The path through them is lined with all kinds of beautiful plants, their leaves and flowers ranging from bright oranges to deep purples.
Living up in the mountains, I’ve never seen so many different kinds of plants before.
While the door slides shut behind us, sealing seamlessly into the wall, Malak gestures to a small water fountain on our right.Clear water rushes down a stone surface into a stone bowl at its base.
“Drink,” he says, retracting the leash from Skirra’s collar but leaving the muzzle in place.
I don’t hesitate. Thirst is dangerous, making thought difficult.
I can’t assume the water isn’t poisoned, but I doubt Malak would have brought us all the way into the city just to kill us now.
I’m reassured when Skirra dips his head to the bowl, licking at the surface as best he can around his muzzle. If the water were dangerous, I’m sure he would have sensed it.
Kneeling to the fountain while Thoren joins me, I scoop water into my mouth for long moments.
The hydration helps and my head clears.
As soon as we rise back to our feet, Malak resumes walking, turning his back on us, as if he has no concern that we’ll attack him.
Skirra remains at my side as we follow.
Malak reaches out to brush his hands across the tree trunks, veering left to right as he follows the winding path. Right hand. Left hand. He doesn’t seem to favor either.
“When I was much younger—about your age, Vandawolf—I was sent on diplomatic missions to other lands in the east and north,” he says. “I learned much about other cultures during my travels. The Fae Queen has a place she calls her ‘Inner Sanctuary’. Well, this is my Inner Sanctuary.”
He gestures to the garden around us. “As you would have gathered from Jadiel’s surprise, I don’t allow anyone else in here.”
“Are we supposed to be grateful?” Thoren mutters beneath his breath.
“No,” Malak says, casting Thoren an uncaring glance. “But you would be wise to listen.”
Malak stops in front of what appears to be the largest tree, its branches spreading all the way across the lush garden to a vine-covered structure that sits on the right.
The structure’s outer walls are so heavily covered in greenery that it’s hard to tell what it could be, but it’s certainly at least two levels high.
Malak presses both of his hands against the tree’s trunk. Then he looks skyward and says, “Wait for the darkness and you will see…”
I’m poised on the path with Thoren and Skirra on either side of me.
In the distance, the last of the sun’s rays disappear and dusk creeps across the orchard, a spreading shadow.
The tree against which Malak’s hands are pressed begins to sparkle. Its bark lights up from its base to its top and along its branches, an eerily beautiful sight.
All of the other trees follow, sparkling light gleaming through their trunks and boughs, leaving only their red fruit muted.
The glow breaks through the gloom around the nearby structure, making some of its parts clearer—a thatched roof, small windows, two levels, like I thought. It’s some sort of cottage.
Malak doesn’t look at it, remaining fixated on the tree.
“This is where my power revealed itself,” he says. “I was only eight years old when I stumbled out into the darkness here, my face bruised, blood in my eyes, hammer in my hand, and I struck this tree with all my might, wishing only to break it down.”
A snarl leaves his lips. “Wishing only for its destruction.”
His breathing evens out again. “Instead, I made it glow. Is it not beautiful?”
Without waiting for an answer, he gestures to the garden around us. “I turned the weeds into flowers and created this oasis. With mere impulses, I painted color across a previouslygray canvas. The ugly things in my life became perfect because Imadethem perfect.”
I consider the trees and plants warily. “You did this?”
