I'd been in cities before, like Chicago with Tess. She would take me there for my dentist's appointments, and she would spend the whole day there because she felt guilty about the cavity. We ate deep dish pizza and went to the aquarium. I distinctly recall a school trip to Springfield, primarily for the bus journey. A boy named Carson regrettably vomited on my backpack, which I had to carry for the remainder of the day.
This was not Chicago. This was not Springfield.
We had been trudging through forests for two days, enduring the usual annoyances of insects. Then, suddenly, the trees changed. They grew taller and taller, towering over any building. Their trunks were smooth and silvery, wider than houses, and their branches formed a second sky, shimmering in green and gold hues. Rays of light filtered down through the canopy, moving as though alive.
"Those are cairn oaks," Sióg said from behind me in the cart. "They're older than most kingdoms."
"How old?" Cruit asked.
"Four, five hundred thousand years? Nobody's sure. The elves stopped counting after a while because it got depressing."
"Depressing how?" I chipped in now.
"Outliving a tree you've known since childhood takes something out of you, apparently. I wouldn't know. I've never been attached to a tree." He shrugged.
We continued riding through the Cairn oaks for another mile, then the road widened and the ground changed from dirt to stone. It was flat and pale, made from pieces that fitted together perfectly without mortar. The seams were so precise that they were nearly invisible. Then the trees parted and the city appeared.
The city was built into the trees. Rather than encircling them, structures had been carved and crafted into the colossal oak trunks. They had been hollowed out, layered, and transformed into towers, halls, bridges, and spiral balconies that seemed to grow organically from the tree bark. Suspended pathways connected trees at various heights, some close to the ground, while others vanished into the canopy. Structures clung to branches like nests, spherical and polished, their walls crafted from living wood that continued to grow, sprouting leaves, and pulsing with life.
Staircases wound up as wide spiral trunks, and from the highest platforms, bridges of twisted vines and pale wood arched across the gaps between the trees in spans that shouldn't have been possible. Water ran everywhere. It flowed in thin streams down the trunks in carved channels, pooled in basins at the roots and fed fountains that grew out of the bark like trees were bleeding silver.
The light was golden and green and came from everywhere at once—from the canopy, from the lanterns strung between branches, from the bark itself, which glowed warmly like embers in the grain.
"Holy shit," I said.
We drove along a path that led us through a gate—two trees that had grown together overhead, their branches woven into an arch covered in white flowers.
The place was packed. Wall to wall. Elves swarmed from tree to tree, their limbs long and limber, their clothing a fusion of fabrics and natural elements, resembling leaves, bark, and even water. Some had hair down to their waists, silver, black, and copper. Some wore antlers. They grew from their skulls and branched, wrapped in ribbons and tiny bells that chimed when they walked.
"Elves have antlers?" I asked.
"Some do," Sióg said. "Usually the older families. It's a bloodline thing. My family didn't have them. My father used to say we were 'common stock."
A group of elven children passed us at a fast pace, barefoot and chasing an insect that looked like a dragonfly the size of a cat. It buzzed between the stalls. Three kids dove for it, missed and crashed into a basket of something that spilled everywhere. An old elf shouted at them in a language I didn't understand, and they scattered, laughing.
"What are they chasing?"
"A glimmer moth. They're drawn to noise. The children catch them and trade them for sweets during the festival." He watched the children disappear around the tree.
The area between the tree trunks was filled with an assortment of vendors selling items that I couldn't recognize. There were jars of light, emitting a gentle glow in various hues. There were also piles of what resembled paper, but moved when touched, curling and uncurling. There were weapons that were so thin, so sharp, and so ornate that they seemed more like works of art than tools. Food that I'd never seen before—translucent fruit, bread that smelled like a forest after rain, something on a stick that was either candy or a small animal.
"Is this what it's always like?" I asked. "All the people?"
"It's the Féile Solais," Sióg explained. "Festival of Light. Happens once every... actually, I don't remember how often. Every turning of something? There's a celestial component. Stars align or a moon does something. I slept through the explanation when I was young."
"The celebration of the first light. When the eldest tree opened its bark and released the glow that became the elven hearth fire," Cruit said. Finally speaking.
Sióg twisted to look at her. "How do you know that?"
"I studied the histories of the elder races. My tutor kept a collection of elven texts. Most were incomplete, but the accounts of the Féile Solais were consistent across several sources."
"Your tutor had elven texts?"
