Chapter 83

Chapter 83
Kate’s POV

Ashleen’s “yes” still cracks in the air. I look at my sister, and everything in her expression tells me she’s not joking. There isn’t a spark of mischievous teasing in her eyes. What I see is seriousness and joy blended with a certainty as natural as someone declaring that grass is green and the sky is blue.

“Are you sure about this?” The whisper slips out before I can swallow it.

“Uh-huh.” She nods with a conviction that could dismantle any argument.

I turn my face looking for Dan, as if he could hand me an explanation that fit in one sentence. But he’s just as shocked as I am. His tail froze, his eyes too wide, fixed on Ashleen like he’d been caught off guard by a shooting star crossing the room.

“So the little pest already takes part in secret councils with moss and daisies?” Niv’leen asks in a playful tone.

He looks from Ashleen to me, from me to Dan, and back to Ashleen. Then surprise bursts across his face too, and the fairy darts close to my sister’s nose, flailing his arms in a showy fuss.

“You truly HEARD?!”

“I did!” Ashleen replies without hesitation.

The fairy opens and closes his mouth twice, soundlessly. Then a small, incredulous laugh escapes him, and he rubs his hands, almost nervously.

I breathe, and only then notice I’d been holding air for too long. I try to piece my thoughts together. Cindel. The word comes on its own, like a bird that finds the window open. I think of what she gave me, of what she left with Ashleen — the anfa’anam that saved my sister’s life. But… what if it wasn’t just that? What if, along with living fire, came an echo of what made Cindel be Cindel?

I don’t say it. It’s only a hunch, a spark that needs time before it can grow into a blaze.

“How was it?” I ask quietly to Ashleen. “When you… heard.”

She touches her chin with her finger.

“It’s… like when you press your ear against a door. Except I heard inside my head.” Ashleen wrinkles her nose. “And I understood.”

The simplicity of the way she says “I understood” opens a new space inside me. I remember the golden glow in Cindel’s plant, remember the way the Mother-tree seemed to breathe deeper when we arrived. But I force myself to stay in the now: the girl in front of me, the “yes” she spoke without fear.

Dan is still watching her. There’s an almost invisible detail on his face, the faintest parting of dark lips. Niv’leen, on the other hand, can’t stay still anymore. He flits in short circles, like he needs to burn off energy to avoid exploding.

“I’ve never seen a human do that. Not like this. Not without a fae’s help.” He lands near Ashleen’s feet, staring up in amazement. “Are you sure you’re not using a trick?”

“I don’t even know how to use a trick,” she retorts, mildly offended.

“I don’t think she even knows what a trick is, Niv,” I argue.

Part of me already wants to jump ahead: ask her to try again, confirm, ask questions, test limits. The other part says wait. This isn’t the time to turn a miracle into a trial.

“I believe you,” I tell Ashleen, and realize I was saying it to myself too.

She tilts her head. “Really?”

“Really.”

I bite my lip, torn between the fear of voicing it and the urgency to confirm. If it’s only imagination, better it dies in silence. If it’s real, it can’t remain nameless.

I decide, and hold Ashleen’s small hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“Can you… try again?”

“Try what?”

“Talk like you did before. I want to see if it happens again.”

Ashleen, unlike the three of us, doesn’t look even a little surprised. Her face lights up with the natural bravery of a child, one who doesn’t yet know the weight of doubt. She lets go of my hand and walks two steps toward a vine twining around one of the living columns of the porch. Wide leaves shine with a damp green, still speckled with drops from the night. Tiny purple flowers bloom at uneven intervals, as if the trunk itself had embroidered a necklace.

She crouches, close enough to nearly touch her forehead to the living wood, and speaks softly, like she’s telling a secret.

“Hi… can you hear me?”

Dan holds his breath. I know because I do the same. Niv’leen flies onto her shoulder, eyes locked on the scene.

For a few seconds, nothing happens. The silence grows so much that I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. I think of giving up, calling Ashleen back, saying it doesn’t matter. But then, the flower nearest her, one that hadn’t opened yet, quivers, as if brushed by an invisible breeze. The stem trembles. Its petals unfold slowly, with a clarity no illusion could invent.

Ashleen smiles.

“She said she likes the light here because it’s warm.”

My legs turn weak. I have to lean on the railing to keep from letting emotion drop me to the floor.

Niv’leen widens his eyes and lets out a disbelieving whistle.

“No way.” He zooms at the flower, circles it fast, then lands again, jittery. “It’s REAL! I SAW! The little pest talked, and the flower ANSWERED!”

I can’t say anything. I just hold out my hand for Ashleen, who gets up and runs back to me. She clutches my fingers, proud, like she’s showing me a freshly drawn picture.

“Did you see?”

“I did.” My voice comes out hoarse.

“Seems,” Dan starts, “that a free anfa’anam untouched by the Pale King’s frost wasn’t the only thing the little one inherited from Cindel…”

Niv’leen is the first to burst. He spins two somersaults in the air, his small body sketching circles of light between the beams falling from the Mother-tree’s ceiling, and lets out a cry that’s half laugh, half sob.

“I saw it! I swear on my own wings, I saw it! She spoke, and the flower moved, opened, answered! This isn’t a trick, no trick at all!” He zips so close to Ashleen he nearly bumps her nose, eyes sparkling. “What did you do? How did you do it? Tell me, tell me!”

Ashleen steps back, I think more from his wild excitement than the question itself. I kneel, holding her shoulder, setting my body between them.

“Slow down, Niv.” My voice comes out firm. “You’re scaring her.”

