Ayre

Snapdragon, or Third, is unwilling to say anything more.

I am left to ponder how this place is unlike my mother’s castle.

There is no executioner or taskmaster around every corner. Gone are the high ceilings of castle chambers, replaced with distant foliage of the massive tree spires that mark the settlement’s center.

Circles of stumps or rocks used for outdoor meetings are alarmingly public.

The Castellan may have allowed spacious courts for events of interest, but I am used to matters of importance being conducted in smoke-filled chambers where all the scheming happens.

By comparison, everything here is so… exposed.

Were my ears anything like Third’s, or I willing to prompt my parasite, I could be learning so much from all the overlapping discussions.

Deciding against bloodshed, I settle for picking up on surface level details.

I quickly gather that Lunarians largely come and go as clearly defined groups assembled for a purpose. A group of Lunarians carrying various cutting tools is ahead of where Third is taking me, reporting on the morning’s progress. They are getting lost in the details, negotiating needs versus resource allocations.

Not once does the seated Lunarian, who towers over them despite remaining seated upon the center stone, mention a specific time or measurement of expected progress.

This does not stop the cutters from glancing nervously at the half masked Watchers or Vylian Prince who arrived while they gave their report.

With masks half the size of the Thorned Watchers, Third and I are treated to an arrangement of sneers as it becomes our turn to approach the towering Lunarian who is more tree bark than flesh.

“Forgive the request for arbitration, Grove Tender Mel’Viora.” Third’s voice is hard and stiff. “As I informed the Howling Watchers, the Cinder Blights have rendered the Thorned Watchers bedridden. This engagement included blighted Spine Stitchers, meaning the Cinder Blight has taken root in caverns we dare not venture. While the Thorned Watchers recover, others will need to watch the walls.” It is moments like this that Snapdragon reminds me of when I am hungry and distrustful of my words, delivering clipped and direct statements of fact.

“You expect casualties if we do not rotate Watcher plantings.” Mel'Viora says, musing aloud.

Hisses from whom I expect to be Howling Watchers in the half masks are silenced by a raised hand by the Grove Tender.

“Seed Seer Theriya proposes… side stepping the matter entirely.” Third says nervously.

“Oh?” Mel’Viora’s eyes turn to me, her voice falling to a low purr. “So this is why you have brought an unproven Seedling of a Prince with you.”

“It is.” Third says with hesitation before backing away.

“Before a full moon, no less.” Mel’Viora hisses before beckoning for me to approach. “Seedling Prince, you should know that I am the primary aggrieved party that your presence here is meant to pacify. As you are but a freshly sprouted seedling, know that I will be quick to discard you if you cannot protect a lowly pair of Seed Seers.”

Third is the one to wince at Mel’Viora’s words.

The self satisfied grin that twists through the barkskin expression of the Grove Tender is enough to remind myself that Snapdragon can only be Third to me so long as this entity or those who report to her are present.

This is not the place I want to express familiarity, vulnerability, or the weakness of caring.

I give Mel’Viora and Third both looks of contempt. Stepping past Third, I approach the Grove Tender. Now is probably not the time to mention I have no experience in dealing with creatures exposed to the moon. Would a full moon be more potent? Or just widespread?

I should probably stick to addressing her dismissiveness of me. “If my Twelfth sibling has left behind a mess for you to clean up, you should know that I share your displeasure.”

“Oh?” Mel’Viora almost looks amused. “Of what interest are your petty familial power squabbles compared to my workings being disrupted?”

Twelve took everything from me.

I let the anger show in clenched fists.

“Only that his petty obsessions will work in your favor.” I say, biting back the certainty that I am going to have to reveal a vulnerability and pass it off as a strength.

The inevitable words are delivered by Mel’Viora with such visible delight. “Prove it.”

My nails dig into clothing and flesh alike.

I tear it all away, cutting through chest bindings and discarding the shawl.

Immediately I inhale the scent of my fresh blood and the world around me comes into stark focus.

Tiny creaks sound as my actions draw out a reshaping of thick bark skin formed atop the Grove Tender’s grinning lips. Her deep pools of amber eyes drink in my stitched together form with early signs of amusement.

Moss and leaves that drape from the venerable Lunarian shift as she rises to their feet. Eye level for me doesn’t even reach Lunarian’s bellowing trunk of a chest.

The sound of wood cracking from her bodily movements causes the ears of only the assembled Watchers to twitch, giving me a sense that very few Lunarians are subjected to the burden of heightened senses.

Unlike me, they handle it well. I grind my teeth to drown it out with a sensory horror of my own making.

What comes next causes me to flinch, shut my eyes, and block out the world.

I feel every step she takes to close the distance between us. There is a density and strength to the Grove Tender that causes threads of hair on the back of my neck to extend.

None of Lenore’s bodily hairs function this way. Where my bodily functions end and hers refuse to begin is a thought I cannot stand to contemplate.

And now this Grove Tender is a moment away from taking in all of it.

But the approaching hand of the Grove Tender never arrives.

My eyes snap open, gazing deep into those amber eyes of hers.

When Mel’Viora speaks, it is in a voice devoid of inflection. “May I marvel at the horrors that have been done to you?”

“I…” I hesitate, unsure if I am allowed to say no. Thinking of the consequences, I decide to add an extra disquieting layer of honesty to my answer. “I am uncertain if doing so would invite the Castellan’s wrath. I was… unconscious for much of this process.”

Without missing a beat, Mel’Viora sighs. “It would be a shame to have to kill so many witnesses to the Castellan’s secrets. Another time, perhaps.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Another time.” I say, quickly agreeing.

“This does of course mean that you are still unproven in my eyes.” Mel’Viora’s words cause so many Howling Watchers to adjust their stances.

Not that I would need context to recognize a challenge.

“As much as I’d love to take your Watchers’ measure, is it wise to arrange the groups most likely to have the responsibility of protecting the grove against each other in a physical contest?”

Another grin splits Mel'Viora’s barkskin expression. “Oh I’m well aware of what my Howlers can do. You, on the other hand, are a depths spawned wretch that thinks you can replace twenty proud Watchers who have dedicated their lives to serving this grove we share.”

Mel'Viora’s eyes settle on Third, her grin widening.

I take a step back, already attempting to better position myself for what comes next.

“In absence of a Seed Seer or the rest of her planting, the Third Thorn must find new ways to serve my grove. Little Seed Princeling. Remove this Thorn from my sight, alive, and I shall entrust you with the protection of my holdings.”

Third, no, Snapdragon’s eyes widen as I take her legs out from under her.

In the same moment, spears leave the hands of multiple Howling Watchers.

Spears soar overhead as I bend down, sliding arms underneath Snapdragon to catch her. Our eyes meet.

“Sorry.” I say.

“Behind you.” Snapdragon manages to say before gasping in surprise.

As nice as it is to hear a hint of her soft voice, her words come too late.

What feels like the full weight of a tree connects with my back, knocking me off balance and sending both Snapdragon and I spinning through the air.

My side connects with the ground as I pull Snapdragon tightly to me.

Looking up, I find my warm blood paints the ground between me and Mel’Viora’s extended arm.

Not content to sit idly by, the Grove Tender lets out an amused chortle. “You’re going to have to stay on the move if you wish to do the job of twenty Watchers.” Her eyes lower to address Snapdragon cradled in my arms. “I already need to replace one of your Thorns. Are you content to sit by and make it two?”

I release Snapdragon from my embrace.

She reaches for one of the thrown spears.

I scramble to my feet as Mel'Viora begins to stride closer, winding up for another swing.

My bleeding stops, no doubt the work of my parasite.

The Howling Watchers are circling wide to avoid throwing spears at Mel’Viora and not be caught standing still for Snapdragon’s return throw.

My parasite and I brace for the flurry of violence to come.

Mel’Viora is bigger, stronger, and that reach of hers is cause for concern.

I weave past the first two blows, not allowing myself to wince at how I still feel them when they pass by.

Good. I’m quicker.

My nails rake at the wood of her arm to little effect.

Which is alarming. I’m used to tearing my prey apart.

Roots suddenly sprout from the ground at some unseen command, allowing Mel’Viora to redirect her momentum. She launches into a shoulder charge that knocks me stumbling backwards.

“This isn’t your hunting grounds, little Seed Prince.” Mel’Viora purrs with amusement.

She invites me to rise to my feet before beginning to close the gap.

In that time I catch Snapdragon having successfully impaled a Howling Watcher’s leg into the dirt with a hurled spear. Other Howlers have prioritized helping the first.

The effect is cutting the number of opponents Snapdragon has to worry about in half.

I pivot and run in Snapdragon’s direction. This puts the approaching Mel’Viora between us and another Howling Watcher looking for an opportunity to throw a spear.

I spare a moment to scoop up another of the first spears to be thrown. The spear is lighter than I expect it to be, with a smaller point than what I am used to. No wonder they are throwing these things.

Thankfully the pointed end is made of no more metal than is necessary, and not some malicious gemstone. I would likely survive being struck by such a spear.

My priority needs to remain protecting Snapdragon. I grip the spear on one end as tightly as I can, before flinging it with all my unnatural strength in a way that causes it to spin and take the legs out from under another Howling Watcher mid sprint.

“Interesting choice.” Mel'Viora says with a breath after the first missed swing. “Sparing my Watchers who mean to kill you and your charge.”

Giving Mel'Viora an annoyed look is all I can manage until I find an opportunity to dive past her and sprint out of reach. “Can’t risk you killing me anyway for harming your precious Howling Watchers.”

“What a lovely idea. It is nice to hear you are giving this some thought.” Mel’Viora says with a satisfied drone.

She raises a hand in a beckoning gesture.

