Ira let out a breath. He released Arthur, rather to Arthur’s disappointment, and examined his neck, his hands, and his face. The thin white scar on his cheek from his first morning in the vale was still there, but the pool had healed his more recent injuries from the brambles and the bruises Calyx had left. Freya conducted her own inspection before vigorously cleaning Arthur’s wet hair.
Ira rounded on a tiny old woman who looked as if she’d grown from a tree. “You might have warned me.”
She shrugged. “You wanted him healed. He’s healed.”
Arthur stared. Standing no higher than his knees, she had skin as brown and wrinkled as the bark of the yews behind her, a shock of white hair, and deep-set eyes as silver as the acorn around his neck. Her apron was stained green with moss. Several ravens hopped back and forth, looking up when she spoke.
She prodded Arthur with a stick. “So it was hiscat that almost ate me, was it? I can’t say I like him as much as the last one.”
“The last... what?” Arthur asked.
“Human,” Ira said. “George, she means.”
“That’s the one,” the woman said.
Arthur bit his lip. How much better than him had the forest known his father? The sight of George in the pool had been a comfort, but he’d been no more than a ghost. None of the questions Arthur had had about him since setting out had been answered; it seemed they never would be.
“This is Maud.” Ira nodded at their surroundings. “She’s the guardian of the pool.”
Trees with yellow-edged, fernlike leaves ringed banks pebbled with the same colorful stones as the pool’s bottom. Moreravens perched in their branches, preening or watching the proceedings of the four figures below with bright eyes.
The water’s surface was silver and unnaturally still. Arthur shuddered, remembering hownothingit had felt.
Before him loomed a tangle of ancient yews. Their branches dipped to the ground, groaning like old men. Their mossy boughs formed a rough circle like the entrance to a fairy realm.
Arthur wasn’t convinced they weren’t. Maud and the still, silver water certainly seemed folkish.
“When we get out of here,” he rasped, “I’m not going to find fifty years have passed without me getting any older, am I?”
Ira let out a huff of laughter. “No.”
Maud prodded at his paws with her stick. “Do I get a proper greeting, now your friend is safe?”
“Sorry.” Ira’s expression softened as she pulled his face down to her level, pressing her forehead to his. “I’ve missed you.”
“Long time,” she said. “Long, long time.”
Ira pulled away, gripped her hands, and peered into her eyes. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
She patted his cheek like a grandmother. A raven hopped onto his knee, nudging his hand until he stroked its feathers.
“If the sickness had come here, you’d know.” She nodded at Arthur. “For one thing, your friend would still look like a fuath’s chew toy.”
Wet from the pool, Arthur shivered. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes and ears, his trousers chafed uncomfortably, and his socks—well, wet socks were basically the worst thing ever, evil spirits with horrible teeth aside.
Dislodging the raven, Ira knelt before him and pressed his hands to Arthur’s cheeks. He swore.
He reached for the buttons of Arthur’s shirt.
“What are you doing?” Arthur squeaked, with a strange thrill of panic.
“We need to get you out of these wet clothes.” Ira’s voice was a low growl, angry in a way Arthur had grown to recognize meant he was worried. “Maud, a fire.”
She had one crackling within moments.Magic, Arthur thought.
Then he stopped thinking, because Ira yanked the shirt from his shoulders and reached for the button of his trousers.
With another odd thrill, redder than ever, Arthur pulled away. “I’m perfectly capable of that, thank you anyway.”
