“I wasn’t humble,” Magda said. “My mother wouldn’t respond to me unless I asked politely for her attention. It was just what I was taught to do. It doesn’t make me special.”
“You might be surprised how much of a difference simple courtesy can make, especially to those who have never been shown such respect.”
Magda nodded, though she couldn’t help but think that courtesy was nothing more than a silken kind of manipulation. As she studied the shapes of her sheaths—the dragons, an eagle, a fairy—she couldn’t help but think that Endreas had returned her knives for that very reason, to trick her with a kind gesture. Once again, she reminded herself that she could not, and would not, trust him. No matter how potent and intoxicating the connection between them.
“Do you know where Kirk is now?” Magda asked.
“He is beyond my boundaries and has been for three days. He flies.”
“Flies? How?”
“On a high-horned owl, called Stalker,” Tamia said. “Though neither were particularly happy about it. Apparently, high-horns are known to hunt and eat brownies. Stalker is a transplant from the Elven Realms. His resettlement here was not easy, but he was willing to assist as a favor to me. I could not find any other who was willing. They do not wish to become involved. But Kirk and Stalker only fly at night. So they will not have reached the Spire yet.”
“Thank you, Tamia. You have shown me kindness I don’t deserve.”
“You may show your gratitude by protecting the creatures that dwell within me,” she said.
The weight crushing down on her grew heavier. “You wish me to be Radiant as well.”
“I know that if you are, you will not allow my children to come to harm. I am not important, Magda—”
“Without you, those creatures cannot survive.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “Stalker and Kirk both prove that. Before I grew here, there was a sea and before that, ice. I know, because the earth remembers. And when my trees have all died away, the earth will remember me. You cannot stop change. You cannot stop death. The question is only what will be remembered of you, and who will remain to remember it.”
“I must go after Kirk—”
“You have another problem,” Tamia said.
“What?”
“Guests.”
Magda pushed up to her feet. “Who? Endreas? Lavana?”
“No. Good luck, Magda. We’re counting on you.” Tamia’s face sank into the earth, the pool swirling and then rejoining the trickle flowing down the belly of the gulch.
Hero scampered up her leg and onto her shoulder again. At the same moment, the bramble across the way coiled apart, creating an opening. A golden-haired nymph with a rose-leaf complexion stormed between the bushes and glared down Magda.
“You!” She leapt down gracefully into the muck. White gown fluttering, she charged up and, with a dainty nymph hand, slapped Magda across the face.
ALTHOUGH Anymph-slap was about as painful as a mosquito bite, it was far more irritating.
“What was that? And who are you?” Magda asked, glaring down at the glowing beauty.
“Don’t act like you don’t know! Stay away from him!” She raised her hand like she might strike again. “You’re not going to take him from me!”
Magda unleashed her finger-knives, sweeping the blades up between them. “I wouldn’t.”
Then in the gap above, Kaelan appeared. He leapt down.
“You think I’m scared of your shiny little toys?” the nymph sneered.
“Hon, don’t,” he said, seizing the nymph’s shoulders and pulling her back.
“Don’t protect her!” the nymph said, thrashing against his grip.
“I think I can protect myself just fine.” Magda lowered her knives, but kept them out, backing away from both of them. She raised a brow at Kaelan. “What are you doing here?”
