“I don’t want to know. I think the cost outweighs the knowledge.” Tor Lir shrugged as he navigated through the wood as if he were born there. His footsteps were silent, and he moved with a quick and easy gait.
“What an odd thing to say.” Citrine lifted her hair off her neck as she sweated. “Everyone wants to know who they are, because it defines your life and gives you purpose and meaning.”
“You’re wrong,” Tor Lir replied defiantly. “My past doesn’t define my life. I decide who I am and what gives my life meaning. I don’t need dark secrets of the past to define me. I want to start out fresh with clean thoughts. Those secrets might be evil. There is no need to discover them.”
“But don’t you want to know? How can you run away from such knowledge? What if it unlocks the key to your power?”
“What do you know of my power?” Tor Lir’s tone turned cool like a frosty winter.
“Not very much, and neither do you,” Citrine retorted, refusing to look at him. “You’re like an invisible person—you’re here yet you’re not. You don’t have a personality. You are cold and curious and you don’t care about anything. Novor Tur-Woodberry asked me to be your guide, but I don’t know if I can because you are impossible.”
“Impossible?” Tor Lir asked. “What does that mean?”
“You’re difficult!” Citrine snapped. “You’re hard to understand and unchangeable. Do you know what? I think you might possibly be evil, and you might turn against me when we meet the Master of the Forest. You might even be on his side—”
“I am not evil.” Tor Lir’s voice turned to a low growl and his arm shot out, gripping Citrine’s upper arm.
He yanked her around to face him, his grip like iron, forcing Citrine to stare up into his face. She expected to see a furious scowl, but his face was calm, his eyes unnaturally cold as he glared at her. “Ever since you saw me, you looked at me and judged me. When the first words left my tongue, you examined them and found them lacking. I saw the look on your face. You disdain my companionship and think you are better than me when you don’t know who I am. Don’t take me for mere appearances and don’t judge my character before you know who I am. I am many things, but above all, I am not evil,” he stressed.
Citrine knew she had struck a nerve, and the look in his eyes terrified her. She felt as if a cold mist settled in her throat, forcing the breath out of her. She gritted her teeth, torn between yelling at him to let her go and egging him on. “I can’t trust you,” she whispered. “Because you won’t talk to me. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know if I can trust you. Talk. Tell me who you are.”
He let go so suddenly that she almost fell on her backside. Stumbling away, she leaned against a tree, her fingers wrapping around the green vines of the trunk for protection. He glared at her a moment longer before his eyes changed, the coldness drifting away like the sunrise scattering the shadows of night.
“I will try. Walk with me. I will not harm you.”
Citrine peeled herself away from the tree, leaving a wide gap between her and Tor Lir. Her heart thudded in her chest as she rubbed her arm, wondering if she were walking with the enemy.
28
Origins
“The forest of Shimla is my birthplace,” Tor Lir began in his lilting voice as if he’d never threatened her.
Citrine rubbed her arm as she walked behind him, glaring at his backside and wishing she held his bow and arrows. He’d shown a brief instance of his temper and she was tempted to do the same. A warning arrow that nicked his ears would be worthy repayment for the bruise he’d left on her arm.
“I hear most mortals are born.” Tor Lir glanced back at her, and Citrine refrained from making a face at him. “That’s true? And you know your parents?”
“Mmm,” Citrine hummed between her lips.
“It’s different for the creatures of the wood. Most of the Iaens aren’t born from each other. There is a place called the Birthing Grounds where flowers bloom with the seed of an Iaen, bringing them to life full-grown. It is the place where all knowledge and memories are kept and shared among the Iaens.”
“Strange.” Citrine couldn’t help but interrupt. “Are you saying all Iaens are born with knowledge? How come you claim you know little about mortals?”