"Copies. Translated and poorly, but some survived."
"Huh." He seemed surprised. "Well, your books got the gist right. The first light: the tree, the hearth fire. There's singing. A lot of singing. The singing goes on for honestly too long. Nobody will say that but everyone thinks it."
The sound of music was coming from somewhere above us. Not from one source, but many, layered and overlapping. There were strings and something that sounded like bells, deeper and more mellow, and voices, high and clear and strange, singing in harmonics that shouldn't have been possible from one throat. It was beautiful, but it made my chest tight.
"The singers are up in the canopy," Sióg remarked while I was looking. "That's where the main ceremony happens. The high platforms. You can see the —." He raised his hand high toward where the brightest light was, and shapes moved against the green. "The elders light the hearth lamps at dusk. Everyone gathers. It's quite moving, I've been told. I've never actually made it through the whole ceremony."
A procession was moving through the main thoroughfare. It was composed of elves in white and gold, carrying something that glowed and walking in formation that seemed ceremonial. Petals rained down from above, not being thrown, but gently floating down from the overhanging foliage, settling on everything around them.
Cruit reached out and caught one. She held it in her palm and examined it carefully. It emitted a faint, pale blue light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"It's... alive?" She glanced at the Sióg.
"They're shed from the canopy during the festival," Sióg said. "The trees do it on their own. Nobody knows why. Some say it's the trees celebrating. Some say it's just seasonal."
"Does the city always..." Cruit trailed off. She contemplated the way light danced across the intricately carved tree trunks, as well as the way water flowed in grooves that resembled ancient script. "Does it always glow like this?"
"More during the festival. But yes, always, to some degree. The heartwood carries the light. It's part of the tree. Part of the city." Sióg moved around in the cart. "Ard Doire is the only elven city with living heartwood. The others lost theirs. Wars, fires, the usual. This one survived because it's hidden well and because the elves here are... deeply unwelcoming to outsiders."
"We're... outsiders," I said.
"During the festival, they open the gates. Old tradition. Hospitality of the light. Can't turn anyone away during the Féile Solais. It's a sacred law."
"And after the festival?"
He winced. "We should probably not be here after the festival."
"How long is the festival?"
"Three days."
"And we're on day..."
"I'm actually not sure. I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."
"Sióg!"
"Could be day one. Could be day three. The petals might be a clue but I honestly don't remember which day the petals happen. I fainted often when I was younger. I missed a lot of the curriculum."
Cruit and I shared a worried expression. For just a second, the anger between us disappeared, and we were united in the understanding that we were standing in a deeply unwelcoming city full of elves, with our only guide having fainted during orientation.
"We should probably find out what day it is," I suggested.
"I know a place," Sióg said. "Well. I don't know it. But my cousin mentioned it once, but she also told me she could breathe underwater and that turned out to be a lie, so." He dismounted his steed and landed awkwardly, using a nearby root to break his fall.
Sióg navigated the city like a man navigates a room he's only seen described in a letter. He would stride for thirty paces, stop, scan his surroundings, mumble to himself, turn left, walk another twenty steps, stop, turn right, backtrack, and then declare, "yes, this way" with the confidence of someone who was probably guessing.
"Have you been here before?" Cruit asked after the third backtrack.
"Um... not technically. But I know where I'm going. In a spiritual sense."
"And in a practical sense?" I asked.
"Less so."
"Wonderful."
As we made our way through the market square, nestled in the cavity of a colossal tree trunk, we encountered an array of stalls spiraling up its trunk. Elves' voices rang out in both their language and ours as they hawked wares ranging from mouth-watering roasted goods to enchanting garments that changed hue at the touch. A young boy stumbled into my leg, gazed up at me with wide, dark eyes, and uttered words that remained a mystery. He then scampered away.
"He said you look funny," Sióg translated.
"Well, that's fucking rude," I objected.
"I think she meant your ears."
We climbed. The city rose as much as it sank, and Sióg led us along a spiral staircase around one of the wider trunks to a platform about sixty feet off the ground.
The platform led to a line of buildings embedded in the tree trunk. They were not traditional shops, but rather workspaces. Carved doors, translucent windows that weren't glass, and illegible signs adorned the structures.
"She's this way. I think. The market district is on the western branch... or the eastern one. There's a big tree with a knot that looks like a face. I remember that much."