Suddenly roots begin to spring up all around me, curling in an attempt to trip and entangle.

Escape proves fruitless.

With my legs tightly bound, she turns on Snapdragon with a murderous expression.

Snapdragon is too busy fending off two Watchers who have successfully approached close enough for a series of jabs and deflections.

Despite clearly holding her own, there is no time for Snapdragon to resolve the engagement.

I reach into the pouch at my waist, grabbing the first stone I can and slotting it into whichever implement I am able to withdraw from the cloth wrapping first.

What am I doing? I need to fill these, not expend them.

What is a fresh implement untouched by the moon going to do to a Grove Tender?

Despite the unease of touching the stone, I find myself smiling.

I trust the red tourmaline to work wonders on someone as insufferable as Mel’Viora.

Leveling the pointed wooden implement at the Grove Tender, I make the last second decision to lay a second hand on the red tourmaline directly.

There are two ways one typically acts with emotional resonance contained within gemstones.

One, someone aligns themselves with the emotions contained within to open the gemstone up for feeding it their own resonance with what is contained within.

Two, someone picks a target for the emotions contained within and unleashes a controlled burst of an effect shaped by how the gemstone is cut.

Implements come into play by further directing the desired effect while serving to distance the wielder from the raw emotional backlash.

I do both at the same time, channeling my raw emotions into a live current of raw emotion given form.

There is nothing controlled about what follows. I empty the entire gemstone, layering my own emotional resonance into the channeling.

With a very particular memory in mind, I retreat inside myself. How will Mel'Viora feel about confronting the root of what I won’t allow myself to see when I gaze into a mirror.?

When Grove Tender Mel'Viora turns to laugh off using an implement being turned upon her, I am treated to a sudden look of shock and horror before we both experience the full weight of emotional backlash.

The storm of emotions devour me whole. I can only hope that Mel’Viora is just as unable to function.

Every derisive word and look contained within the tourmaline is turned against me. Only I am not me outside of a small trickle of particularly resonant memories.

Having to feel the emotions of others is an entirely different unpleasantness. It is enough to want to claw at myself, but I know all too well what harm I can inflict upon myself. It would be better to bury my claws in dirt to limit the damage.

Suddenly I hear my own voice reflected back at me, blaring with every tiny inflection picked up by Watcher ears.

And then there are emotional resonances I have no context for. There is no time to make sense of any of it. I am just in a hundred places at once.

It is overwhelming to the point that I don’t even know what the gemstone’s final effect is. As far as I am concerned, the gemstone’s effect was a gamble not worth betting on when I already know what kind of burden my own emotions can be.

Even once the words start to blur together, the stress starts to feel like drowning under a directed force of high pressure water.

To fight against it would mean breaking under the strain.

But there are familiar waters here.

That they originate from me makes them easier to find.

It won’t make them any easier to relive.

But it will be a reprieve from… everything else.

I’m taller.

Stronger.

More sure of myself.

Everything is finally going right for me.

Lenore and I…

The memory skips.

My wretched siblings all look so tall from the floor of the dungeon cell.

Everything beyond the pain is so hard to focus on.

I feel so much… lesser.

Lenore presses her only remaining hand to my cheek.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

I don’t want to listen.

I want to shut the world out.

But I should know better.

These are our last moments together.

“Drink for me?” Lenore says, unable to manage more than a pained whisper.

Whatever she is feeding me is warm.

“Good.”

She’s so calm.

How can she be so calm?

Everything feels… wrong.

“Now I need you to open your mouth.”

It hurts, but I manage it.

“Bite down.”

I hesitate.

Details beyond the pain are coming into focus.

Sharpening, intensifying.

It’s too much.

There’s no shutting it out.

I want more.

I hunger in ways unfamiliar.

I hesitate.

“Ayre. There’s no time.”

I try to cry out.

But nothing audible comes from my lungs.

“One of us needs to survive.”

Why? Why me? I mouth the words.

“I can’t do this. Not alone.”

Lies. Stronger.

“I just… can’t. But you can.”

No.

“If one of us doesn’t… they’ll find someone else.”

Lenore.

“I helped you live with yourself. But you kept us alive.”

I struggle to shake my head.

Fresh pain shoots through what is left of my body.

“What about Selescia? Fia? They need us.”

Not fair.

“They need you.”

I bite down, sinking fangs into flesh.

There is so much more than blood to consume.

Tears, regrets, doubts, and thoughts never shared with me.

“I’m sorry.” Lenore says, her voice weakening.

I can’t speak. Not while draining Lenore of everything that remains of the life we shared.

She holds my gaze.

And I finally understand her.

As much as I ever will from feeding on what is left of her.

No sound escapes her lips.

But I know the words.

You’re worth it.

“I know.” I finally say, long after she can hear me. “But you’re worth more.”

Something burrowing deep inside of fresh wounds begins to take over at that point.

Helplessness and worthlessness overtake me as I experience the pain of being remade from the parts my parasite decides fit best.