“I don’t know how to explain it to you and I don’t know if I should. Iaens have their own knowledge they pass from one to another just as mortals do. During the war between the mortals and immortals, all of the Iaens left, taking their vast knowledge with them. Now we have no ancestors to glean wisdom and understanding from—all the wise ones are gone. I was born the first of my kind, the beginning of a new era, one without knowledge of mortals and how they dwell. Instead of learning the world at large, Iaens are taught how to protect ourselves, the lore of old, and what to do if mortals enter our realm.”
“Those three things are the most important?” Citrine asked, not intending to be snobby, but it came out that way.
“What did you learn?” Tor Lir glanced back at her, a hand on a thick tree trunk. A lock of hair fell onto his forehead, making him look younger and less severe.
“Independence, the lore of nature, and . . .” Citrine paused. Her upbringing was uncommon. Her parents were hard and relentless and taught her to be the same. Citrine had taken on her mother’s features, including her vibrant, ever-shifting hair color and curvaceous body while she had her father’s eyes and long limbs. Citrine the Enchantress, her father called her, his eyes glowing. You have a natural gift to call the beasts to yourself. Be wise and use it for good. There will be those who seek to use your gifting for their own benefit. It’s smart if you keep your knowledge to yourself, even if you should take a mate. In this moment, we hope that the war between the mortals and immortals may end. Regardless of what happens, there is a reason the Creator has given you your gift. There will always be good and evil in this world, and perhaps you may have a hand in the smaller events that take place in your lifetime. Always remember who you are and always remain in control of the voices.
Citrine squared her shoulders as she recalled the words of her father, and regret poured through her. She should not have opened her mouth and told Novor Tur-Woodberry, let alone, Tor Lir, who she was. Some secrets needed to remain buried, and she’d already jeopardized her family name by blabbing. Holding her tongue and keeping her temper were recurring mistakes in her life.
“What did you learn?”
Tor Lir’s question brought her out of her memories and she blinked at him, dismissing his question. “I learned how to take care of myself. There’s no hereditary knowledge for the mortals. My parents taught me everything I know. What were your parents like?” She threw the question at him, sorry she’d talked about herself.
“I don’t know,” Tor Lir mused, apathetic. “A green giantess raised me. She left this world when I was ten.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Citrine responded, unapologetic. She wondered how he handled the death of his guardian at such a young age. “Do you miss her?”
Tor Lir paused before turning to face her, a strange expression crossing his face as if he were not there at all. “This is why I don’t like to speak about my past. There are many conflicting thoughts and feelings. I don’t miss her and yet I feel as though she is part of me and her legacy lives on through me. She was a queen and she built a magnificent kingdom, willing me to do the same. The words she impressed on my memory will not leave me alone.”
Citrine felt the fingers of unease grip her at his words. Tor Lir walked back to her and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he examined her face. “What is it about you?” he whispered. “You entice me to bare my soul. Do you enchant everyone you meet?”
Citrine took a step away from him, her heart hammering as if he had given her an unwelcome kiss. “You’re a king?” she echoed. “A powerful king of the immortals?”
“Nay.” He shook his head as he swept his black hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. They were large ears and
pointed at the end, clarifying his odd breeding. “I am no king, and I will not take up the legacy left by those who came before me. I came to keep the balance and choose my own fate.”
Citrine took a deep breath and for the first time, she saw an unnamed emotion in Tor Lir’s face. If she had to describe it, she would call it fear. “You’re running away from something,” she blurted out. “As long as you stay away from the Iaens and their knowledge, you can keep running and never look back. Keeping the balance is only an excuse.”
Tor Lir grinned, his eyes lighting up and his teeth flashing for a brief second. “Aye.” He winked at her. “You are quite perceptive. If I had to guess, I would say the same about you.”
Citrine frowned. “I’m done running. I will face the Master of the Forest.” As the words left her lips, she saw an arrow streak out from the corner of her eye. Acting on impulse, she leaped, hurled herself at Tor Lir, and bowled them into the thick underbrush of the forest. Twigs snapped under their bodies as an arrow slammed into the tree trunk above it, pursued by two more.
Tor Lir’s lips moved beside Citrine’s ear, tickling her with his warm breath. “Someone wants to kill us.”
