I felt his hands cool, ice crystallizing on his skin, and, underneath, the flesh healed. Kissing his palms, over and over, my lips went numb, but when I finally let go, his palms were whole and unbroken.
He cupped my face in his hands, kissing me. “What happened?” he asked between kisses.
“I gave up something I shouldn’t have,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“Growing these trees requires grief. Because it is grief to know that when you plant a seed, you will never see it fully grown. You will never know what happens to it after you die.” I touched my hand to the charred roots. I could feel they were still alive, feel the hum of magic in them. “If you plant these trees, they will outlive you until you are nothing more than a distant memory. They demand your grief in advance.”
But it was more than that. The elves were so long-lived that they had more than enough grief to spare. If they let it settle within them, their souls would curdle from all that they had lost or not done or not received. To anyone who lived as long as them, grief would be a curse that only practicing their magic could free them from.
“I see.” Tallu looked down at the roots, then up at me, and I knew better than most that he was one whose life had been defined by grief, whose life had been defined by guilt over things he had done, but also everything that his family had done. “For some, it might be a great relief to have such a burden lifted off their shoulders.”
“It left room in my heart for an anger that doesn’t belong there,” I said.
“Have you finished?” Tallu asked. Behind him, shadows moved across the field, and I recognized them as his Dogs. Terror swooped over the charred remains of the plants, dipping low to snap at some insects that my rage had exposed.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Sagam said. “We must leave. If Namati didn’t know where you are already, he most certainly does now.”
“Isn’t that what we want?” I asked dryly. “If I’d known all it took to draw our missing general out was setting fire to the forest, we could have saved ourselves quite a bit of trouble.”
I pushed myself to standing, covering the roots in the silk handkerchief. It had survived, although the edges warped and curled from the heat they had been exposed to.
On my feet, I could see the extent of my rage, and it was even more terrible than I expected. I had nearly burned down the elder trees I had just grown; char marks reached to shoulder-height on the bark.
Rubbing at my face, I waited for my headache to pass and for my head to stop spinning. Then I strode through the devastation. I would plant one more, but when I went to unwrap the scarf, smallhands covered my own, pulling down, weighing my arms until I was forced to drop the scarf and all the roots.
Riini looked up at me, her eyes wide and desperate. “I gave so much of myself up because Ihadto. But you don’t. Stop.”
I shook my head. “The Pirate King demands more.”
Riini looked at me sharply, her eyes flashing a deep green as though the elder tree itself was speaking through her mouth. “Don’t you think the Pirate King knows exactly how much you will give?”
I inhaled sharply, and the green faded from Riini’s eyes. Joxii bent low, picking up the roots. Lady Chaliko and the other children were still gathered around one of the elder trees, the children standing in front of it protectively as though I was about to start breathing fire again. I bowed my head in embarrassment.
“Come.” Tallu took hold of my elbow, guiding me through the swamp.
Mist rose up around us, turning the trees into hazy outlines of themselves. His Dogs drew closer, ready for an attack, but soon even they were invisible, the mist so thick that I only knew Tallu was there because he still had a hold of my elbow.
It cleared briefly, exposing the Pirate King—Spider—standing next to one of the newly grown elder trees.
She reached up, touching the bark. Then she turned to us, and the smile pulling at her lips was horrible and predatory.
“You have accomplished my task. You have sacrificed a great deal, including the anger that was buried so deep in your belly that not even you would admit it was there. You have sacrificed your memories and your power.” She dropped her hand from the tree, and three other pairs of arms spread out from her back, until she had eight hands. “So I will grant you what I promised.”
Twenty-Two
“You will free Tallu and Prince Hallu from the fate that binds them?” I demanded.
“I never promised you that,” Spider said. “Let me tell you of fate and of things that the Dragon Monks should never have spoken of.
“The dwarves already told you their story of me, so I will tell you another. Long before any people on this world thought they had the right to decide for themselves, there was fate. The invisible promise of a destiny. And of all the animalia, I was the only one who could see it.” One pair of her hands drew close, lacing together in front of her stomach. “I could see which of the animalia would win in a conflict, but I could not see the path that took them there. The end result is fixed: the Krustavian dwarves would live in the mountains. The orchards of Forsaith will grow a fruit so sweet that it will save a life. The fairies of Ristorium will once again regain their wings.”
As she spoke, the mist around us took shape: an enormous tree forming and dropping round fruit onto the ground, a dozen waifishly thin people sprouting wings from their back and taking to theair.
“Because I could see the outcome, I could help shape the path they took. I was weaving a tapestry from the thread I had been given, but I could not change the color, nor the amount of it.” She looked at me, her eyes crinkling. “Imagine being given a destination on the map and being allowed to choose the path you take there. But I could not change the journey's end.”
I frowned. “Spider weaves fate. That means you could weave a different one for Tallu and Prince Hallu. If his destination is death, make it at the end of a long, fully used life.”
