Chapter 84

Chapter 84
Kate’s POV

The throne hall never looks the same twice. Roots descend from the ceiling and curl across the floor, forming patterns that resemble protective circles. Drops hang suspended like dew on the branches, but they don’t fall—they only shine, as if waiting for a signal to be released.

Dan walks beside me, his body a little stiff. He looks alert as if every fiber of him is bracing to hear something he doesn’t want to hear. Ashleen holds my hand tightly, still a little timid before the splendor of the place and the Queen’s presence, and Niv’leen flies ahead as if he were home—sometimes I forget that he really is.

The Queen settles in the center, raised upon a wooden platform that shapes itself to her feet. When her voice echoes, it doesn’t seem to come only from her mouth, but from the hall itself.

“Since the day they brought the cocoon that contained Ashleen to my hall of mirrors,” she begins, “I have felt something in Tir na nÓg I hadn’t felt before.”

No one dares to interrupt.

She steps down from the platform. The movement is simple, but the roots pull away to make room. “It is not the presence of the Pale King,” she continues, “of that I am certain. But it is still something that troubles me. As if an echo had slipped into our very entrails, something I cannot name.”

It’s hard to accept the idea that she, the Fairy Queen—who has probably faced centuries of problems—cannot identify what is happening.

Dan narrows his eyes, and the shadows beneath him shift subtly, almost imperceptibly.

“What kind of echo?” he asks.

The Queen fixes her gaze on him. “As if the land itself had been touched by a whisper that does not belong to it. It is not cold, it is not rot. It is… displacement. A sound that does not match our melody.”

Ashleen squeezes my hand, and I notice she’s shivering. She looks around as if expecting to hear that whisper in the hall.

Niv’leen frowns and crosses his arms, trying to play indifferent. “Maybe it’s just the old mirrors mumbling,” he suggests, but his voice has no conviction. He knows too it’s not something that simple.

The Queen doesn’t smile. “I wish it were that, my beloved thorn. But it is not. Since that moment, Tir na nÓg breathes differently. I feel it in every root, in every leaf that bends to the wind. There is something here that does not belong to us.”

I try to stand firm, but I can’t avoid remembering the instant I saw ice escape from my sister’s chest, breaking free from Dan’s shadowy cocoon, and Varkhael’s voice tearing through my insides.

Dan finally speaks, his voice deep and restrained: “You believe it is connected to the ice that came out of her.”

It isn’t a question.

The Queen holds his gaze for long seconds before replying. “I believe we cannot separate these things. Nothing born of a heart tainted by the Ice Sickness can vanish without leaving marks. It was so with Oberon, and surely it must have been with her. Even healed, Ashleen may have left a trace.”

My breath falters. I look at my sister, who watches me with wide eyes, not fully grasping the gravity of those words. I don’t want her to carry guilt, not after everything she endured without ever choosing it.

“Ashleen is not to blame,” I say firmly, almost in defiance.

“I never said she was,” the Queen answers gently. “But there are forces that do not ask whose fault it is. They simply take advantage of the space they find.”

Dan clenches his fist. Niv’leen bites his lip. And I feel every word she speaks falling inside me like uncertain seeds. I don’t know if they will grow into truth or fear.

The Queen lifts her hand, and a dewdrop finally loosens from the ceiling, falling toward the floor. Before touching the wood, though, it dissolves into dust of light.

“That is what I feel,” she concludes. “Something about to dissolve, but still insisting on staying.”

The Queen falls silent for a few moments as if giving us time to absorb the weight of her words. But soon I feel that it wasn’t only a warning that made her call us here. The way she looks at me is different. Not like sovereign to subject, but like someone measuring invisible forces, trying to see if what stands before her can withstand what is coming.

“There is a way to reinforce Tir na nÓg’s defenses,” she says, and I realize she is not speaking to everyone. She is speaking to me.

My body stiffens. Ashleen’s hand is still in mine, but her fingers feel far too small, too fragile. I try not to tremble.

“What do you mean by reinforce?” I ask, my voice low.

The Queen steps forward. The roots around us part, almost reverently. “Your anfa’anam gathers surpluses of magic that are not used, and this energy renews itself. If I can collect that surplus, the Mother Tree will be able to use it to protect herself and also to fortify our realm against what is coming.”

