The same as yours.
My genius sinks into the Tree’s, and it is all so much, a grasping and gasping and pushing of roots through rock and brick, spreading out from this mighty hill—no, it is the core of the hill itself. A system so ancient and deep, other plants have grown from the soil that collected in its divots, our tunnels like the trails of worms and—
A face so familiar, I cannot breathe, but this time, it is rounder, younger, brighter. A brunette faerie gripping the roots, groaning in the dark, in the quiet of a tunnel. Blood and water and wailing.
The shrieking of a babe expelled into this world, caught, held against her chest. The infant does not latch, will not, the mother sinking to the ground, blood streaking across brick.
Please,the faerie begs.Please, or they will hear us.
The child screams louder and a piece of us breaks off, willingly, an offering. The mother gapes down at the little root in her hand, palm sticky with sap, and gives it to the baby to suck. As the baby does, mouth gummy and happy, her skin glows brighter, irises flickering from brown to gold to brown again.
A feed before the rings. It is miraculous. It is a crime.
It is my mother, Olive. Olive, with her lilting voice and calm, calloused hands, her prayers to plants, and her lost, torn-up heart. Olive, young and hardy and life-giving.
And it is me, in her arms.
It is me, with a strange and strong genius.
It is me, with a magical marker unlike any other.
It is me, with power fueled by roots under the state gardens.
It is me, with a thousand voices sayingHello again.
It is me, with the trees trapped in doors.
It is me, with shifting, sap-colored eyes.
It is me, with screams in my ears, begging for aid.
It is me, with the power to help.
My eyes fly open, chest heaving. Maxian and Lila still debate. I reach for my golden moth ring and slip it off. In the very center of the stump, among the cracks and rings and sand, is a little crevasse, the smallest opening. And through it grows a singular green stem.
A sprout of hope.
I reach forward, fingers brushing the little creature.
Let me protect you,I plead.Let me—
“Great find, Avery,” Maxian says, and then his boot slams down on the stem, crushing both it and my fingers.
The Tree shrieks in protest, a terrible howling—
“No matter how many times we weed it, it just keeps growing back.”
He presses down harder, and I grunt, force my lips closed to not give him that satisfaction.
“Wait!” Lila drops to her knees, trying to pry his boot off my hand. “My king—”
“If you two are such good friends, maybe you should match.”
He crunches down harder, and my nails begin to splinter. I cry out. Lila rips at his boot, but it’s to no avail, his eyes glowing, magic roiling.
“Stop this, please,” she says. “I understand.”
“Do you? For even Lucan’s Tree bends to my will. If you will not submit, I will make you.”
