He smoothed the back of his hand across the bark of the tree, gazing up at a sprig of mistletoe and feeling the strong urge to kiss her. He tried to control himself.
“You have suffered much since we parted,” she whispered. “The loss of a friend. The worry over whether you can trust the Rike in your company. You are conflicted about Tyrus’s death—or that he survived but did not tell you.”
“How easily you read me.”
She shook her head. “It is not difficult. Dryads learn much about the mortal world through our calling. It is a tumultuous existence. There is no death in Mirrowen. I wish I could bring you there.”
“Some Druidecht are allowed, eventually, to visit. Isn’t that so?”
She nodded.
“How does one earn that right?”
“I have never known anyone who has earned it. It was more common in the past, I think.” She gazed shyly down at the forest floor.
“So you do not know?”
She shook her head and looked down at her feet. “I do not.”
“What is it?”
Neodesha glanced up at him. “You’ve changed me, Annon.”
He cocked his head, his heart starting to burn again. He felt a small tremor begin in his knees.
“The change you wrought on me is more obvious,” he said. “I see the world differently now. Being able to remember everything is a blessing as well as a curse. When I think of Erasmus, my heart throbs with pain. It is an ache that will never dull. Yet when I think of you…I feel quite differently but equally powerful. How does one tame such emotions?”
“I wish I knew,” she said, coming around the tree and standing before him. “But I am struggling myself. I was content to be a Dryad. There is much solace and peace in our existence. Dangers do not threaten our trees very often. I existed between both worlds. Time has always been ephemeral to us. Until now. The boon I gave you bound us together. I worry about you now. I seek your safety and welfare. I do not want you to go to the Scourgelands.”
Annon’s stomach roiled with confusing emotions. He saw her hand resting against the tree trunk and he yearned to hold it. He remembered laying against her lap, reliving the emotional memories of his past. Her very presence comforted him, soothing the guilt and anguish of his life. He had no desire to return to Wayland, not for all the slices of honeyed bread Dame Nestra could bake.
“But I must go there,” he said softly.
“I know,” she answered with a sigh. “I…care for you, Annon. I will worry.”
She had said it and he felt a rush of relief, grateful to believe that he was not totally alone, that his feelings were not solely at risk. It had not been long, yet their connection was powerful. He nudged closer to her, staring at her hand.
“In the many years that I have guarded this tree,” she said softly, trying to meet his eyes, “I have thought often on my duty and the peace of my existence. I have not felt the desire to relinquish either.” She bit her lip. “Until now.”
He felt his throat tighten. “You know I must go,” he said in anguish.
“You misunderstand me. I do not seek to stop you. There are memories there, Annon. There are memories lost to the world. Reclaim them for us. It is your fate. The dangers of the Scourgelands are equally great. I will worry about you. And I will wait upon your safe return.” Her hand lifted timidly and brushed aside of lock of his hair.
Her touch caused a jolt of heat throughout his body. “Neodesha, I…” he whispered.
She put her fingers on his mouth, covering his lips. “Say not my name,” she said. “There are too many nearby. I would hate to be bound to anyone else…but you.”
He gently took her wrist and then kissed her fingertips. She smiled shyly.
“I will return when it is done,” he promised. “Nothing will prevent me. Not even death.”
She hesitated a moment and then stepped into his arms, burying her face against his chest. She trembled as he wrapped his arms around her like a blanket, holding her close, feeling the warmth from her body seep into his. The terror of Basilides was tamped. Smelling her hair brought a measure of peace and shards of pain.
Her face lifted, her eyes full of conflicting emotions. “I will wait for you,” she promised. One moment he was holding her. Then she was gone, vanished again into the tree.
Annon was suddenly cold, bereft of her comforting presence. Pain consumed his heart. He gazed around for her, bewildered at the suddenness of her departure. Turning, he saw Tyrus standing in the grove behind him, the Tay al-Ard in his hand.
“You have suffered much since we parted,” she whispered. “The loss of a friend. The worry over whether you can trust the Rike in your company. You are conflicted about Tyrus’s death—or that he survived but did not tell you.”
“How easily you read me.”
She shook her head. “It is not difficult. Dryads learn much about the mortal world through our calling. It is a tumultuous existence. There is no death in Mirrowen. I wish I could bring you there.”
“Some Druidecht are allowed, eventually, to visit. Isn’t that so?”
She nodded.
“How does one earn that right?”
“I have never known anyone who has earned it. It was more common in the past, I think.” She gazed shyly down at the forest floor.
“So you do not know?”
She shook her head and looked down at her feet. “I do not.”
“What is it?”
Neodesha glanced up at him. “You’ve changed me, Annon.”
He cocked his head, his heart starting to burn again. He felt a small tremor begin in his knees.
“The change you wrought on me is more obvious,” he said. “I see the world differently now. Being able to remember everything is a blessing as well as a curse. When I think of Erasmus, my heart throbs with pain. It is an ache that will never dull. Yet when I think of you…I feel quite differently but equally powerful. How does one tame such emotions?”
“I wish I knew,” she said, coming around the tree and standing before him. “But I am struggling myself. I was content to be a Dryad. There is much solace and peace in our existence. Dangers do not threaten our trees very often. I existed between both worlds. Time has always been ephemeral to us. Until now. The boon I gave you bound us together. I worry about you now. I seek your safety and welfare. I do not want you to go to the Scourgelands.”
Annon’s stomach roiled with confusing emotions. He saw her hand resting against the tree trunk and he yearned to hold it. He remembered laying against her lap, reliving the emotional memories of his past. Her very presence comforted him, soothing the guilt and anguish of his life. He had no desire to return to Wayland, not for all the slices of honeyed bread Dame Nestra could bake.
“But I must go there,” he said softly.
“I know,” she answered with a sigh. “I…care for you, Annon. I will worry.”
She had said it and he felt a rush of relief, grateful to believe that he was not totally alone, that his feelings were not solely at risk. It had not been long, yet their connection was powerful. He nudged closer to her, staring at her hand.
“In the many years that I have guarded this tree,” she said softly, trying to meet his eyes, “I have thought often on my duty and the peace of my existence. I have not felt the desire to relinquish either.” She bit her lip. “Until now.”
He felt his throat tighten. “You know I must go,” he said in anguish.
“You misunderstand me. I do not seek to stop you. There are memories there, Annon. There are memories lost to the world. Reclaim them for us. It is your fate. The dangers of the Scourgelands are equally great. I will worry about you. And I will wait upon your safe return.” Her hand lifted timidly and brushed aside of lock of his hair.
Her touch caused a jolt of heat throughout his body. “Neodesha, I…” he whispered.
She put her fingers on his mouth, covering his lips. “Say not my name,” she said. “There are too many nearby. I would hate to be bound to anyone else…but you.”
He gently took her wrist and then kissed her fingertips. She smiled shyly.
“I will return when it is done,” he promised. “Nothing will prevent me. Not even death.”
She hesitated a moment and then stepped into his arms, burying her face against his chest. She trembled as he wrapped his arms around her like a blanket, holding her close, feeling the warmth from her body seep into his. The terror of Basilides was tamped. Smelling her hair brought a measure of peace and shards of pain.
Her face lifted, her eyes full of conflicting emotions. “I will wait for you,” she promised. One moment he was holding her. Then she was gone, vanished again into the tree.
Annon was suddenly cold, bereft of her comforting presence. Pain consumed his heart. He gazed around for her, bewildered at the suddenness of her departure. Turning, he saw Tyrus standing in the grove behind him, the Tay al-Ard in his hand.
