gets a bit…unruly in the Wood.”
I take a moment to pick through the clothing, almost discarding an oversized tunic with sleeves, until I hear Titaine’s voice, mocking me for my sleeveless traveling clothes. I set it aside, just in case I don’t find anything better.
I’m sure Daegris has scissors around here somewhere.
“I am sorry for it,” I tell Daegris, “for what’s happened to Nerania Wood.” He helps me search through the clothing, occasionally holding up something I’d look ridiculous in and donning a wicked half-grin, but does not reply.
“I’ve sent word to the storehouse, which you’ll find manned by our fussiest elven elders at this time of day,” Daegris says when I’ve found a couple more suitable items; regrettably, I have to plan for cooler weather on the southern continent, and stuff the long-sleeve shirt into my new travel pack. “No doubt they’ll pack plenty of food for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, instead of asking whether he can spare it. I don’t think my expression of sympathy sat well with him and his pride.
“You’re king,” he says, scratching at the short stubble of his silver beard. “You have nothing to thank us for. It’s yours to take anyway.”
“You may be confusing monarchy with piracy there.”
“Not sure that I am.” He frowns. “Are you certain you and Titaine can make it to Nox? The reports from the Bridge of Miracles aren’t very optimistic.”
“What do you mean?”
Reports are the sort of thing Robin would read, or one of my other assistants. They’re the sort of thing Titaine absolutely reads.
Daegris regards me for an uncomfortably long moment. “The tides at the Bridge of Miracles are becoming unpredictable—almost as if affected by the same chaos magic we are facing here. Merchant vans have returned, having lost half their train, because the tide was out on one half of the land bridge, and came roaring in on the other.”
“That’s not—thatshouldn’tbe possible.”
“If I were you,” Daegris says, stroking what’s left of his beard, “I’d make sure Titaine has a plan. One that doesn’t include leaving you behind to drown.”
“She wouldn’t.” Would she? “She must be planning to control the tide with her magic.”
“This is no time to be relying on magic, Auberon. I’m surprised she still has that much at her command.”
“Well, she does. She’s fae.” I shrug. “Chaos is sewn into their being. She’s still managing well enough.”
