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I sat there, stupidly blinking while wondering who on earth Henry thought fit that bill.

“You want me to do what?” Martin’s wide eyes flashed from Keir to me. Henry was nowhere to be found, although I thought I heard a chuckle or two coming from a nearby wall. Most likely he was hanging around, getting a good laugh out of the situation.

Keir pinched the bridge of his nose while I calmly sat in a nearby cushioned chair, sipping the best tea I’d ever had. Honestly, this gryphon had a gift when it came to tea.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Keir attempted to placate the furious dryad.

“Ideal? That’s what you’re getting out of this?” Martin really did sound pissed. Or maybe just really, really stressed. “You want me to…” He spluttered, waving a leaf-covered limb my direction. The bright green leaves were pretty and captured my attention. I should probably intervene, say something that might calm him down, but I wasn’t particularly keen to do so. Nothing would come of this anyway. There was no way Martin would agree to do this. It was a waste of time.

The curious part, to me at least, was that Henry wasn’t wrong when he thought of Martin. As an oak dryad, Martin fit nearly every criterion required of an anchor. All but the fact that he didn’t care if my wisp form was torn asunder and I ceased to exist. Unfortunately, that was the foundation of a good anchor.

Keir inhaled, expanding his chest before releasing that breath in a heavy exhale. “Martin, I need you to take a moment and listen to me. Please.”

Martin’s mouth slammed shut but his eyes were still mutinous. “Asking me to allow Grayson Delarue into our home, into our lives, and into our deepest secrets is one thing. Asking me to mix our magics, to entwine mine with his, is something else, Keir.”

“I know, and I don’t ask it lightly. You know me too well to assume that.”

Martin threw up his hands, scattering oak leaves as his limbs receded. “Of course I know that. That isn’t the problem.”

“Martin, you’ve seen what he can do, what Grayson already found. Just think about all the other lost or dangerous things Grayson might find. If I’m understanding him correctly, the problem isn’t that there isn’t anything to find. It’s that there’s too much. Doesn’t that give you pause?”

Martin took a step back, running his fingers through his thick, brown hair. “Obviously. Still, this is a lot. He’s a will-o’-the-wisp.” Martin sounded truly pained.

Having heard enough, I stood, stretching my arms above my head. “Give it up, Keir.” Lowering my arms, I rested my hands on my hips. “Martin can’t do it anyway.”

Keir and Martin turned, staring at me. While Keir appeared disappointed, Martin looked furious. “Why not?” Martin asked.

“Simple. You don’t care if I live or die.” When he started to balk, I waved Martin off. “At the very least, you don’t like me. An anchor has to care. That’s an absolute necessity. It’s the very core of a successful anchor. If that isn’t there, then it doesn’t matter how stable or strong you are. It’s as simple as that.” I shrugged as if they should have already considered this. Truly, Keir should have. Martin held too much animosity toward will-o’-the-wisps. It wasn’t necessarily me in particular; it was my entire species. Dryads had their reasons. I wouldn’t claim otherwise and didn’t necessarily fault Martin for his views.

Shoulders thrown back, Martin stared at me as if I’d mortally offended him. “You really believe I can’t do this.”

“Can’t, won’t—same difference.” I wasn’t certain why he was so angry. I was giving Martin a legitimate out here.

“It most certainly is not the same difference.” I swear, Martin’s stature grew about a foot. “I am more than capable of being your anchor.”

“Not if you hate me,” I snapped, beginning to get irritated myself.

“I do not hate you. That is too strong a word. I do not trust will-o’-the-wisps.”

I rolled my eyes and pointed to my chest. “Newsflash: I’m a fucking will-o’-the-wisp. Ergo, you don’t trust me.”

Martin’s mouth opened once before slamming shut. The animosity drained from his eyes, confusion taking its place. “That is not one hundred percent accurate.”

My eyebrows shot skyward. “No?”

With a huff, Martin turned from me, resting his forearm on Keir’s mantel, posture bent as he stared at the flicking flames. “There is a chance, albeit a small one, that you are different from the others I’ve encountered over the years.”

Martin probably thought he was offering up a compliment. I didn’t take it that way. “Whatever. The point is, your animosity toward me won’t allow you to be a good anchor. Trust goes both ways and my wisp form would need to trust you implicitly. I would need to instinctually trust that you are a safe harbor, that yours is the call I need to heed. You have no idea how strong treasures’ pull is. Your song has to be louder. It has to blare with the force of a thousand suns. You have to mean it. You have to want me to come back—all of me. If you can’t do that, then the point is moot.”

Martin turned, intensely staring at me, as if he were searching for my very soul. I glared back, refusing to flinch. I was what I was and made no apologies for it. Martin’s fingers tightly fisted and his lips thinned. He was a stubborn dryad, just as I’d expect from his oak nature.

“I assume you know what is required to bind us, to make me your anchor.”

My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. After what I just explained, this can’t work. You can’t⁠—”

“Stop telling me what I can and cannot do.” Martin crossed his arms, head bent and staring down his nose at me. “I can and I will be the best damn anchor a will-o’-the-wisp has ever known. I will not fail you. I will call to you when you are in need. I will bring you back whole. This I promise you.”

My mouth snapped shut, teeth rattling. Disbelieving, I turned to Keir and asked, “Is he serious?”