29
Monsters and Mayhem
Citrine’s left hand curled around the handle of her knife and yanked. “Let me up.” She pushed Tor Lir’s shoulder off her chest. “I will fight back.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Tor Lir whispered.
“Don’t be a coward,” Citrine hissed. “You have a bow—arm yourself. The creatures of this forest are evil, and they will not hesitate to slay you.” She rolled over and scrambled to her knees, pushing her cloak out of the way, cursing as it snagged in brambles.
“We can’t fight what we can’t see,” Tor Lir protested as he lay flat on his back in the underbrush where she’d left him.
“Hush,” Citrine interrupted as a high-pitched chirping came from above her. Raising her head, she narrowed her eyes at the dense foliage, unable to see what was up there.
The chirping grew louder and faster until a piercing shriek and a thrashing sound came from the treetops. Citrine fumbled for her second knife and planted her feet as leaves and twigs rained down on her head. She held a hand over her eyes, shielding them from the onslaught. A blur of brown-and-white hurled out of the tree, screaming with murderous rage. A pointed stick whistled overhead.
Citrine yelled and swiped back, her knife striking the midpoint of the stick and snapping it in half. The creature screamed and tossed both ends at her and then leaped for a tree branch, scaling it and disappearing from view in a matter of seconds.
“Ha!” Citrine shouted, shaking one of her knives at the tree.
“Bah!” the creature yelled back, tossing a handful of leaves on Citrine’s head.
“Come back here, you rascal,” she shouted, kicking the tree. The impact jarred her toes and she cursed. She wanted to climb the tree, but when she reached for an overhanging branch, her hand slipped away and was covered with a sticky substance. “Sap,” she whispered just as the chirping sound rang out again.
Two creatures assailed her this time, beating about her head with a stick as they dived from the tree.
“Tor Lir!” Citrine shrieked, ducking the assault and flashing her knives back and forth, missing each time as the creatures hopped around her. “Where are you?” she demanded.
Another stick snapped in half, and she spun as two more creatures hopped down from the tree, leaping over brambles and bushes as they charged her. Her knives sliced, but she wasn’t quick enough. Two feet slammed into her back with such force that she fell over, crashing into the underbrush, almost cutting herself on her knives. Holding her arms out, she landed roughly on her fists and tried to climb to her knees. Before she could rise, a creature hopped on her back and another pinned her arms to the forest floor, snatching at the knives she clasped in her fist.
“Get off me, you oaf!” she shouted, her temper rising. “Let me go!”
Something landed on her head with a thunk and her head slammed into the ground, searing pain surging between her eyes. Blood poured from her nostrils and for a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. She kicked her legs as hard as she could, even as she felt a noose wrap around each ankle and then tug, pulling her legs apart. A curse rose in her throat and she opened her mouth, gasping for breath and spitting out leaves and dirt. A stick smacked across her back and she tried to lift her head, only to feel a heaviness land on it and push her back down. Her nose smashed into the ground and her breath came short and fast. Fury rose within as she sent out threads of communications to her beasts.
Help. Ava. Zaul. Grift. Help me.
The silence was not encouraging and at last, she willed herself to be humble and called upon the latest beast in her collection, the one who had not proven himself true. Morag. Help me.
A stick walloped her back, breaking skin. Citrine hissed in pain as other sticks slammed into her arms and legs. She arched her back, attempting to use what measly strength she had left to wiggle free, but the pressure on her head made it difficult to breathe. She fought, her fingers clawing at the dirt while her legs yanked against the rope. Despite her struggles, she could only pull in shallow breaths. Darkness flickered around her eyelids and a sensation of drowning made her struggle once more, but they held her fast.
Bile rose in her throat and she choked, blood and snot spewing from her nose as the creatures continued beating her. Her fists relaxed, and the knives fell out of her grasp. A moan escaped her lips and while the burning fire in her belly told her to fight, the creatures bested her. There was nothing to fight for anymore.
