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“Not if what you’re plannin’ is stupid dangerous and you’re just tryin’ to protect my wee bit of hide. If that’s what you’re talkin’ about, then no, I don’t think I will.” Although I couldn’t see it, I imagined Henry was standing on my shoulder, arms crossed and chin jutted into the air.

Of course, I could simply pluck him off my shoulder and be done with it. Most likely Henry would never forgive me for such an offense. “It’s not dangerous, not to me. I just… I’d like some space and alone time with Martin and his magic.” I truly didn’t think what I was about to do would be dangerous to me. What I also thought was that if it didn’t work, then most likely I’d fall to the ground wailing. I’d be too distraught to make sure Henry was latched on tight and safe.

With a loud huff, Henry grumbled something I couldn’t make out and made his way down my side. His tiny weight shifted ever lower until he was on the ground. I couldn’t hear the pitter-patter of his small feet, but when I glanced over, Henry was sitting on Tabitha’s lap. I wouldn’t exactly say he was glaring at me, but the look was expectant, as if to say he’d done as asked and now I needed to get on with it.

“We’re all here for you. No matter what happens,” Keir said, voice steady.

Inhaling deeply, I looked to Holland and Hikaru. The warlock appeared mildly intrigued. Hikaru’s tails danced behind him, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. The interest gleaming in his eyes was, frankly, a little disturbing. With a tiny wave, Hikaru said, “Go on.” His toothy grin was probably meant to be reassuring. It wasn’t.

Eyes slipping closed, I leaned my forehead against Martin’s trunk, palms splayed against the rough bark. “I know you can’t hear me, but I’m going to try and fix you.” I wasn’t certain that was the correct way to phrase it. “Not that you’re not a lovely tree, but…I want my Martin back. Call me selfish if you want. I don’t care. Some might say I don’t need you, that you are a want instead. Need, want—I don’t give a shit. I just crave you. You are my treasure, Martin, and will-o’-the-wisps tenaciously cling to their treasure.”

My magic slowly released its vigilance around Martin’s magic, allowing it to move away from my core. I felt it move down my right arm, hovering within my palm. I prayed this wouldn’t be the last time I felt the warm tingle of Martin’s magic.

Go, I internally whispered. Bring him back.

Martin’s magic slipped through my skin. Its absence was immediately felt, my own magic’s mourning joining my emotional turmoil. My shaking knees gave way, and I slipped to the ground, my body hitting Martin’s birth soil as I continued leaning heavily against his solid trunk. I had no idea if what I’d done worked or not. Had I just lost the final piece of Martin I’d so desperately clung to? Had I willingly given up my final connection in the futile hope of restoring him?

I had no idea, and that heart-crushing doubt ate at my soul.

Thirty

Martin

I’d never truly contemplated my own death, or what it would feel like to die. I wasn’t immortal. I knew that one day I would cease to exist. The threat of the wyvern had made that eventual end more likely. Even then, I didn’t stop to think about what it would be to no longer be sentient, to no longer have a place and part in the world.

Would I have done anything differently if I’d truly contemplated the consequences? I wasn’t certain. Most likely, I never would be certain. All I knew was that the ones I loved were in mortal danger and there was something I could do to protect them, to keep them safe from danger. To preserve their lives. As a dryad, I’d never thought there would be a situation where my actions could truly mean the difference between life and death.

Huxley hadn’t been nearly so shortsighted. No, Huxley’s mind had imagined sinister twists and turns. He’d never seen the natural order as a deterrent, simply a block in the road he needed to navigate around; the cost of paving those new roads was never a true consideration. Not for an individual like Tenzen Huxley. For him, the ends always justified the means.

And so, I’d been given a choice. Some might call it an opportunity. I didn’t see it as that. I simply saw the avenue Huxley had left and willingly chosen to engage it. Had it hurt? Without a doubt. The physical pain was beyond excruciating. It was like fire surging through my sap, racing inside me, taking over everything until I physically felt nothing. That numb feeling only lasted long enough for my last vestige of consciousness to fall as well. And then…there was nothing.

I couldn’t say how long that great nothing lasted or when I even became aware that there had been nothing. It felt like the first rays of the morning sun touching my outstretched leaves, waking them by infinitesimal degrees.

I felt, and more importantly, I knew that I could feel. It was a conscious thought, a welcome emotion. And at first, that’s all I could do—feel. It was lovely, that sun striking my leaves, filling me up with warmth. I think the feeling started in my trunk, or maybe my roots. I couldn’t be certain. My first awakenings were fuzzy at best. It was a slumbering knowledge that there had been more before and yet I’d only now come to realize the sensation was there.

The need to stretch and yawn pulled at me, but I felt stymied. My branches were heavy and not easily moved. The wind touched my leaves, rustling them and creating a gentle sway on my tiniest, most distant branches. Those branches seemed to stretch on forever, far greater than I remembered them ever being before.

My internal magic grew, filling in all the hollow spaces where I instinctually knew it had once lived. It was fragile, this burgeoning magic, and I worried it was stretching itself too thin. I internally cautioned it to take its time, to grow and stretch itself at a more sedate pace. My magic wouldn’t listen. It demanded more and insisted with an urgency I didn’t understand.

Other sensations began filtering in. It wasn’t just the wind and sun I felt, but a heavier presence pressed against the base of my trunk. Sounds slowly seeped in. Whispered voices overshadowed by sobbing and…begging? What was that pleading voice, and why did it cut me to the core?

My memories were hazy and traveled through me like a movie skipping scenes. My peaceful repast was broken by new, more painful feelings. Dread. Desperation. Fear. Those toxic emotions flooded me, and I suddenly understood my magic’s urgency. While I didn’t yet remember the reasons for such powerful emotions, I didn’t doubt them either. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

That flickering movie reel going through my mind came to a stop on a single frame—the most beautiful face I’d ever seen. A name quickly followed. Grayson. Gray. My Gray.

And then it was as if the floodgates opened and the past few days slammed into my mind with the force of a juggernaut. Memories slotted into place, tiny jigsaw pieces finding their match and completing a picture I wasn’t certain I was ready to see. The Magical Usage Council, Tenzen Huxley’s betrayal, our fallen friends and family, Gray’s arrival, me becoming his anchor, finding Huxley’s hidden treasure, Hikaru’s tail, the wyvern eggs, the buzzweeds, and…the core buzzweed.

It all came back to me, my decision to join with that core buzzweed, to invite the pixie magic into myself, to create a barrier around the council that would protect those I loved.

The sobbing pleas made sense, the voice now recognizable. Gray.

My branches were still heavy. I created a new one, a smaller one, sending it down and cradling Gray’s body. Hushed gasps filled the air, but all I cared about was the small will-o’-the-wisp that had captured my heart.

“Goddess bless!” I knew that voice. Jima. “He moved. Did you see that? Martin moved!”

“I saw, Jima.” Keir.

“It’s lovely.” Tabitha.