Chapter 85

Chapter 85
Kate’s POV

Since we left the throne hall, the Queen’s words keep reverberating in the back of my mind like roots that won’t stop intertwining.

The rest of the day passed me by in a blur where everything I said and did was the fruit of automatic movement. And now, lying in bed, I can’t relax. The mattress is soft, but beneath me, it turns into hard ice. The sheets, even warm, remind me of the frozen shackles that bound my wrists in Varkhael’s castle. I close my eyes and try to push the memory away, but it comes back inevitably.

I see the pale glimmer of ice. I taste the metallic tang in my mouth, as if I were chewing rusted iron. Every breath was an effort, as if the air was stolen from me before it could reach my lungs. And his gaze, fixed, analyzing me not as a person, but as a vessel.

I relive the instant my legs gave way, when the frozen ground received me as if it had been waiting for that collapse. I remember the sensation of being on the verge of vanishing and wishing, for a second, that it would be quick, that it would end soon, just so I wouldn’t feel the draining anymore.

I open my eyes suddenly, gasping, and find the soft darkness of the room. The living ceiling of the Mother-tree shines with veins of sap. I try to hold on to that, but the memory still burns.

I don’t know if Dan notices how restless I am. He’s sitting on his side of the bed, arms around his knees, and face half-hidden in the hollow they form. The black hair falls like a dark cascade that almost hides his eyes, too, but the golden gleam of the reptilian irises doesn’t let me miss them. His tail must be hidden behind the wall of pillows, but I can hear it slowly shifting over the sheet.

“You’re trembling,” he says, low, the voice steady but carrying something that feels like concern.

I blink, confused.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I look at my hands. My fingers are trembling on the sheet. I press them against the fabric, trying to stop them.

“It’s just cold.”

It’s not cold, but I can’t say the right word: fear.

Dan doesn’t insist. He just watches, playing the statue of darkness again. His presence should calm me, but it heightens the tension, because I know he doesn’t understand. Neither does Niv’leen. Neither of them was there with me. They only know the version I told — and even that was torn from me in fragments, between pauses and silences.

No word can translate what I felt when Varkhael drained my magic. How could I explain it was like having my soul sucked out from within, without leaving visible wounds? How could I tell them that the worst part wasn’t the pain, but the emptiness afterward, the silence that made me doubt if I still existed?

Dan seems to try reading what I don’t say. He never pushes me to speak more, and that’s what makes it harder. His silence oppresses me as much as the memories.

“You can’t let them do this to you again,” he murmurs, as if speaking to himself.

I don’t answer. Not because I disagree, but because I don’t know how to explain that the Queen is not Varkhael. And still, the fear is the same.

The faint movement of Ashleen distracts me. She sleeps deeply in the bed beside mine, hair spread across the pillow. Her breathing is calm, almost melodic. I cling to that sound like to a rope thrown into a current. But every time I look at her, I remember that this safety is fragile.

Tir na nÓg is the only place able to protect her now, and to keep it that way, maybe I’ll need to yield. That’s the trap: not an enemy declaring war, but the need to protect the ones I love.

Niv’leen enters the room suddenly, carrying the scent of damp leaves with him. He seems to have been flying in circles through the corridors.

“You’re still awake?” he whispers.

I glance at Ashleen, but she doesn’t even stir. Niv shakes his head with a half-smile, as if impressed at her ability to sleep through anything.

He approaches, stopping atop the pillow wall.

“Don’t trust so easily, my little pest,” he says, tone almost light, but his eyes carry the same concern his voice hides. “Mom always picks the right words. It may hurt, but she wants to soften the truth. That’s how it was when she tried to convince me to take bitter medicine. Every mother does that… I think.”

I clutch the sheets harder, feeling the tremor return to my fingers.

They don’t understand. They couldn’t. And still, their presence here — Dan’s way of watching me in silence, the jokes Niv makes to disguise his unease — is what keeps my thoughts from shattering.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to convince myself that, at least for tonight, I’m safe.

Just for tonight.

…

Morning arrives faster than I expected. The roots stretch slowly, as if yawning, and the air grows thick with a sweet fragrance, almost of flowers and honey.

I barely slept. The night was a shuffle of memories I didn’t want to relive and Dan’s silent stares, since he never lay down. But Ashleen wakes as if she had slept for years. She sits up, rubs her eyes, and looks around with the way of someone still getting used to not seeing walls of ice.