We pushed through the crowd. Cruit was right beside me; the mass of people pushed us closer together. Sióg was in the lead, weaving and talking over his shoulder.
"My cousin Leanán runs a dress shop on one of the mid-level platforms. She's been doing it for a long time. She started young."
"And she'll help us?" Cruit asked.
"She'll help us. Probably. She's family."
"The family that sold you for goats," I said, feeling increasingly hopeless.
"Different side. Lee is from my mother's side. My father's side did the selling. My mother's side just did the..." He paused, then scratched his ear. "Well, they had their own way of doing things."
"What way?"
"Tough love? When we were young, before our families stopped speaking, she used to visit in the summers. It was a lot of fun."
"Sounds nice," I said.
"Absolutely, it was. I cherish the memories of those carefree summer days. Like when she held me over the cliffside. That was so much fun!"
Cruit and I stopped walking.
"She... what?"
"Yeah. By my ankles. She wanted me to stop crying about something. A bee sting, I think. She said if I didn't stop she'd let go and count to see how long it took." He stepped over a root in the path and continued. "I stopped crying. So it worked, in a way."
Cruit and I exchanged glances, our expressions betraying a mixture of dread and the growing awareness that we were being led toward a terrifying creature.
"Another time," Sióg continued, darting under a low-hanging lantern, "she put me in the well. Behind my uncle's house. I was down there for two days. Nobody knew where I was. My mother thought I'd wandered into the forest. Lee was helping with the search. She was out there with a lantern calling my name with everybody else."
"While you were in the well."
"Yes. She said she wanted to see if I could survive on my own. She was always testing me. She said it was because I was soft and the world doesn't like soft things. She was trying to make me tougher." He pondered this. "It didn't work."
"What... what else did she do?" Cruit inquired, her tone cautious.
"Oh, various things. She locked me in a root cellar overnight with a jar of spiders because I said I was afraid of spiders. Now, I'm afraid of spiders and root cellars." He turned left at the fork in the walkway. "She tied me to a goat and made the goat run. I don't remember why. There might not have been a reason for that one. She cut all my hair off in my sleep once and told me it was a fungal disease so I wouldn't tell anyone she'd done it."
"Sióg," I said, trying to sound casual and not panicked. "She sounds, uh, sounds great. Really great. But you know what, I don't think we need to bother her. She's probably busy. It's the festival. She's got the shop. We wouldn't want to impose."
"Yeah," Cruit quickly said. "We would not wish to intrude upon her work. Particularly during such a busy —"
"She won't mind," Sióg replied. "She loves company."
"Does she, though?" I said. "Because nothing you've described sounds like a person who loves company."
"That's just how she shows affection. It's an elven thing."
Cruit and I looked at each other again.
"We're going to die," I whispered
"Almost certainly," she agreed.
Sióg stopped in front of one. Above the door was a sign written in the Elvish script. Below it was the same in common script: SILKS, GOWNS, AND FINERY.
"This is it. I think." He pushed the door open.
The interior of the room was tall and narrow, with an odor of ink and something plant-like: perhaps crushed leaves or sap. The walls were adorned not with traditional paper maps, but with dynamic, living ones. Lines that undulated, slowly, across surfaces resembling taut bark. Rivers that actually flowed. Shifting coastlines that inhaled and exhaled.
Behind a desk made from a cross-section of a branch sat an elven woman.
She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, which at this point was a crowded category but she cleared the field without effort. She was tall even sitting down. She had silvery hair that fell past her shoulders like water, straight and luminous, and it caught the ambient light. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. Her features were sharp and her eyes were the color of frozen lakes. She looked like a supermodel.
I stared, then caught myself. I stopped, then started staring again.
She was idle, reclined in her chair, one leg casually draped over the other, cradling a smooth, oval-shaped object to her ear. It was made of pale wood, intricately carved to resemble a shell. It emitted a dim radiance. She directed words toward it.
"—No, she didn't. She did NOT. With him? With HIM? After what he said at the solstice? Absolutely not. Éadaigh, I cannot—I will not—hold on."
She raised her gaze and swept it over the three of us, settling on an expression that was a mixture of boredom and contempt.
She held up one finger.
"Sorry," she said. "Some people just walked in. I know. I KNOW. The festival is—ugh. Every year. Hold on, don't go anywhere." She rested the shell against her shoulder and glanced at Sióg. "The shop is closed for the festival. Come back in two days."
"We're not here to shop," Sióg's face flushed bright red. "We're looking for Leanán."
