He didn’t know how long he was stuck there.
His back was on fire, his legs cramping, unsure of how much longer he could actually last, before he heard a noise. A heavy thumping sound, footsteps approaching, from somewhere above his head. He heard a low rumble, the sound of something dragging on the floor.
If he let go of the rope, he would fall. If he moved his legs, he would fall. He was broken and exhausted, and he was going to die in this hole with his old boot, and at the moment, he wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than dying on the forest floor.
“Help! Is someone there? Isanyonefucking there?” He dragged his nails down the side of the iron, scraped his heel as best he could without unlocking his knees, calling out weakly once more.
It worked. His head dropped back against the cold iron, exhausted, as a voice rumbled above him. He could hear something being dragged into place, heard the grind of metal and the grunt of exertion, light slowly opening above his head.
“How in the fucking stars did anyone get down here?” The rough voice demanded, panting a little once the hole was opened.
He pushed with his toes, arms shaking, certain he was about to drop like a stone through that cold water and land crashing through the branches at any minute. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, big arms, hot and strong, groaning as they pulled him up. Up and out.
It was Rukh.
The grizzled old orc looked as if he had aged ten years since the night Tate saw him last. It was Rukh staring at him, slack-jawed. He was in his own basement, leaning against the well cap they had discussed permanently sealing more than half a dozen times, always finding something else in the old girl that took priority. It was Rukh, and he was in the Plundered Pixie.
The sob that came out of him was like something tearing open, flinging his arms around the old orc, his legs failing him at last.
He was back, safe within his old girl, home at last.
Silva
The plant shop had a sharp, green aroma, one that tickled the back of the throat. Loamy potting soil and crisp chlorophyll, cuttings and clippings covering nearly every single surface available atViol, Violet & Vine.
The condo had a little bay window, a perfect spot for hanging plants, a bright burst of life above the sunny little reading nook she’d created for them. “Something nonpoisonous to cats,” she added to the beetle woman waiting on her. “And preferably something impervious to my black thumb.”
Silva took a step back as the beetlewoman laughed, glancing down the aisle. Aelin had drifted, watching another of the beetle sisters assemble a circlet of greens.
“I’m making flower crowns for the festival this weekend,” she heard the woman tell Aelin. “Would you like one, sweetie?”
Silva opened her mouth to call out her daughter, but remained silent, thinking better of it. It was an excellent opportunity to observe how Aelin behaved without Silva’s hovering. They’d had long talks about trusting strangers, taking gifts, wandering away.
She would never again trust a shopkeeper or business owner, and assumed every third stranger they passed on the sidewalk was holding open a doorway to the otherside. Her experiences with the Otherworld had changed her, and if it made her sound paranoid to others, so be it. She knew things they didn’t and she could never unknow them. Better safe than sorry.
She watched her daughter’s perfect little rosebud mouth purse, her eyes narrowing as she thought the offer through, shaking her head after a moment.
“I don’t have any money.” And then, a beat later, in a tone that could only be called patronizing in its explanation: “I’m just a little elf.”
The sister who was waiting on Silva snorted her laughter, hand clapping over her mouth as she ducked her head. Silva saw the sister who was making the crowns widen her eyes, her lips pressed tightly together to conceal her own laughter.
“I mean, she has a point, Thalita.” A third sister, appearing from the aisle behind them, also covered her laughter behind her hand.
“You don’t need money for this, dear. We’re giving them to any children who come to our table this weekend. You’re lucky, because you’re here early! So you get one first.”
Aelin still made no attempt to reach for the flower crown that had been pushed across the counter. “I’m not supposed to accept gifts from strangers.”
The beetlewoman was doing a magnificent job of hiding her laughter. Far better than the two sisters now standing opposite Silva. “Well, I’m Thalita. I own this shop with my sisters. And now we’re not strangers anymore, are we?”
Aelin said nothing, eyeing the woman with naked distrust.
Silva decided to put Thalita out of her misery. “Bunny, please stay where I can see you.”
“Is that your mommy? Let’s go find her. We don’t want either of us getting in trouble.” Thalita’s voice carried up the aisle once more, and the second of the two sisters before her ducked back around the counter, still giggling as Aelin scurried up the row to Silva’s side.
“She looks like she ought to be modeling for that fancy children’s boutique in Bridgeton,” the sister behind the register said. “Is that where her sweater is from? It looks bespoke.”
She wore a pale blue dress with a little white cardigan trimmed in pink and blue, yellow ducklings swimming merrily around the collar, a matching blue bow pinning back her chestnut curls, a typical school-day outfit for Aelin. Silva had told herself, when they moved, that they wouldn’t need much,nottaking into account the state of her tiny daughter’s wardrobe. The beetlewoman’s words were an accurate assessment.