Surprising all of us, the Fairy Queen enters the room, as if she knew we were all awake. Yet, even if she entered unannounced, she doesn’t intrude, doesn’t impose, and the room itself seems to rearrange around her. The veins of sap even glow brighter.

“Ashleen.” Her voice is calm, almost a song. “Are you ready to learn?”

My sister looks at me before answering. I nod, even as my heart tightens.

“Uh-huh.”

“Then get ready and eat well.” The Queen tilts her head a little. “The sooner we begin, the sooner we’ll finish, and the more time you’ll have to play afterward.”

Right after she leaves, Ashleen rushes through everything, but not without asking to fix Dan’s hair again. Today she decided he needed a very loose braid, but gave up as soon as she saw her own hairstyle unraveling. Dan’s hair is too straight to hold a loose braid for long, so she tightened it, and I ended up amused by the silent grimaces Dan made every time Ashleen pulled his hair.

Guided by a fairy waiting outside, we follow through the corridors into a clearing within the Mother-tree, a kind of secret garden we had never seen before. The ground is covered with golden moss and tiny flowers that seem to follow each step. Thick roots arch overhead, like columns holding up a ceiling of translucent leaves that remind me of Mag Mell’s floor.

Ashleen stops in the middle of the clearing, fascinated. Her eyes gleam as if she sees colors I can’t.

The Queen flies up to her eye level.

“Plants do speak, but sometimes it takes more than ears to hear them. Place your hand here.” She points to a thick root crossing the ground, so intertwined with the Mother-tree’s wood that I can’t tell them apart.

Ashleen hesitates, looks at me again, and I smile. She touches the root.

Nothing happens immediately. But then her expression changes — eyes widening, mouth parting a little. She tilts her head like someone listening to something we can’t hear.

“She’s thirsty,” Ashleen murmurs.

The Queen smiles, pleased.

“And what else?”

“She wants… to grow toward the sun. But the sun doesn’t reach here.” Ashleen leans in, pressing her hand harder on the root. “So she’s asking… patience? And for the other flowers to protect her.”

The Queen lightly touches Ashleen’s shoulder.

“Plants don’t lie. They trust those who listen, and you can allow all of them to speak to those who can’t hear. Do it again.” She points to another root, thinner, sliding down the wall like a twisted rope.

Ashleen runs to it, curls bouncing. She lays her hand confidently and closes her eyes. The silence lasts only a moment. Then the root stirs — not much, just a faint shiver, but enough that even I notice. Niv’leen flips backward, eyes wide. Ashleen looks at me and says:

“She likes you. And she thinks you’re scared. Are you?”

My legs almost give out. It’s like someone just put into words what I try to hide even from myself.

The Queen lays her hand on Ashleen’s head, tenderly. “Plants can be terribly sincere and indiscreet, too.”

I watch, feeling a knot in my stomach. Because even as my sister finally seems free from ice, she also seems bound to something new. A bond I don’t know where it will lead.

The lesson disguised as play, where the Queen asks Ashleen to translate the secrets of plants, stretches for an hour or more, with her urging my sister to try different ways of listening, sometimes even surprised by what she says about one flower or another. She blinked in disbelief when Ashleen mentioned a group of flowers in a feud, but since they couldn’t separate, they were tolerating each other and wishing the others would wither faster so they could finally be free from the torment of living together.

When the lesson ends, the Queen bids us farewell, saying she’ll meet Ashleen the next morning. She disappears into the Mother-tree’s trunk as if part of it. What remains is my sister’s laughter as she insists on touching every flower or vine she finds.

“This one’s ticklish,” she says, stroking a creeper that indeed curls back, shrinking like a lazy cat.

Dan doesn’t laugh. Neither does Niv. They both step aside a few paces, and I follow them with my gaze. I don’t need to hear a word to know: they’re about to confront me.

Taking advantage of Ashleen’s distraction, I move closer to them.

“So that’s it?” Niv starts, voice higher-pitched than usual. “You’re just going to accept it? Let mom drain your magic just because she promised it won’t hurt?”

I clench my fists.

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He steps closer. “I was there, my little pest. I saw the way you trembled when she spoke. You think I don’t recognize fear when I see it?”

His words cut deep, but before I can answer, Dan intervenes.

“He’s not wrong.” His voice is low, but sharper than any of Niv’s irony. “You can’t let them do this to you.”

Anger rises in my throat.

