Snapdragon

I’m always going to hear those words in Theriya’s voice now, aren’t I?

As a Watcher, I know what is expected of me. My perceived value can be measured in the weight of each morning’s corpses. Unbearable alterations to my body facilitate this. Planted and grown into this role alongside nineteen other Thorns, I would not be the only one to suffer from any deviations on my part.

Were I to change, what capacity have I to become something accepted?

How am I to know what kind of place I can claim for myself in a society that consigns even the recorded memories of others to flames?

What should it even matter?

It is not like my worth can compare to what Ayre and Astraea are capable of.

I will not be afforded the same indiscretions the moment I drift from the spheres of influence of Ayre or the Seers.

The unkindness of my station hardly seems appropriate to level at Theriya. But so much of Mel’Viora is in Theriya for those with eyes willing to see.

How can I blame a younger Theriya for seizing the opportunity to learn everything that she possibly could from the single most terrifying individual in the grove? As ashamed as I am to admit it, I’ve been guilty of doing much the same.

The two of them are close. And there’s nothing I can safely bring myself to do about that now. Theriya already has designs to start a grove of her own. So there is no need for me to prod at her like I do Cerya.

I just have to keep us alive until then. With Ayre and Astraea here, that probably just means keeping them apprised of what I notice.

For my role to diminish into what the most Watcher specific bodily alterations enable hurts. I never wanted to be able to hear or observe as much about the world around me as I do.

Maybe I should get over myself for a day and share my sharpened senses with Ayre.

I wince. Out of everyone here, would I not lessen Ayre the least to feast upon? Do I not already share so many of their most private thoughts and struggles?

No. If anything, Astraea should have that right. Or are the comparisons between the experiences they have gone through shallow ones? By that logic Ayre should feel most akin to their siblings.

Not being able to see what Astraea showed to Ayre and Theriya does not stop me from reading into their reactions. My imagination has filled in the blanks, made worse by witnessing a display of what she’s capable of being on the level of Watchers who have blossomed into securing independence from their own plantings.

What kind of thoughts and struggles does she suffer in private that compel her to remain in Ayre’s service? Of everyone here, Astraea seems the least invigorated by fresh food and drink. Always the first to push aside every course of food, she seemed more invested in the company she was at risk of losing.

I could probably take a few stabs at what Fia’s got going on, but it hardly seems like my place to do so. Where I’m driven by a need to prove myself to the point of shrugging off any suspicion, she clings to justifying her worth to Ayre like her life depends on it. For all I know, it probably did back in Vylia. But now she’s surrounded by strangers whom she probably thinks Ayre trusts too easily. Whatever her reasons, it’s not something to address in the here and now.

It’s always later for the likes of us, isn’t it? When it’s safe, or private, or once we’ve justified our own existence. How often is this an illusion? Knowing that all it would take would be a Watcher quietly making their way to the spire’s base and pressing an ear to the door is enough to expose what we would rather not be shared.

I rarely feel comfortable sharing a petal with my beloved Cerya. Better that it be understood I constantly step outside and distance myself before finding a bed nearby to rest.

A small sacrifice to ensure the safety and privacy of our home remains a genuine one. I make peace with having it be known that the approach to the spire is watched by the Seed Seers’ most committed Thorn.

I should probably stop calling myself that. Yet another matter to be addressed with time.

Now that our shared meal is done, I can start to make my own contributions to addressing how we share the space we call ours. There are some long overdue conversations that the baths are probably an ideal circumstance for discussing.

Besides, I would be lying if I didn’t have a personal reason to get us away from the Crimson Moons. I’m just hoping it doesn’t come up.

First off, just to get things out in the open, I turn to Astraea. “I take it you’ll not be returning to the spire with us.”

I don’t make it a question.

She shakes her head before anyone else can react, gently placing the remnants of our meal by the window. That she goes out of her way to make the tasks of the little sprites easier is noted as another observant kindness on her part.

I can’t stop seeing those. It makes her hard to dislike.

“I already planned to stay in the room Amari purchased during our first night here.” Astraea offers Ayre a soft smile.