"Lee is busy." She was already bringing the shell back up. "You could try the information board in the market square. It's mostly in common script."
"No, you don't understand. I need to see my cousin. Leanán. Our families are estranged but we're —
The nameplate on the desk said RÍONA in elegant script. Underneath it, in smaller letters: DO NOT ASK ME FOR DIRECTIONS TO THE PRIVY. Ríona stood up.
"Leanán is from the Daire line. You look like...' She gestured at the entirety of him. "...field stock."
"Eastern commons, yes. But my mother was —"
Ríona's eyes moved past Sióg. To me. To Cruit. Her initial dismissive countenance transformed into an icy glare.
"And you've brought humans into this shop. Do you know what humans do in shops? They touch things. They break things. They steal things. They track mud and they smell like meat and—"
Cruit took a step forward. Her chin rose. "I am a princess of Tolamn. I do not steal. I have a finer understanding of textile craft than most of the merchants in my own kingdom."
Ríona looked at her unimpressed. "A human princess. How delightful." She made her way around the counter. "Let me be clear. I don't care who you are in your kingdom. You are not in your kingdom. You are in Ard Doire, in an elven establishment, during a sacred festival, and I have every right to —"
"I am her cousin. If you just tell her I'm here —"
"I'm telling you to leave. Take your pets with you."
"Pets?" Cruit said. The air in the room became cooler. "You are going to regret that word."
"Am I? In my own shop?" Ríona folded her arms across her chest. "Get out before I call the ward guard. They're not as patient as I am." She snatched the shell off the desk. "Éadaigh? I'm back. You will not BELIEVE what just happened! "Some commons elf just —." She dropped back into her chair, spun it so her back was to us, and continued her conversation as if we had been physically removed from existence.
The curtain at the rear of the room shifted. And an individual emerged.
"I'm in the middle of a fitting and I can hear you through two walls. If this is about the thread shipment again I swear on the —"
Okay. I had just thought Ríona was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. I was wrong. I was so wrong.
My brain just stopped sending signals to the rest of my body. She was tall. Taller than Ríona, taller than Sióg. Dark hair. Ink black, falling in heavy waves past her shoulders. Skin warm and golden in the shop light. She looked like if someone had taken Megan Fox and then made her an elf and then made the elf version somehow hotter than the original, which shouldn't have been possible.
And she was wearing a dress. A green dress. A green dress with a neckline that...
Okay.
Her boobs were enormous. There. I said it.
I averted my gaze from the wall, the map, the intriguing corner of the ceiling, and anything else that wasn't the most jaw-dropping display of cleavage I had ever seen.
Don't look at her tits. Don't look at her tits. Don't look at her tits.
"Well, well, well," Leanán said. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms, exacerbating the situation further. "What's all the shouting about?"
"Them," Ríona said over her shoulder without turning around. "They're yours now. I'm done."
Leanán's eyes moved over us. Slowly. She spotted Sióg.
She crossed the shop in three strides and grabbed him. Pulled him into her. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed his face directly into her chest. He was gone. Swallowed by her cleavage.
"My little Bídeach! Look at you! Ríona, why didn't you tell me my cousin was here?" She held him at arm's length. Studied him. He was red-faced and gasping and his hair was sticking up where her chest had rearranged it. "You're too thin. Have you been eating?"
"A bit, yes —"
She pulled him back in. His face went back into the danger zone. His arms stuck out at his sides.
"Cousin," he said, muffled. "I can't breathe."
"When did I last see you? You were this tall." She held her hand at hip height. "You were crying about something. A bee?"
"You were holding me over a cliff."
"Was I?" She released him. Tilted her head. Smiled. "That doesn't sound like me."
She turned. Her eyes found Cruit and me.
"And who are these?"
"Friends," Sióg said.
Leanán's eyebrows went up. Both of them. High. "You have friends?"
"I... yes. I have friends. Why is that surprising?"
"Bídeach, the last time I saw you, you were afraid of your own shadow. Now you have friends. Human friends." She looked at us again. "How wonderful." She clapped her hands once. "Come. All of you. Further in. I won't have guests standing in the shop like customers." She was already moving, sweeping the blue curtain aside and gesturing us through. "Ríona, tea."
"I'm not your servant," Ríona said.
"You're going to make the tea." Leanán didn't look back. "Because I asked so nicely."
