“The Bloom,” the Sage said, appearing because of course they did. “You’re sensing the Bloom.”
“I KNEW IT!” Peeble’s antennae drooped. “This is a terrible idea!”
“It’s forbidden,” Eltrien said immediately. “No one goes there and comes back unchanged.”
“Look at me,” I said, gesturing to my gold-veined marks. “That ship has sailed, hit an iceberg, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”
“The Bloom would complete your transformation instantly,” the Sage warned. “You’d become fully Root-bound.”
“See? SEE?” Peeble waved his antennae frantically. “The Sage agreeswith me! When I agree with the Sage, you know it’s bad!”
“Or,” I said, feeling the forest’s ancient amusement, “it might teach me how to be both. Human and Root. A bridge instead of a replacement.”
“That’s never been done,” Kaelren said.
“Lot of that going around lately.”
“Because you keep doing impossible things!” Peeble practically wailed. “Stop doing impossible things! Do possible things! Safe, boring, possible things!”
He studied me for a long moment, and I could practically see him calculating odds, risks, probabilities.
“The Bloom it is,” he decided.
“WHAT?” Peeble and Eltrien said simultaneously.
“Kaelren, that’s—” Eltrien started.
“Our best option. Unless you’d prefer to fight a hundred Crown soldiers?”
“I’d prefer not to watch Elle dissolve into plant matter!”
“SAME!” Peeble added. “I’m very attached to Elle! In the literal sense—I live on her shoulder! If she becomes a tree, where do I live? On her branches? That’s weird!”
“Hey,” I protested. “If I dissolve into anything, it’ll be very aesthetically pleasing plant matter. Maybe some nice flowers. Definitely better than whatever that decay thing Kaelren does.”
“This isn’t funny,” Eltrien insisted.
“It’s a little funny,” Peeble said, though his voice had lost its usual cheer. “In a cosmic horror sort of way. Which is the worst kind of funny.”
“We move now,” Kaelren commanded. “Before the Crown forces converge.”
As we prepared to leave, I touched the nearest tree—a young birch that practically vibrated with gossip.
“Tell Gerald thank you,” I said.
The birch rustled, and I got the distinct impression of an old oak somewhere grumbling about ‘youngsters’ and ‘their drama’ but also something that might have been approval.
“Gerald says you’re welcome and also he still thinks Kaelren needstherapy,” Peeble translated. “And possibly a nap. Gerald’s very concerned about everyone’s stress levels.”
“You’re smiling,” Vashael observed.
“Trees have personalities. Who knew?”
“Everyone who’s been paying attention,” she replied. “You’re just finally speaking their language.”
“I’ve been saying that for weeks!” Peeble complained. “No one listens to the beetle!”
We mounted the bees and took off, flying toward whatever the Bloom would make of me. Behind us, I could feel the Crown forces discovering our empty clearing, their frustration rippling through the forest network like angry static.
