“If there were a storm gathering nearby, I could bring it closer. Lower the pressure to hasten the rain. But I fear there is nothing.”
“What if there were—” Wayland licked his lips with uncharacteristic nervousness. “I think there’s a spring. The stream fed off it, though it’s blocked now.”
“Can you call it?”
“I—” He looked almost shy. It did not suit him. “I don’t know.”
“Try.”
Wayland closed his eyes. At his sides, his hands curled into fists. I watched him, sensing his focus.
Droplets of water seeped from the earth, gathering like diamonds on the blackened soil. Wayland swayed, stumbled. Irian’s hands twitched; moisture misted upward from the earth to hang over the valley in an eerie fog.
“Where do you wish it, mo chroí?” he asked. “For the roots? Or for the leaves?”
“Both, ideally.” I glanced at Wayland, who was visibly weakened from the effort. His innate magic was not yet bonded to a Treasure. “But I wish it were warmer.”
“I can help with that.” Laoise had come up behind us, silent as a cat.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Wayland quipped, with his hands on his knees.
“Making jokes?” Laoise drawled. “In your state? Careful—you might use the last of your energy trying to be clever.” She faced me. “I was able to raise the temperature a few degrees in the caverns for Idris’s garden. I could do the same thing here, if there was a way to keep it from evaporating.”
“I can keep the climate contained to the valley,” Irian said, matter-of-factly.
Laoise’s feat was less visible than lofting fire between her palms or shifting into a giant draig with scales and teeth, yet just as impressive. The fog grew heavier and warmer. My skin flushed, a bead of sweat collecting at my hairline to dribble along my collarbone.
“That’s very good,” I said.
I closed my eyes, sending my awareness descending along the brutalized root systems spanning the valley. The trees had been old, well established. Laoise had utterly destroyed their trunks. Branches. Leaves.
All but their roots.
They wanted to grow. They wanted to live.
Everything did.
I sowed all my power—my Treasure and starshine alike—into the earth. Every tree in the valley regenerated in a heartbeat, unspooling along the thread of my consciousness. My magic made it possible; the heat and moisture held static in the air of the valley made it effortless. Within moments we stood in a jungle—trees towering over us as ferns nudged our boots and flowers scented the air with rich perfume. A few of the draiglings came diving from thesky to land in a perfect ring of mushrooms, which they proceeded to stomp on with their sharply clawed talons. Linn pawed at the earth, then sent me a greedy image of her mane and tail growing to absurd lengths and turning rainbow colors.
“Well.” Wayland looked like he was trying not to be impressed. “I’m not sure we’ve solved the problem of food, water, supplies, or bedding. But itismore pleasant here than it was before.”
Laoise rolled her eyes. “You know, Wayland, I have heard it said one can perish from being too clever.”
“Oh?” Wayland said airily. “Then it’s no wonder you’re still with us.”
Laoise launched herself at Wayland with a growl. As they tussled good-naturedly amid the seething, expanding growth of the newly regenerated valley, I allowed myself the tiniest smile.
Things were going to get worse. But for now, they weren’t so dire.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fia
The unnaturally warm, verdant afternoon faded into a pleasant dusk. The valley felt primeval now, ancient as the earth itself—dense, lush, heavy with life. We gathered beside the stream, which Wayland had managed to coax from a trickle to a laughing brook. A few of the trees grew fruit—pear-shaped clusters hanging from branches. I bit into the violet skin of one, despite Irian’s protests—the soft, marbled flesh was savory, like figs and roast chestnuts.
“Not poison,” I confirmed to the group. “Although it would be tastier with bread and cheese.”
“Everything’s tastier with cheese,” Wayland said sadly.
