Page 12 of Bought By the Green Man

“Who is Ziku?”

“Our messenger. You may hear a less flattering title shortly.”

Warmth rises through the soles of my boots. For a moment I feel it higher, against my ribs, and I put a hand on the wall.

“Reivaka?”

She stops beside me. “Did it reach you?”

“I don’t know what reached me.”

“Tauremak. An old forest spirit living in the roots that connect these trees.”

I take my hand off the wall.

“A spirit.”

“It was here before Daurek became lord. He works with it. Usually.”

“And the flowers?”

“It takes an interest in people.”

“Can it hear what I’m thinking?”

“No. It can feel you against the wood. If you speak to the room, it may understand you. It won’t always do what you ask.”

“And can Daurek hear me speaking?”

“He doesn’t listen through walls. Ask him about the rest when you meet. He can tell you more about what he feels than I can.”

I think about the size of him again, for entirely unhelpful reasons.

“Right. Where’s breakfast?”

The main hall has a long table grown from a broad root that rises through the floor and spreads into a smooth, level surface. Its edges project far enough for people to sit with their knees beneath them. There are enough people around it to make me hesitate in the doorway. Most have bark or leaves somewhere on their bodies. An elderly man with mushrooms along one shoulder is arguing over a bowl of honey.

A small fox-spirit stands upright on a chair halfway down the table, holding a letter in one furred hand. His russet muzzle points toward a moss-skinned guard; a bushy tail hangs behind his coat, and his boots are planted on the seat.