“Oh.” Ayre rubs at a fresh patch of scales to break through the skin on their forearm over the course of our meal. “That’s… Probably for the best. But in that case, could you see that the Thorns prepare supplies for an expedition? I don’t know when we’ll have time or who will be involved.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Astraea says, a closed fist over her heart before turning to depart. “I’m committed to doing what I can to help on your terms. I can’t apologize for the harm that I myself did not inflict, but I do regret creating circumstances that left you threatened.”

“I understand.” Is all that Ayre offers her.

It’s a good start.

Only when she is gone from view does Theriya activate the onyx keystone on her gloves, returning the rose quartz crested staff cut into the shape of Theriya’s Mourning Retribution to the onyx keystone wall mounting back in the spire.

I’ve… Never seen it used. Hope I never do.

Not on the likes of Astraea or any of Ayre’s siblings, at least.

“Was that… For Astraea?” Ayre asks very cautiously.

“For anything and anyone I deem a threat.” Theriya flatly replies, before her voice and face flush with emotion at meeting Ayre’s eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me. My soon to be Bound and sister Seer spent the night guarding the walls. I am not the type to leave things to chance if a shadow of one exists that I found you all locked up in the tower this morning.”

I flinch at that. It’s… Happened more than once to the Thorns. Retreat to the most defensible point and hold out until sunrise while sounding the alarm that we’ve been overwhelmed.

Ayre and Fia nod along, oblivious to the nature of the implement Theriya has kept at her side this entire time.

I suppress the urge to shiver, knowing only that the kind of grief contained within the stone is the kind that has denied a number of Lunarians the drive to seek murderous revenge.

“Of course I’ll forgive you.” Ayre says. “But before we’re out of earshot, I did want to ask the Crimson Moons something.”

Blight and uproot everything.

Ayre’s own merciful depths.

I don’t want to deal with this.

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Not her.

For the first time since we sat down, the conversation between the Crimson Moons comes to a halt.

Counting the amount of unnatural pauses in conversations happening all around us has become so reflexive that I barely even think about it anymore. But with Ayre, Fia, and Astraea here, I’ve had to be more mindful than usual.

What does it say that the Crimson Moons seemed the least perturbed about us so openly discussing the volatile nature of Ayre and the Seers’ bodies? It’s not the kind of topic most Lunarians are comfortable thinking about, even though we’re all subjected to it in some form or another.

Being directly mentioned by Ayre is the first time they show so much as a reaction to anything that has been said at our table.

Sure, the Crimson Moons have been around longer than most. But as far as I’m concerned, their loyalty to Mel’Viora is older than our grove. An appropriately cautious part of me thinks that we should be more careful around them than anyone else.

I see it as inevitable as the Moons defer to the woman who first addressed Ayre upon our arrival. It is of no surprise to me that a horned helmet is removed to reveal streaks of silvered hair. Iitharna is a boastful sort. Have I ever seen her give up an opportunity to show off and dispense some humble Lunarian wisdom to those she sees as her lessers?

If I thought less of myself, I might be able to convince myself to hold her up as an example of what I could become. The confidence at which a Watcher fully blossomed remains willing to expose her body’s scars is almost as enviable as her unwillingness to lie and drive to spare others the pain she has endured.

The part of me convinced I can smother myself long enough to carve out a lasting life for myself in this grove has any number of shameful reasons for wanting to not have this conversation in front of everyone.

I’ve sought her lessons before. Enough to know Iitharna’s kindness is as genuine as her threats.

Ayre could do far worse than ask for her insights.

The way she immediately falls into step alongside us even shows she is willing to be discreet.

“Oh honored Wyrm Eater, I would be delighted to answer any questions you might have.” She preens at the attention before pivoting to making the same effortless assurances that Astraea tends to. “You need but dismiss me with a word and I’ll rejoin my fellow Moons before we venture beyond the walls.”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” Ayre says, keeping their words calm and measured.

“This is Iitharna, of the Crimson Moons.” I say, quickly accounting for Ayre’s lack of context. “When you’re as experienced as she is, there is no need to keep track of her by numbers. That she is of the Crimson Moons carries the kind of weight here that the title Lady Wyrmsbane might.”

