Bite of Winter (Fae's Captive #3) - Lily Archer Page 0,18
your questions. She’s danced with the magic of the otherworld even longer than I have, and on top of that, has the devious intelligence bred by the Spires.”
“Well, she went back to her cave and she told me to be scared of TMI—too much information.”
Delantis nods. “She was wise, and I’m impressed you made it out of that encounter with all your skin intact.”
I shudder. “I’m good like that, yeah.”
“Can you tell me about the prophec—”
“Here we are.” She turns into a wide carving in the rock and leads me along a walkway a few stories above a wide, flat cavern. Several football fields worth of dirt and crops expand into the distance, and light shines through shafts from above that hit the rows of plants perfectly.
Vundi workers walk along the rows or group around work stations placed at intervals.
My mouth may be hanging open a bit. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We can’t survive in the plains anymore. This was working for a while, but now we can’t produce enough to feed ourselves. Not since the plants began to die off.”
“What happened to them?” We ease down a set of stone stairs, and the gryphon takes flight and lands below us, its smoky white tail high in the air.
“We don’t know. Mainly because we aren’t farmers by nature. Centuries ago, we sent spies to the western farmlands who brought back basic farming knowledge as well as seeds and a few plants. From that, we were able to thrive. Until it all went bad.” She frowns at the wilted plants all along the rows we approach. “We keep ourselves hidden, never allowing outsiders to enter our caverns, so there’s no help. Only what we can do. And—” She motions to the failing greenery. “As you can see, we’ve reached the limits of our abilities.”
“You let us in. Surely, you could let the western farmers you mentioned come to help?”
She cocks her head to the side a bit. “The king of the winter realm is a little different than just anyone, especially when his changeling is the one thing that could save our people. You’re an exception. The rule is that we hide our numbers. It’s safer that way. No outsiders.”
The scent of rot is heavy here, the withering green stalks limp and barren.
“May I?” I gesture to the nearest plant. I don’t recognize it, but I assume horticulture works the same way here as on earth. After all, the plants grow in dirt, need sunlight, and have a rough irrigation system via narrow water ducts running in a grid through the fields.
“Go ahead.” She reaches out and strokes her gryphon’s feathers.
“What’s your gryphon’s name?” I kneel next to the nearest plant.
“Delantis.” She runs her finger down its beak.
“Oh.” I try not to sound as confused as I am and focus on the withered yellow leaves.
“She is me. My feral.”
I turn back to her. “That’s your feral fae?”
“She manifests physically now. The older a fae, the stronger its feral. It seems your mate is on the verge of manifesting his own. I can hear it inside him, desperate to claim his mate.”
I swallow hard. “Wow.”
“Indeed.” She points to the plant. “This is supposed to produce dwarfberries. It’s a vining plant but hasn’t been able to branch out.” Looking at her white-tipped fingers, she frowns. “All this power, and I can’t do anything about it. Life is its own particular magic, and not one I can control.”
“Let me take a look.” I dig into the dark brown earth at the plant’s roots. Rotted ooze covers its damp roots.
“Delantis.” A woman approaches, her hair tied up in neat knots, and her face something like a deer’s. “I didn’t know we’d have such an honor this day.” She bows low.
“Chatara, I just brought Taylor by to see if she had any thoughts on our problem. She’s an alchemist.”
“Chemist,” I correct and peer more closely at the goo on my fingertips. It stinks like decay. “Are they all like this?”
“The plants? Yes.” Chatara eyes me curiously. “It started in the back reaches of the fields and spread in a matter of months. We eventually set fire to everything in an effort to stop the plague and planted new seeds, but they still fell ill.”
“Did you treat the soil?”
“Treat it?” Chatara blinks, her doe-like eyes big and brown. “It was on fire. Nothing survived.”
I stand. “Do you have a microscope?”
Chatara blinks even harder. “A … A what?”
“It’s a …” I chew on my