“It’s not a matter of letting. It’s a matter of protecting Ashleen. Protecting you all and myself, too. Tir na nÓg needs to be stronger if what she feels is real. If there’s a threat beyond the Pale King, we need to be ready.”

Dan looks at me as if I’ve just spoken heresy.

“And for that, you’ll accept being drained? You know what that means.”

“I know better than anyone.” My voice falters. The images of the ice castle return, merciless.

“Then why accept?” Niv’leen asks, hovering inches from my nose. “After all he did to you?”

I look at Ashleen, crouched before a tiny flower, softly singing something that sounds like a children’s game. She smiles, and the flower slowly opens, petal by petal.

“Because it’s her,” I say, voice trembling. “Because now she’s here. And if all the Queen asks is a part of what I already have in excess, then… I’ll give it. I won’t risk losing my sister again.”

Dan closes his eyes, breathes deep, as if fighting something inside him. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, mixed with a growl that makes it deeper than usual.

“The difference between the Pale King and her may be in intention, but for your body… the sensation may be the same. And I won’t stand by watching you relive it.”

His gaze holds me, as if wrapping me in invisible shadows.

“You think I want to relive it?” I whisper. “You think I’m not afraid?”

Dan doesn’t answer, but the silence echoes my question.

Niv sighs, running his hands through his hair.

“Great. Perfect. So let’s pretend everything’s fine. That mom is just a well of good intentions, and this has no chance of breaking you to pieces. I’ll even prepare a flower crown to celebrate.”

“Enough, Niv.” Dan cuts him off so sharply it startles me.

But before I can respond, Ashleen runs to me and grabs my hand, eyes gleaming. “Kate! She said the roots dance together. Can you hear it too?”

I look at her, so full of life, so different from the frozen child I found. For a second, the whole world reduces to this: my sister’s laughter and the warmth of her hand in mine.

“No, Ash. I can’t.” I try to smile.

She shakes her head, certain.

“Then I’ll teach you!”

Dan looks away, maybe to hide what he feels. Niv retreats a few inches in the air, muttering under his breath. I know I haven’t convinced them. I don’t even want to. The truth is, I’m not convinced of anything. But in front of Ashleen, I can’t think of any price too high.

While she kneels again before the flowers, I close my eyes for a moment. And amid the sweet fragrance of the clearing, I taste again the metallic tang of the ice castle. And I wonder if that taste will ever disappear.

…

Back in the room, Ashleen’s breathing grows heavy, already sinking into restless sleep. Dan sits on his side again, so still I almost doubt if he’s breathing. Niv, even grumpy, ends up surrendering to exhaustion and falls asleep on a shelf, his tiny body hidden beneath his transparent wings.

And I, unable to lie down, decide to go for a walk.

The corridor of the Mother-tree stretches before me. No torches, no lamps. The sap itself glows in faint filaments, as if the innards of the wood held sleeping stars. I walk slowly, each step echoing more than it should.

Sometimes I feel as if the floor breathes under my feet. The roots extend like tense muscles, and the leaves hanging from the ceiling vibrate to the rhythm of my hesitation. Every fiber seems to ask, without words: What will your decision be?

I take a deep breath, but find no answer. Only memories — Varkhael’s cold touch draining my chest, the sensation of being less than a body, nothing more than an empty vessel. The Queen says it’s not the same. That she’ll only collect what overflows. But my body doesn’t know how to distinguish promise from memory.

I turn a corner and find a room I don’t know. It isn’t large, but at its center hangs a mirror held by root-threads. It doesn’t reflect like glass — it ripples, as if water. And for a moment, I see my face. Only it’s not exactly my face. The reflection flickers. The eye color and the mouth’s outline harden. It looks like me, but colder, more distant. As if it were myself after saying “yes,” after letting someone take from me what they never return whole.

I step back. The reflection follows, and I swear I see Dan’s shadows behind me, but it’s only my own shadow on the wall.

I close my eyes and taste the metallic tang again, breath cut short. My chest tightens as if about to be opened.

I open my eyes. The reflection steadies. Just me, with deep circles under my eyes and hair tousled by the night. Just me, exhausted, trying to believe I still have a choice.

My voice comes out low, but firm.

“I won’t let anyone decide for me.”

The mirror quivers, as if it had recorded my words. Or maybe it was just my breath that made it waver.

Either way, I turn my back and let the corridor swallow me again, carrying with me the promise I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep.