“He’s always expecting an attack,” Peeble muttered. “That man thinks breakfast is an ambush waiting to happen.”
“Hold on,” Kaelren said, and the bee launched into the air.
Peeble dug tiny legs into my collar. “Why do I never hold on before he says that? You’d think I’d learn.”
Below us, the forest fled by in a blur of emerald and bronze. I could feel every plant we passed over, their lives brushing against my consciousness like fingers through water.
“Stop projecting,” Kaelren said over his shoulder. “You’re leaving a trail they can follow.”
“I don’t know how to stop.”
“Learn quickly.”
“Your motivational speeches need work,” I said.
“He doesn’t do motivational speeches,” Peeble supplied. “He does threats and tactical observations. It’s his love language.”
“I don’t do—” Kaelren started.
The arrow came out of nowhere, catching our bee in the thorax. We spiraled down, Kaelren trying to control our descent while I held on for dear life.
“I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!” Peeble shrieked, clinging to my collar with all six legs. “I SPECIFICALLY SAID FLYING WAS A BAD IDEA!”
We crashed through the canopy, branches tearing at us, before hitting the ground hard. I rolled, thorns instinctively extending to protect me from the worst of the impact. Peeble went flying, tumbling through the air with an indignant buzz.
“Crown!” Nimor’s voice, from somewhere above. “They were waiting!”
Soldiers in white emerged from concealment, weapons glowing with enforced reality. A trap. They’d herded us right into it.
“Elle, run!” Kaelren commanded, corruption already spreading from his hands as he intercepted the nearest soldiers.
“Don’t run!” Peeble called from where they’d landed on a nearby fern. “Running is how people die! Stand your ground! Be scary!”
But running seemed pointless anyway. We were surrounded, and I was tired—tired of running, tired of being hunted, tired of being afraid of my own power.
The marks on my skin flared hot, and this time I didn’t fight it. A soldier lunged at me, blade humming with that weird anti-magic resonance. My thorns met his steel, but instead of just blocking, I let them grow. They wrapped around his blade, up his arm, sprouting flowers that released spores. He stumbled back, coughing, eyes watering.
“YES!” Peeble cheered. “That’s what I’m talking about! Spore attacks! I love spore attacks!”
“Non-lethal,” I called to Kaelren, who was leaving a trail of decay through the Crown ranks. “I’m going with non-lethal!”
“Your funeral,” he shot back, but I caught something like approval in his tone.
“It’s not a funeral if she wins!” Peeble yelled. “It’s a party! A spore party!”
Around me, chaos erupted in the best way. Sarnyx had gone full porcupine, thorns shooting in every direction. Bryx’s bees weren’t just swarming—they were synchronized, moving in patterns that confused and disoriented. Vashael’s plants weren’t trying to slow the soldiers down; they were actively pranking them. I watched one soldier’s boots suddenly sprout roots that tickled, making him dance involuntarily.
“This is the best fight I’ve ever seen!” Peeble had somehow made it back to my shoulder. “No one’s dying! Everyone’s just very uncomfortable! It’s perfect!”
“Surrender the marked one,” a Crown captain called out, trying to maintain authority while pulling a vine from his helmet. “And the rest of you can live.”
“That’s a terrible offer,” Peeble shouted. “Counter-offer time!”
“Counter-offer,” I called back, kneeling to touch the earth. The power in my marks pulsed eagerly. “You leave now, and I don’t ask every tree in this forest to drop branches on your heads simultaneously.”
“Ooh, good threat,” Peeble whispered. “Very specific. I like it.”
“You don’t have that kind of range,” the captain scoffed.