“No need to flatter me, little flower.” Iitharna is all smiles as she greets me with a familiarity that predates my relationship with Cerya. She turns that same comfort at drawing connections back to Ayre. “You would not be the first Broodling to earn a favored position in our grove. Now that you are coming into your changes, I’d be happy to offer the same help with your Vylian appetite as I have with your predecessors.”

Ayre gives me a strange look.

I try, and fail, to not look embarrassed. That I have compared her to Astraea was perhaps more accurate than I would have liked. That her reply suggests a familiarity with my preferred name is something I’d rather not uproot here and now.

Nevermind this shared familiarity with Ayre’s siblings.

I settle for shaking my head. Better they press through this conversation without deferring to me.

Ayre turns back to Iitharna. “Two questions then. To start, at least.” Ayre opts for the safe one to start with, following up on how I first introduced the Crimson Moons. “How did you all do it? Learn to fight under the moonlight without killing each other?

Iitharna runs a finger along the length of a scar along her collar bone. “It had been Prince Morgan’s idea, once upon a time. Fashion weapons that cannot pierce each other’s armor. Set out into the woods, telling no other of our plans to kill all comers by any means necessary. Traps, lures, killing fields, and so on. If it got one of us killed, it clearly wasn’t good enough of a plan. Repeat what works, refill our ranks by bestowing other plantings an opportunity to ascend in the favor of Mel’Viora, and so on.”

Ayre’s expression and interest sours at the mere mention of Mel’Viora.

“Oho!” Iitharna gives us a belly full of laughter. “The glare on this one! Still, you’ve your manners about you. A little more Morgan than Vauthry, eh?”

Fia flinches.

Ayre’s nostrils flare. Their body tenses. I half expect them to spring to violence but nothing more than words follow. “I’ll ask that you not repeat dead names in my presence. The Fourteenth before me got the end he deserved. And Morganth no longer responds kindly to such.”

Iitharna’s eyes and smile widen with interest. “Oho, don’t stop there! Do tell me how creative Morganth’s threats have become.”

Again Ayre turns to me, a silent plea in their expression.

In this instance, I try to muster a response. “She may sound like she’s playing with you, but I imagine she’s genuinely curious.” I offer Iitharna a small smile and nothing more.

Ayre takes my words in stride, needing only a deep breath to center themselves. “The position of Third has seen two Sisters in recent memory. Unlike most, Morgant doesn’t kill. Instead he conquers his enemies, laying claim to everything that was once theirs.”

“Oho! And then they fall in the Castellan’s favor!” Iitharna favors Ayre with a beaming smile before inclining her head. “I am pleased to hear Morgant has gained an appreciation for a sense of scale. Thank you for the answer. Now, allow me to apologize. If you are open to me making amends, you need but name a creature for me to deliver onto your doorstep, bound and alive for feeding.”

“Any creature?” Ayre’s gaze lowers in the slightest of nods to acknowledge the look of reassurance I give them.

“Something contained to our woods of course.” Here it is, the inevitable boast intended to impress. “I am to spend the coming days clearing the roads of predators to accommodate the guests who will be in attendance of your Binding ceremony. Why not offer you a choice of bodily changes to feast upon?”

It is too soon, it seems, for Ayre to have an answer for that. Or at least one they are willing to offer a stranger.

Theriya seizes the opening to volunteer a recommendation. “If you could go out of your way to secure a Naga, I think that will suffice for my soon to be Bound’s current tastes.”

Iitharna bows an enthusiastic Vylian bow. “A lovely recommendation! They have been getting bold with the Cinder Blights taking up so much of our attention. Yes, I think it is long overdue that we remind them who this forest belongs to.”

Ayre clears their throat. “Excuse me, can one of you explain what a Naga is?” Although their expression demands an answer to why they would care to have such a creature bound and fed to them.

Theriya’s reply is as swift as it is confident. “As a blanket term, it covers a wide range of mixtures between scaled serpent and bipedal mortal. Although those that favor the serpent side of things may appear without legs at all, favoring an incredibly large tail.” Theriya’s explanation chooses to turn a blind eye to any of the more words that might see a text on the subject burned.