The spacious rear area of the boutique was adorned with textiles on the walls, a worktable for tailoring, and mannequins at different stages of development. A low sitting area with plush cushions. She gracefully laid back, one arm casually resting on the backrest, her legs crossed, while the garment performed a series of movements that I was determined not to continue looking at.
"Sit," she said. "Please. Make yourselves comfortable."
Sióg plopped down instantly. I sat too. Cruit didn't sit down.
"We need directions to the Forbidden Forest," Cruit said, jumping in before anyone else could. "We need lodging for tonight. We need to know the fastest route from here to the dark lake at the forest's center."
"Mm. That's a lot of need. The forest is dangerous, and I barely know you." She looked at Sióg. "Why should I bother?"
"Because we're desperate? And we're family?" Sióg offered.
"Because a princess commands it?" Cruit said, chin up.
Leanán laughed. "Oh, darling. You're not in your kingdom. Your crown doesn't spend here."
Cruit's cheeks turned pink. I could see her mentally reevaluating her worth behind her eyes. The realization that her title was meaningless was a fresh and unwelcome feeling for her.
"Sit, prionsín."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's a term of endearment. Don't trouble yourself over it." Leanán turned to me. The whole energy shifted. Warmer. Lazier. She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. "Hello, Red."
"Hey," I said. Smooth. Very smooth.
"You're a handsome one, aren't you?"
"I — What?"
"Handsome. Good shoulders." She smiled. "Bit dirty, but that works on you."
"I... thanks."
Incredible. Eloquent. A poet.
"So. Three lost souls. One princess, one nervous little elf, and one very handsome redhead. What shall I do with you?"
"We need directions," Cruit said loudly.
"I heard you the first time, prionsín." Still not looking at Cruit. Still fixed on me. "Now, Red... tell me. How did my little Bídeach find himself traveling with a human princess and a man with shoulders like yours?"
"It's a long story."
"I love long stories. Especially from handsome strangers." Her smile made me feel something in places that I would have to contemplate later, when I was alone.
"Can we please," Cruit said, her tone becoming more urgent, "discuss the matter at hand?"
"The festival ends tomorrow night," Leanán said. "Moonrise, the lamps go out, the gates close. After that, you're trespassing, and I promise you do not want to know how they handle trespassers in Ard Doire." She examined her nails. "So you need help. You need it fast." She looked up. "The question is what's in it for me?"
She was enjoying it every second. Watching Cruit bristle and Sióg twitch, watching me try to maintain eye contact without losing the battle with her neckline. We were entertainment for her, and she was milking it.
"We don't have anything to offer," I said, feeling defeated.
Leanán looked at me. That lazy smile spread.
"Of course, I will help."
"Really?" Sióg perked up.
"Why?" Cruit asked, suspicious.
Leanán got up and walked to the wall of maps. She ran her fingers along its surface, looking for what she was looking for. She pulled it off; it came off easily. A sheet of living bark covered in glowing lines appeared. She took it back to the table.
"Because Red over is so yummy." She winked at me. "And I'm a sucker for a hard-luck story with a handsome face."
My face was on fire. Cruit scoffed.
"Well, we should go now," Cruit said. "Every hour we waste —"
"You're quite tightly wound, aren't you, prionsín?" Leanán cast a fleeting, disdainful glance at Cruit. It was brief and dismissive. "Relax. Sit down. Have some tea when it comes. Whatever you need, I'll help. Sióg's friends are my responsibility now."
"We do not need to be anyone's responsibility. We need directions and provisions and we will be on our way. Tonight."
"You're not going anywhere tonight, princess. The forest after dark is a death sentence, not a shortcut. You leave at first light. Until then—" Leanán wrapped up the map and passed it to me, not Cruit. As she did, her fingers gently brushed mine. "—You rest. You'll stay for the festival. It's the Féile Solais. You can't leave during the Féile Solais."
"We cannot—"
"You'll stay. The festival runs through tomorrow night. You'll rest. You'll eat. You'll see the Rince Solais. " Her gaze locked onto mine again. Stayed. "I'll make sure you're taken care of. All of you."
Cruit was looking at me, expecting me to back her up. I was supposed to agree that we should leave that night, that we didn't have time for festivals or dances, that the mission was urgent and every hour mattered.
I avoided looking at her.
"One night," Cruit ground out through her teeth. "One. And we leave at first light."
"Of course, prionsín." Leanán smiled. "First light."