30
Mission of Mercy
“Wait!” Tor Lir shouted as the brown-and-white creatures bore down on him, shaking their fists and growling. He could tell they were people, yet they covered their bodies from head to toe in animal skins. A few wore the skin of a bear while others wore that of a panther and other predators of the forest.
Ideally, it was an excellent camouflage for scaring away predators, plus the smell surrounding them would frighten off any beast. They carried sharp sticks more useful for spearing fish than for fighting in the deep. Tor Lir recognized the tools as ones he used to make when he went fishing before he realized the Waters of Nye would give him anything he desired.
Holding his bow and quiver in front of him, he dropped them on the ground as a group of creatures beat Citrine. “We are not your enemies,” he declared, hoping the creatures spoke the common tongue.
His eyes slid over to Citrine who was facedown and covered in creatures more than forest. Tor Lir saw blood oozing from her head and legs. He cursed, unhappy her rashness in attacking had led to this cautious predicament. When he looked at the creatures, he sensed their auras of fear and confusion. They wanted to protect their colony, and Tor Lir could tell they did not have malicious intent. Something was threatening them and they were fighting back as they should.
“Tie us up if you must and take our weapons, but I beg of you, let us have a word with your leader before you decide what to do with us. We will help if you will let us.”
He was proud of his words—they were ones he’d uttered many times in the forest of Shimla. It was not his true nature to be devious and deceptive, but often some pranks he’d played against other Iaens had landed him in trouble. He recalled being dragged before the queen of the Falidrains to explain why their golden elixir had been stolen. He’d only moved it before the midsummer feast, dared by one of the Jesnidrains, who seemed to be in a constant conflict with the Falidrains.
Tor Lir had once heard a tale of a female Jesnidrain and a female Falidrain who hated each other, and so passed down the hatred between the two species. He’d made the mistake of getting involved and alienated the Falidrains. At least the Jesnidrains still took him in. They were darker than the Falidrains, but just as beautiful with an intoxicating power he was drawn toward. The Falidrains were lighter and fairer and often seemed overzealous in their pur
suit of goodness and peace. Law was their domain, and they followed the law relentlessly by castigating anyone who showed the slightest inclination of disobedience.
Meanwhile, the creatures ceased beating Citrine and shrieked at each other, pointing and making signs with their hands. One of them tossed a rope to the group closest to Tor Lir. Five surrounded him, the sharp points of their spears pointed toward his chest in case he moved.
“Hold out your hands!” one ordered in a guttural voice. The owner of the voice stomped up to Tor Lir, snatching the bow and quiver. The creature then grabbed a length of rope and wound it around Tor Lir’s hands until it began to bite into his skin. “Come with us.”
Tor Lir nodded. He took a step, and a burlap bag dropped onto his head, shutting out his vision of the forest. It pulled tight against his neck and slowed down his breathing. So much for diplomacy. “Is this necessary?” he demanded.
A stick slammed into his back, a first warning for speaking, and Tor Lir gave up and let them lead him, stumbling, into the forest.
They marched over forested terrain. Tor Lir heard the animals of the wood, voices fraught with fear and panic. Once he heard the throaty trickling of water and remembered Citrine said they should follow a river to find the Master of the Forest. A sweetness hung in the air, strong enough to get through the burlap on his head. The inside smelled like unwashed feet. He tripped on roots and underbrush and the creatures leading him cursed and rapped him on the head each time he slowed them down.
Eventually, they reached smooth terrain and an arm fell on Tor Lir’s shoulder, bringing him to a stop. A furry hand grabbed his wrists and lifted them straight up, tugging until his toes grazed the ground. Tor Lir grimaced as someone yanked the sack off his head, pulling out a few of his black hairs with it. He blinked as his eyes watered, surprised at the sunlight filtering into the place. Tilting back his head, he saw his hands tied above him while a hill sloped down, displaying a strange habitation. A tribe covered in brown-and-white fur surrounded him and Citrine, who was still passed out. Her head hung limply while her arms were tied next to his.
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