Discussing the classifications of Naga very quickly runs into discussions on racial purity ranging from pure blood to abominations. And that doesn’t even get into all the religious contexts.

Iitharna seems amused. “It’s hardly a drake or a wyvern, but if you are worried of becoming too monstrous, feeding on Naga will give you a nice balance while maintaining much of what you’ve already gained.”

Ayre looks between the two of them. This is a lot to suddenly take in, and neither is more likely to offer Ayre much more information to go on in public. Instead, Ayre turns to me. “Do you vouch for this Watcher’s words and intent?”

I hold Ayre’s gaze, not wanting to acknowledge or assess what kind of interest Iitharna still has in me. We didn’t exactly part on good terms. But I didn’t exactly slam the door shut to that possibility forever. I just… I was never comfortable with the kind of direction her praise nudged me into.

And yet. “I do.” Is all I trust myself to say.

“Oho! It’s settled then!” Iitharna flexes her scar ridden arms with an eagerness to hunt. “One bound naga for the Wyrm Eater! Did you have any other questions for me? Or shall I find you after your Binding Ceremony?” The wink she deliberately aims at me is unmissable.

Ayre’s reaction is as protective as it is flustered. They not so gracefully step between Iitharna and I while closing the distance between the two of them. Ayre’s voice falls to a pointed whisper. “What’s your end? Why go so far out of your way to appease me?”

Iitharna locks eyes with Ayre. “To the survivors go the spoils and honored agreements. You’ve proved yourself earlier than most but, I can sense you burden yourself with a number of indiscretions you would rather not come to light. I merely wished to impress upon you that the likes of the most privileged can be afforded to not worry overmuch.” She waves a hand, gesturing broadly at Fia and I. “Such trivialities can be overlooked! Arrangements can even be put to ink if you prefer.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” Ayre hisses.

Her lips curl into a wicked smile. “You already know the role for which you have been sent. Accomplish that, and you’ll have nothing to fear. Oh, and do try to enjoy the festivities while they last. There are few privileges greater than to be bound to an up and coming Seer.”

Again, Ayre tenses. “I think that’s enough for now. You’ve your own role to satisfy, do you not?”

“Might I ask a question of my own?” Iitharna draws out a visible sense of satisfaction as Ayre weighs her words. “If it helps, my curiosity is not currently directed at you and yours.”

With a sigh, Ayre agrees. “You’ve been… Accommodating. Fine. Ask your question.”

Iitharna quirks the corner of her lip ever so slightly, a private smile intended to be understood by only herself and others with senses as sharp as mine. “It has clearly been too long. When I knew him, Morganth was but the Nineteenth of the Castellan’s brood. How high has he risen since his time here in the grove?” With this being Iitharna, she makes it sound like she already knows the answer.

“Prince Morganth serves as the Castellan’s Second.” Ayre supplies.

Iitharna almost looks disappointed. “Again you have my thanks for satisfying my curiosity. In exchange, I’ll be keeping an eye out on your behalf. My parting advice is this. At least have your Seer pass along word before you grow gills or wings and disappear for a few days to hunt for new changes. Morganth was incorrigible in that regard.”

And with that, Iithaarna turns her back on Ayre.

A reckless risk that she would never let me forget, once upon a time.

Ayre and Astraea can kill almost everyone here. I have never been more aware of that than having to watch them largely do alone what my entire planting would struggle to manage without casualties.

In response, the Crimson Moons celebrated and treated with us openly. It is as if nothing Ayre and Astraea have displayed marks them as a threat.

The moment Iitharna disappears from view, Theriya tugs at my hand. I squeeze it, finding myself in need of what she is offering.

I am very quickly drawn into an embrace shared by Ayre and Theriya.

Even Fia gives me a look of sympathy that signals some level of understanding my discomfort.

The comfort I find in the arms of Ayre and Theriya is… Immeasurable.

I can barely stand being a Thorn.

To be reduced to a flower in the eyes of a more seasoned Watcher should never have brought me comfort.