Chapter twenty-four
Immediately upon hearing Adira’s news, Niko had raked his fingers through his hair and sworn violently. Then, without so much as a muttered explanation, he’d stormed out of the treehouse and disappeared down the stairs in a dark cloud of death.
I hadn’t bothered to chase after him as my own thoughts had still been reeling. As much as I’ve railed against it, Niko and his ghastly power are a shield I’ve been too reliant on. And now the safety net has been pulled from under me, leaving me flailing in the wind. I no longer have the luxury of disbelief, of taking my time to master the magic the island has granted me in order to find my way back home.
It’s now a matter of survival.
“A skill you’re thankfully quite adept at,” Adira says mildly, offering me a cup of tea.
I take it, staring down at the curls of steam rolling off the surface. “I wouldn’t really consider it a skill,” I mutter, scraping my nails softly across the patterned china.
It isn’t a skill to live an echo of a life; to exist in dark shadows and dank holes; to never allow yourself to feel fully enough to leave an imprint in your soul—to leave an imprintanywhere.A ghost only detectable by the trail of wreckage left in its wake.
Adira sits down across from me, watching me intently. I shift beneath her pervasive gaze.
“I got the impression you don’t approve of the way I’ve lived.”
She doesn’t look away, only tilts her head. “I said you lamented the loss of hope like you didn’t have the chance to stop it. It was not meant as a judgement on your past, but on your refusal to see the potential you contain for thenow. There are a thousand different paths, Willa. It’d be foolish to give them all up before you’ve even begun.”
I take a gulp of the scalding tea, if only to spare myself from having to respond. It never occurred to me that Adira hadn’t been referring to the past at all—but rather, my insistence on miring myself in it. Because though I’m reticent to trust others, I’ve also refused to trust myself.
“I won’t let the Strayed have me,” I say resolutely. “And not because I want to save the island or my world, but because I want to save myself. And that’s going to have to be enough.”
Adira only dips her head in acknowledgement. “The things you’ve done, the things you will do…they are all to protect yourself. Deciding you areworthyof that protection is a wonderful place to start.” She finishes off her tea in one overlarge gulp and sets the cup hastily on the table.
“Come. Let’s see what lies inside that heart of yours.”
Adira leads me through the back of her sprawling treehouse and out onto the maze of swaying wooden walkways that connect the infrastructure of the Grove. The tree-city overflows with noise in the way of a forest—a loud but soothing sonance whose rhythm settles against my mind like a warm, buzzing blanket.
Bridges creak as women call out to one another, the Grove Dwellers of the upper levels far more joyous than the Silva Lucai Niko and I had passed on our way into the city. The scent of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, mingling pleasantly with the smell of damp leaves, and I breathe it in happily. Despite the fevered way they drive my imagination, I’ve always loved the woods.
The wooden planks creak beneath our feet as we walk, the thickly woven ropes of the sidewalls scratching softly against each other in the breeze. I feel the swing of the bridge in my head, much like I’d felt the height of the Nyawa stairs: an unmoored sensation that isn’t entirely unpleasant.
Adira leads me through the city, descending a few levels to where the leaves are thickest, and thousands of houses are tucked in every crook of the trees. Women of all kinds tend to their chores—some sweeping their porches, some mending rope bridges. We pass an armory where five sharpen spears and oil blades, sweat dripping down their bare arms.
“Adira,” I begin, the beginnings of a question forming on the edge of my thoughts as I take in the heart of the city. “Are there…do men live in the Grove?”
The princess’s silky hair swings in time with her soft step, brushing the top of her waist. “They visit from time to time of course, but no…men do not live in the confines of our home. We have no need of them.”
At that moment, a multitude of children barrel out in a raucous pile from the archway of the nearest treehouse. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of them, until I realizethese aren’t at all like the Strayed. Their laughter rings through the thick leaves of the canopy as they chase each other over bridges, careening around a large trunk and out of sight. Their echoing giggles are beautiful, nothing like the empty, scraping sound of the empty souls on the beach.
“The children of Caelum,” Adira explains, following my curious gaze. “The ones that have been born in the city during the decay of Letum. Their parents give them to us for safekeeping under the dark of night to keep the Strayed from knowing of their existence. To protect their natural magic.”
We walk for another quarter hour in amiable silence. Unable to resist, I pluck a few beautiful flower blooms, with the intention of bringingsomesort of color back to the Lunaedon. Finally, we cross the last walkway and come to a wide rock ledge carved into one of the surrounding mountains. A training arena, judging by the number of Silva Lucai exercising here. Some work with the same lethal spears Adira carries on her back, while others practice with bows or swords.
They all halt at our presence, dipping their heads in respect to their princess. She greets each of them with a warm smile before motioning to me. As one, the women bow to Adira and leave the training ledge to us. I’m not sure whether Adira means to shield me from them or the other way around. Perhaps she doesn’t trust what my magic will do.
Two frustrating hours later, it’s become clear her caution was optimistic.
The only thing I’ve managed to conjure is sweat and anxiety. No matter how calm Adira is, nor how many times she tells me to feel inside myself for the magic—to listen for its consonance, whatever the hell that means—I come up empty.
The more time passes, the more frustrated I become with Adira’s tranquil approach. Though she had been the one tostress the urgent nature of mastering my power, she appears in no hurry now to give me any sort of helpful guidance.
“I don’t feel anything!” I snap, shoving up to my feet in frustration. I’ve never possessed patience for things such as meditation; never been able to leash my mind into the sort of submission needed for resolute focus. If that’s what’s required to be powerful in Letum, I’ll fail miserably before I’ve ever begun. Thoughts race through my head, a continuous stream of noise and color. Sometimes, a particularly sharp one will spike through me like a jagged blade and adrenaline will sear through my veins.
A survival mechanism, perhaps. Every time I’m too relaxed, my mind sets me back on guard. A body on edge is far harder to catch unaware, but the consistent readiness leaves little energy for anything but the most pertinent parts of survival.
“Yes, you do,” Adira replies serenely without opening her eyes. She sits cross-legged across from me, her hair tumbling around her face in a dark curtain, the paint on her skin glowing in the starlight. “You just haven’t recognized it yet.”