Air leaves my lungs painfully. For a moment, I hear nothing but the fast beating of my heart. Extract my magic. The words echo inside me like thunder that won’t fade.

Suddenly, I am no longer in the hall. I am back in the ice castle. Varkhael’s hand against my chest, draining every drop of my strength until I collapse breathless on the floor, as if my very soul had been ripped out. The metallic taste in my mouth, the pain burning in my veins.

“No.” Dan’s voice slices through the hall like a blade. He steps forward, the shadows rising around him. “She won’t go through that again.”

Niv’leen joins him almost instinctively, his voice sharper than I’ve ever heard.

“Mom, don’t ask that of my little pest!” He looks at me with a mix of anger and fear, as if the very idea were a betrayal.

The Queen doesn’t react to their fury. She doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t defend herself. She simply faces us calmly, as if she had already foreseen this response.

“I know what you fear. I know what she suffered. I haven’t forgotten the account you gave me when you first arrived here.”

“Then why ask this?” Dan retorts, each word heavy with threat.

“Because it is not the same thing.” She turns to me, and only to me. “I do not want to exhaust your magic, Kate, daughter of man. I only need what overflows. What already lies beyond your own need. It is like harvesting ripe fruit from a tree without hurting the trunk.”

“It’s not just that,” I say, my voice faltering. “It doesn’t matter if it’s excess or not, I’ve felt it before… I know what it’s like to be drained. I don’t…”

My throat locks.

Dan looks at me with intensity. He doesn’t seem to know how to stop this without open conflict with the Queen. Niv’leen, on the other hand, looks about to explode.

“Mom, if you touch her—”

The Queen raises her hand and cuts him off, not with harshness, but with serene firmness.

“I will not touch her without permission. I am not Varkhael.” This is the first time I’ve heard her say his name. “I will not repeat his cruelty. I only ask for what can be given without pain, and what I ask is the payment I had not yet named.”

Dan growls.

Ashleen looks at me, confused, not understanding why my hand is so cold. She squeezes my fingers tighter as if she could stop someone from tearing them away.

“If you do this,” I murmur, trying to find the thread of courage, “what happens to me?”

“You will be tired,” the Queen replies without hesitation. “But only for a few hours, your anfa’anam will renew itself, and the price for my help to end the Pale King’s reign will be paid.”

Dan growls again.

“And if she refuses?”

“Then my aid ends here,” the Queen says, and there is no lie in her voice. “I will not cast you out, of course, but I will not be able to help you properly if I do not have strong walls to protect my people.”

I feel her words rooting inside me, but my whole body still remembers the pain, the exhaustion, the emptiness that would refill itself before my body could even rest. Part of me wants to refuse instantly, to scream never again. But another part knows Tir na nÓg is the best refuge I have. And that my sister is here.

I look at Dan, at his fury, trying to protect me. I look at Niv’leen, so restless and vibrant in his revolt. And I look at Ashleen, who still doesn’t understand, but looks at me as if I were her anchor.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

The Queen seems to accept this silence. She tilts her head as if she knew my decision would not come now. The Queen does not insist. She does not press. She only lets silence rest upon us, as if trusting it to grow roots in due time. Then her eyes turn to Ashleen.

My sister steps back, instinctively shrinking. But the Queen softens her expression, as if all her former grandeur dissolved in a nearly maternal gesture.

“Now that this gift has awakened in you,” she says, her tone sweet in contrast to the earlier tension, “it will be necessary to learn how to use it. Living magic is not only strength. It is also responsibility.”

Ashleen looks at me as if asking permission. Her hand trembles in mine.

“And what does that mean?” I ask.

“Ashleen must remain in Tir na nÓg, under my tutelage, for a time.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?”

“It will not be forever,” the Queen continues, her voice calm as running water. “But it is necessary. She carries something that must be nurtured. And here, where roots respond to the faintest whisper, is the only place it can blossom without danger.”

“Danger?” Dan steps forward, his tone hard, distrustful.

The Queen nods.

“You, forgotten dragon, know much about the world, and you know that an awakened gift without guidance can become unstable. Today, she moved a root with a word. Tomorrow, she could shake an entire grove without meaning to. You cannot give her what she needs. I can.”

