notice we are completely alone. How had someone managed to sneak past us and leave these ‘gifts’ right in our laps without us noticing? “Look, there’s something else here too.” I hadn’t seen it before, I was so focused on the plant and full flask.
Taking the wrapped leaf, I open it to find a small cluster of mushrooms, nuts, and berries.
“The sprites, I would assume, although it could have been the imps,” he replies, taking a couple of the nuts and popping them into his mouth with a pleased hum.
“Wait, the what?” I just stare at him, sure he’s joking and he’s going to tell me he did this as some elaborate prank.
Did he say imps? Sprites? Like the creatures from fairy tales I heard the nannies tell the children at the castle? They’re real?
“The sprites and—” He starts before frowning and turning to look at me. “They don’t teach you about the other fae races?”
Lifting my sleeve, I show him my slave marks. “Slave, remember? My education was sorely lacking.” Leaning back against the tree, suddenly famished, I toss some of the berries into my mouth. The sweet tartness of the fruit makes me hum in pleasure, and I take a couple more, enjoying the rich flavours. We sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying our gift when a thought comes to me. “There are other races?”
“Many,” he confirms with a nod.
I want to ask more, I want to know all about this world of fae he mentioned, but I know there will be time for that later. Right now, I need to get out of this tree. Last night I hadn’t been too bothered by it, but for some reason, now fully rested, I would rather not spend any more time in it than I have to.
“Let’s get on solid ground and I’ll check your wound,” I suggest, grabbing hold of the angel’s breath to make sure we don’t lose it in transit.
It takes longer than I would like to admit to get out of the tree, my ankle protesting the whole time, and I discover that getting down is far harder than climbing up. Once I’m finally back on the ground, I take a deep, calming breath and turn to see Vaeril kneeling before the tree. As he did yesterday, his palms are pressed against the bark and his mouth is moving as if he’s speaking, but I can’t hear anything. When he pulls away, he sees my quizzical expression.
“I thanked her for her shelter and protection.” He says it like it makes complete sense. Arching an eyebrow, I shake my head, trying to suppress my smile at his comment.
“You thanked a tree?” Again, I try to keep the question light, he’s obviously taking this seriously, but it comes out tight and high. He rolls his eyes, and I know I’m off the hook when I smile at him. Gesturing for him to sit, I search through the pack to find what I need for his dressing. “I’m going to check your wound.”
He does as I ask, only wincing a little bit as he repositions himself before lifting his shirt. “I spent time with the wood elves, remember? I picked up some tricks.”
Kneeling at his side, I remove the dressing and I have to fight to keep my face neutral again, but thankfully, he is looking around at the other trees. The wound looks much the same, but black lines are snaking away from it and up his body. They are only short tendrils at the moment, and I might not know much about wounds or poison, but I know this isn’t good. Reaching for the flask of alcohol, I open the cap and pour a little onto the wound, trying to ignore Vaeril’s hisses of pain.
I clear my throat, knowing I need to keep his mind off what I’m doing. “Are you telling me the tree can hear us?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” he responds, and I nod. All of this seems complicated to me—trees that can hear us, and magical creatures that leave us gifts. How my life has changed in such a short span of time.
“I’ll take you to meet some of the wood elves when we get to Galandell,” he continues, as I take the leaves from the angel’s breath and try to pack them into his wound. I make another makeshift dressing and fix it in place with more strips of the dress from the pack. It will be unwearable when