Dozens of my people avoid my gaze as they work to mop up buckets of blood and carry out bodies easily three times too big for one person to bear.
A memory flits through my mind, another of Teo. One untouched by the memory shredders. I try not to focus on it, lest it triggers whatever evil magic they’d used against me, but I think of his tall, calming presence.
He was such a large person—in stature and kindness. He made me want to be bigger.
And so I would be—and the giants will pay for every inch I grow.
Before we make it out of the enormous room, one of the lords stops Rholker. He’s got graying hair, and I recognize him as the advisor to late King Erdaraj, Regent Uvog, but he doesn’t look at me as he leans in to whisper in Rholker’s ear.
I don’t hear what is said, but there is movement around the corner.
Green flesh just barely sticks out, and my head cocks to the side.
An arm and a foot poke out seconds before a large head covered in moss and twigs gazes over at us. Large yellow eyes are the defining connector to the giants.
My brows furrow. I haven’t seen a swamp ogre in years.
Rholker shakes his head at the man who is speaking and then proceeds to drag me out of the palace. But not before my gaze meets the ogre.
There’s a strange noise that fills my ears as it does, like being transported away from the wintry forest and to a warm, wet nest surrounded by feathery trees and the ballad of insects singing to the fire.
When the contact is broken, the sounds still echo in my mind. The swamp ogres were volatile and not allowed in the giant court. If Rholker is seeking a relationship with him, it could be dangerous. When I glance up at the ruthless king, I wonder just how much further he’s willing to go.
Chapter 9
Dianite
TEO
It took us five days to travel through the forest and find the general location that Turalyon had marked on the map. We each switched off coaxing along Turalyon’s oldglacialmara, and it slowed our progression, but none of us would leave one ofdrathorinna’sspawn to the elements.
We’re still in the Northern Forest, just barely outside the borders of the Elvish capital, Shvathemar, but everything about this place feels crowded and ominous. We don’t soar or race here, we move slowly—cautiously.
The elvish lands are enchanted to be in a state of perpetual spring. Deep brown and golden trunks stretch up all around us, with luscious leaves in nearly every shade of green. Their tops press against each other, fighting to get enough light to keep surviving. The odd patch that leaves don’t obscure is filled with sprouted flowers in pastel hues.
Insects fly in a peculiar way—more hovering than soaring, unlike the birds. They dart back and forth before diving toward the ground at some unseen target.
One of the fowls I’d been watching earlier with iridescentred feathers lands on Niht’s shoulder. He coos to the creature, and it chirps back before flitting away.
When it returns, it brings friends. Some of them land on Ulla, who laughs in delight.
“No killing these little ones, either,” she tells Niht sternly.
He smiles. “Of course not. They wouldn’t give us anything other than a morsel of meat.”
Ra'Salore is peculiarly quiet as he studies the forest, only pausing to curse and swat at some bug.
There’s no sign of a sequestered rebellion led by women out here, no grand castle, not even a shack or the ruins of an old house.
I take a deep breath, drawing in the scent of moist ground and fresh trees to help steady myself.
“Are you sure this is the spot?” Niht asks, and I hear the rustle of a scroll as Ulla takes out the map.
Again.
Rahda seems to let out a long sigh as she twists her crystal head to look back at me. I stroke the smooth stone once more as we slow our pace and fall into place alongside Ulla.
My glasses are still resting on the crook of my nose, so I see the hand-drawn expanse that Turalyon left us. I study the trees around me, then return to the carefully measured marks and the artful illustration of Shvathemar.
