“Why?”
“Because connections mean caring. And caring means pain when you lose someone. He’s had enough of both.”
I followed them into the tree, trying to ignore the weird awareness of Kaelren somewhere ahead of me. The Sage had said our marks were connected, but that didn’t mean I had to feel it, right? Except I could feel something—a thread I could almost touch, a pulse that matched mine. I told myself it was just the aftereffects of having moss-person show me the entire history of plant life. Not a connection. Definitely not a connection.
Behind us, the crew dismounted their bees. Bryx was cooing over Kevin, telling him what a good bee he was. Vashael was already spreading her pollen, marking territory. Nimor had half-vanished into shadow. Eltrien was checking supplies with the methodical care of someone who knew everything could go wrong at any moment. Sarnyx was watching me with those blood-colored eyes, probably calculating how many pieces she could cut me into.
“Welcome to Vyn Hollow,” she said as she passed me. “Try not to die on your first day. It sets a bad precedent.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what they all say.” She paused, looking at me with something that might have been pity. “You know he’s going to get you killed, right? Kaelren. He destroys everything he touches.”
“Including himself?”
“Especially himself.” She walked away before I could respond.
The inside of the tree was hollow, carved into spiraling chambers that went up beyond what I could see and down into darkness. Lights floated freely, little wisps of luminescence that followed people around like pets. The walls were covered in writing that shifted languages when I tried to read it.
“Don’t look too closely,” Eltrien advised, appearing at my side. “The writing here can drive you mad if you’re not prepared for it.”
“What does it say?”
“Everything. Nothing. The truth you most need to hear and the lie you most want to believe.” He guided me away from the walls. “The Sage likes their games.”
“Games?”
“Tests. Lessons. Tortures. In the Hollow, they’re all the same thing.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“Yes,” he agreed simply. “But it’s also effective. If you survive.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll burn your body with honors and Kaelren will blame himself for the rest of his probably-short life.”
“He’d blame himself?”
Eltrien looked at me with those silver eyes, and I saw knowledge there, the weight of witnessing patterns repeat. “He blames himself for everything. It’s his most consistent trait. Well, that and the brooding.”
“He does brood a lot.”
“It’s an art form with him. Professional-level brooding. Sometimes I think he practices in the mirror.”
Despite everything, I laughed. The sound echoed strangely in the hollow tree, bouncing off surfaces that shouldn’t exist.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For being kind. For treating me like a person instead of a problem.”
“You’re both,” he said gently. “But person comes first. Kaelren forgets that sometimes. Don’t let him forget it with you.”
Before I could respond, the Sage’s voice echoed through the hollow: “Come, marked one. Your education in not dying begins now.”
I looked at Eltrien, who gave me an encouraging nod, then headed deeper into the tree, toward whatever fresh horror passed for education here.
