Fear twisted in Trisha’s gut. What if shehadcome too late? She wanted to fidget in her wrinkled dress slipping off her shoulders, her vest half-undone—a mortal child in an eternal world. She must reek of ash and sorrow, bearing the scent of a man and heartache, and years that had marked her face.
Her lips trembled. Ready to flee, she braced herself for rejection.
Then, Tilia smiled, opening her arms, and Trisha’s fears melted.
“I’ve missed you, my dear daughter.”
Trisha didn’t even realize she’d moved before she was folded into Tilia’s embrace. The honeyed note of white flowers, robust wood, and warmth swathed her. Holding, loving. For a while, nothing else existed. Not the road, not the extinguished bonfire, not even the visions of a tall reed swaying in the wind—just happy sobs. And just like that, Trisha’s world settled back into place.
“I’m sorry,” she heaved out a quiet sob. “Mother, I’m sorry. For leaving the way I did. For lashing out. Not telling where I was going.”
“Hush, child.” Tilia’s fingers ran through Trisha’s tangled hair. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
20
Tilia cupped Trisha’s chin.Bright leaf-colored eyes gleamed in her brown face.
“You don’t have to tell me any further. I see it in you. Some torment has brought you back. But I wonder, for good or just now?”
The leaves stirred. Chimes rang somewhere, hollow and far off, too low to still the churning inside her.
“I… I must go back. Just not now.” Unable to meet Tilia’s gaze, she fidgeted. “There’s… someone. He asked something of me, and I said no. So, I ran away.” A bitter, quiet laugh escaped her. “Seems that’s all I’m good at.”
“Quick feet, quicker heart,” said Tilia. “It served you well when you were a child. Of course you’d continue believing that into adulthood.”
“But I’m not a child any longer.”
Tilia’s eyes tracked her, a faint smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “No. Definitely not anymore.”
A yawn escaped Trisha. She rubbed her eyes. “It’s been a day since I last slept.” Almost on its own accord, her gaze drifted up the tree toward the hollow.
Smiling more widely, Tilia touched her shoulder. “It still waits. Nothing has changed. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” A cracking branch snared her attention to grazing Dapple. She flicked her fingers. “Not too near, horse. Be mindful of my roots.”
Dapple tossed his head with a snort but obeyed.
“I’ll look after your horse, child. Although it seems to me he’s well able to take care of himself.”
Trisha reached for the lower branches, pulling herself up. Questions flickered to life, and a heavy sensation wound around her chest. Had Blainor realized she’d gone? How would he react? Her jaw set, Trisha pushed them aside. She would not regret. She need not think of that man now.
Exhaustion swallowed her whole as she ascended. Her limbs weighed her down, weak under the strain. As if on cue, her feet slipped off the moss-covered bough, and a jolt of alarm sent her heart to her throat. For a moment, she dangled between air and earth, the leaves’ hissing loud in her ears. When she pulled herself back up, her arms were trembling. A shameful thought wormed through her skull: old Trisha wouldn’t have stumbled that way. Mouth firming, she continued until reaching the little shaded nest where soft leaves and moss made a bed.
It still smelled like home: honeyed flowers, earthy bark, and fresh grass. She folded into the rustling leaves beneath her. Water trickled somewhere nearby, quiet and steady. Trisha’s head lowered into the nook she’d slept in as a child. Eyes closed, her thoughts drifted to darkness. Even then, she recalled the bonfire, the crash of waves, and a hot mouth against hers. Even in sleep, Blainor’s gray eyes followed her, his presence haunting her into oblivion.
A shrill sound shattered the stillness. She squeezed her eyes, the ghost of a touch burning her lips. Caught between the pull to forget and the desire to remember, Trisha resisted wakefulness. But there was no escaping a high-pitched voice.
“You’re back! You’re back! Oh, how glad I am.”
“Rilka…?” Trisha mumbled groggily, eyes crusted with sleep. Was she dreaming? What had happened? Then, everything returned. The Midsummer. Blainor. Her ride from Moorhafen and through the night folk’s forest. She was back in the Undying Lands. With Tilia. It was real life, and she couldn’t believe it. Trisha’s thoughts shattered as Rilka somersaulted, diving into her hair. The fairy’s weight felt like a transient leaf.
“I’ll make them so pretty, don’t you worry,” she whispered, nestling in Trisha’s tangled pile of dark hair.
What she really needed was a comb, not a fairy’s promise. Her stomach grumbling, Trisha flicked Rilka away and propped herself up on her elbows. “Let me get down first, at least.”
Tilia was up and moving around, her moss-dress hanging loosely around her dark skin, her leaf-hair whispering as she moved. She had laid down a feast for Trisha: honey, green leaves, nuts, and juicy berries. Dapple grazed further away, unburdened by his bridle and saddle. When Trisha’s feet touched the ground, the fairy flitted through the air and landed with feral grace near a honeycomb. Grinning widely, Rilka sank her hands into it and stuffed a piece in her mouth. Trisha followed with more restraint, settling herself on the grass.
The twilight world hummed around them as Rilka’s chatter rose and fell like rain. Lights in the distance winked in and out between the tree trunks, stray glassbell-like soundscarried by the breeze. Through the canopy of linden’s foliage, the stars continued their endless dance.
Nothing had changed. And this realization twisted her heart.