Niv’leen lets out a nervous laugh, almost incredulous.

“The little pest in official training with Mom. Never thought I’d see such a day.” But the joke is short, for soon he frowns and faces his mother. “And if she doesn’t want to?”

“Then she will not be forced.” The reply is immediate. “But I recommend you think carefully. A new power needs direction. Without it, it turns against the one who bears it.”

I look at Ashleen and see her frightened eyes. She doesn’t understand everything, but she understands enough to know something important is happening.

I face Dan, and he faces me back. He seems to be holding his breath, his expression nearly as desperate as mine. Yet the instant I am about to move my lips, seeking any help he might give, what I see is a sign of agreement with the Queen he seems to loathe. He moves his lips and I can read the words he does not voice: she’s right.

A bitter taste spreads in my mouth.

“Ashleen,” I say softly, kneeling to her height. “Do you want to learn to talk with the plants? To better understand this gift?”

She hesitates. Her gaze goes from me to the Queen, then to Dan, and finally to Niv’leen. Silence lingers until her small voice escapes: “If you stay close.”

My heart breaks. I hold her face in my hands.

“I will be close. Always. Even if I have to wait a little from outside.”

Dan approaches, his shadow looming over us, his tail dragging across the floor.

“No one will separate you by force, little one,” he says, and the tone is almost a promise carved in stone.

The Queen nods silently as if accepting this unspoken condition.

Ashleen takes a deep breath, then nods slowly.

“Then… I want to learn.”

It’s a short phrase, but I feel its weight spreading through the hall as if the Mother Tree herself had heard and recorded it.

The Queen’s smile is faint, almost imperceptible. It is not triumph, not manipulation.

“Very well. Then we will begin at the right time.”

She turns her gaze back to me, and behind her calm, I see something more: a silent warning. Prepare yourself. And I know, in that instant, that the talk about the price and my sister was not separated by chance. Everything is intertwined.

I rise.

The hall seems vaster now as if it had swallowed every word and stored them within the living walls of the wood. The Queen speaks no more. She only watches.

Ashleen squeezes my fingers again and leans lightly against my leg, searching for shelter in the midst of what she does not fully understand. I try to smile at her, but feel the stiffness in my face. I don’t know if I convinced her everything will be fine, or only showed her how scared I am too.

Dan is motionless. The shadows still ripple at his feet.

Niv’leen, meanwhile, seems torn. At times, he paces restlessly as always, at others, he stops and looks at me with unusual intensity. It’s as if he’s holding back, unsure whether to keep protesting against his mother or accept the decision already made.

The Queen breaks the silence first.

“What has been said here does not require an immediate answer. You may rest.”

Rest. The word feels strange, almost ironic, after what we heard. But I realize it is the only gift she gives us: time. Time to breathe, to decide, to prepare.

I bow briefly, more out of habit than conviction.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes remain on me, steady and serene.

“I am only trying to ease our path.”

I feel the strength of that phrase resonates inside me, but I don’t dare reply. I hold Ashleen’s hand and start leading her out. Dan follows close, a shadow even more solid than those he carries.

Niv’leen is the last to leave. Before crossing the exit, he turns to his mother.

“She’s not yours to test, Mom. Remember that.”

The Queen doesn’t reply, only lifts her chin with that serenity that never breaks.

When we finally leave the hall, the air outside feels fresher, but I cannot breathe deeply. I carry inside me the weight of two promises: to protect Ashleen, and to perhaps surrender my surplus magic to the Mother Tree.

Ashleen looks up at me, her expression tired and confused.

“Are we really staying here?”

I squeeze her fingers gently.

“For now, yes.”

She pouts but is quickly distracted by a golden butterfly passing before her. Her childish laugh cuts through the heaviness of the moment like a slit of light.

Dan comes closer to my side, his hand brushing mine lightly as if asking me not to carry this burden alone.

Niv’leen sighs loudly, exaggeratedly swinging his arms.

“If anyone messes with you, my little pest, they’ll have to go through me first.” He tries to sound playful, but the tension doesn’t leave his eyes.

And it is in this mix of fear, tenderness, and silent promises that we walk back through the Mother Tree’s corridors.