“Scare?!” He throws his arms wide, almost losing balance in midair from so much excitement. “I’m AMAZED! Can you imagine how many CENTURIES I lived here, surrounded by fairies swearing they hear the earth and leaves whisper, before deciding I needed my own home? And now comes a little pest who can do it without anyone’s help!”

Ashleen looks up at me, uncertain, like she doesn’t understand half of what he said. But the hesitation soon fades. She raises her chin and replies:

“But I only listened. Same way I listen when you guys talk to me.”

Niv’leen claps his hands in the air, laughing loudly. “Incredible! Absolutely INCREDIBLE! If I said this in an assembly, they’d laugh in my face. But I saw it, I LIVED it!” He spins, does another flip, then lands on my shoulders. “Do you realize, little pest? This is a gift, essence, it’s—”

“It’s Cindel.” The word slips from me before I can stop it.

Niv’leen’s eyes widen, as if only now he grasped what Dan and I had already understood. For an instant, he looks ready to burst into laughter again, but he doesn’t. Instead, his expression softens with a trace of respect that rarely shows.

I meet my sister’s eyes.

“Ashleen… do you understand what this means?”

She shakes her head.

“All I know is it doesn’t hurt.”

Dan breathes deep and murmurs, in a low but steady tone: “I think that’s enough, for now.”

Niv’leen nods, though he keeps spinning in the air like he can’t hold it in. I hug Ashleen from the side, pulling her closer. For a moment, the three of us gather around her, until from above, a drop of dew loosens from one of the broad leaves and falls slowly, tracing a shining arc before dripping on the living wood floor. Then another falls, and another. Not many, but enough to fill the air with a fresh scent. A breeze then sweeps across the porch. It doesn’t come from outside — it’s born from the Mother-tree itself, flowing through the roots that hold up our floor and climbing the braided columns, until it stirs Ashleen’s hair.

She laughs, raising her little hand to catch the loose strands.

“It tickles!”

My heart tightens in my chest. Did she know? When Cindel gave her life, did she imagine this echo would bloom in Ashleen?

Dan is silent again, but his shoulders lift slowly, like he’s let go of some invisible burden. His eyes reflect the shimmer of dew, and his expression is so intense I want to ask what exactly he sees that I can’t. But I don’t. I think his silence is part of this miracle.

Niv’leen, though, shoots upward, spreads his thin arms, and lets the breeze carry him in circles. His laughter is sharp, crystalline, contagious.

“It’s real! Even my big sister is answering!”

He lands on my shoulder again, eyes wide with a joy I can’t describe.

“I’m seeing my sister play!”

Ashleen still doesn’t look even a bit impressed. She looks up, follows another droplet sliding down the trunk until it runs onto her outstretched hand, and says:

“She’s happy I woke up.”

A shiver runs through me.

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what she said.” Ashleen shrugs, naturally, and licks the dew that slid down to her wrist, like it’s just another game.

I run my hand through my sister’s hair, trying to hide the tremble in my fingers. For me, it doesn’t matter if what she hears are clear words or only feelings she translates. What matters is that something true is happening.

I take her hand again. It’s warm, full of energy.

“You’re amazing, Ash.”

She laughs, and in the smile that follows, there isn’t the faintest shadow of frost.

Our moment is only broken when a new sound calls our attention, like trunks cracking in the distance. I know what it means before I even see: the Mother-tree is opening a passage.

I look back, and there she is.

The Fairy Queen steps in slowly. Her presence alters the air, and every fiber of the Mother-tree seems to lean slightly in her direction.

At my side, I feel Ashleen stiffen, eyes widening, like the Queen’s sight is too vast to fit, even though the Queen is so small.

Niv’leen is the first to speak. He hops in the air and makes an exaggerated bow, landing on the railing right after, though the sharp-toothed grin he flashes betrays his real state of mind.

“Mom! You won’t believe what I just witnessed, and it’s not even snack time yet!”

The Queen smiles, but her gaze doesn’t rest on him. She halts in front of Ashleen, lowering her flight until their eyes are level. The light flowing from her skin brushes Ashleen’s face like sunlight filtered through leaves.

“So you are the daughter of the man who returned from the frost.” Her voice is soft, but there’s no doubt it’s a statement, not a question.

Ashleen hesitates. Her fingers find mine, and I squeeze her hand, giving her strength.

“I’m Ashleen.” Her voice is quiet, but steady.

The Queen tilts her head. “A beautiful name. It fits you as if it had always been yours. Do you know what it means?”

Ashleen shakes her head.

“Vision,” the Queen answers. “Or dream. I like the second better.”

Niv’leen, too restless to hold his tongue, squeaks in a high-pitched voice: “Mom, she spoke to a flower, and the flower answered, and then my big sister played with it!”

The Queen isn’t startled. Her eyes stay locked on Ashleen’s, watchful, deep.

“I know.”

Ashleen’s eyes widen. “You heard it too?”

A different smile touches the Queen’s lips, softer, maybe even maternal. “Not like you. But I felt it. She shares with me what she wishes to share.”

Her hand rises, almost a blessing, but she doesn’t touch Ashleen. She only lets the glow spread from her skin, and I feel a gentle warmth drift through the air.

“There’s much to discuss,” the Queen says, turning then to me. “And much to learn, it seems. But for now, let us celebrate the discovery of the gift. And know that, while she’s here, your sister is home.”

The words fall on me like a certainty I hadn’t known I needed until they reached my ears.

Ashleen squeezes my hand tighter, and I whisper to her that everything’s all right.

The Queen rises and extends her arm toward the passage that brought her.

“Come with me, please.”

And, guided by her, we step through the passage.