Roselle wanted to believe him.
She could not.
The following morning, nearly every elf capable of walking gathered outside Zino’s dwelling.
Rumors had travelled through Delasai faster than any messenger.
A foreign infant had been brought into the forest.
The judgment had turned gold.
It had eaten the remains of a dead elf.
It had grown years in minutes.
By sunrise, some versions of the story claimed it had eaten three elves and spoken in the voice of the dead.
Roselle stood apart from the crowd.
She had not slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, Arkena called her name.
Every time she opened them, the village was still there.
Myrriet remained unconscious with the healers.
The child sat near Roselle’s feet, examining a beetle crawling across one finger.
It had become strangely attached to her overnight.
Whenever another elf approached, its attention immediately shifted toward them.
Whenever Roselle moved, it followed.
Zino finally emerged from his dwelling.
The marks covering his body seemed darker after the night spent communing with Delasai.
He had not slept either.
The crowd quieted.
“The child will remain.” The silence lasted less than a second.
Voices erupted.
“After what it did?” “We don’t even know what it is!” “It ate one of us!” “It ate a corpse,” someone corrected.
“That makes it better?” “Enough!” Zino’s voice carried through the clearing.
Branches above the gathering trembled with him.
The arguments stopped.
“The judgment was not black.
It was not white.
It was not green.
Delasai gave us something none of our records describe.” He looked across the gathered elves.
“Gold.” Nobody challenged that.
Too many had witnessed it.
“Until we understand what that means, the child remains under the protection of Delasai.” An older elf raised his hand.
“And who raises it?” “According to our law, a child without parents will be placed with two elves unable to produce children of their own.” Roselle looked down.
The child had abandoned the beetle and was staring at Zino.
“It will be taught our language, our customs and our laws.
It will learn to hunt.
It will learn Delasai.
Whatever blood it carries, it will be raised among forest elves.” Zino paused.
Roselle knew what came next before he spoke.
“Roselle’s degradation will also be postponed.” The reaction changed immediately.
The child ceased to matter.
Heads turned toward her.
Roselle felt their hatred before anyone spoke.
“Why?” “Again?” “Seven dead and she gets another chance?” “Because she’s his daughter.” Zino raised his voice.
“Roselle brought us the child.” “Roselle brought us another corpse!” someone shouted.
Roselle did not look toward the voice.
Zino continued.
“Whatever this child becomes, Delasai has shown interest in it.
That gives Roselle’s expedition value.” “Enough.” The single word cut through the clearing.
Tyron stepped from the crowd.
Roselle’s stomach tightened.
He was taller than most elves around him and far broader across the shoulders.
His body had been shaped by decades of hunting and combat, but his speed was what made him dangerous.
Strength was expected from someone built like Tyron.
The way he could cross several paces before an opponent reacted was not.
His face was angular, almost severe, and anger had settled so naturally into his expression over the years that Roselle sometimes wondered whether he remembered what he looked like without it.
Zino watched him approach.
“Return to your place.” Tyron ignored him.
“How many times are we going to do this?” “This is not a debate.” “It became one when you decided your daughter was worth more than our laws.” Murmurs spread.
Zino descended the steps from his dwelling.
“Choose your next words carefully.” Tyron smiled.
“Why?
Will the forest punish me for speaking?” He pointed at Roselle.
“Everyone here knows what she is.” Roselle’s fingers moved toward the hilt of her sword.
Tyron saw it.
“Go on.” “Tyron,” Zino warned.
“That useless sipis has cost us enough.” Roselle’s blade left its sheath.
Several elves caught her before she reached him.
“LET GO OF ME!” Tyron laughed.
“There she is.” Roselle twisted hard enough that one elf almost lost his grip.
“Say it again.” “Roselle!” Zino shouted.
“Say it again!” The old Elvish insult did not have a clean equivalent in the languages spoken beyond Delasai.
It was not merely whore, nor breeding animal, nor worthless woman.
It carried pieces of all three and centuries of contempt behind them.
Tyron knew exactly what he had said.
“Seven,” he replied instead.
Roselle stopped fighting for a moment.
Tyron turned toward the village.
“Seven companions.” Nobody spoke.
“Seven elves have died under her command.” Roselle’s sword lowered slightly.
“Our law demands death after five.” “She was chosen,” Zino said.
Tyron slowly looked toward him.
“Was she?” Zino’s expression hardened.
“Careful.” “Every chosen elf receives the blessing before the settlement.
Every ceremony is witnessed.” “You know why hers wasn’t.” “I know what you told us.” Tyron stepped closer.
“My parents told me the same story.” Zino said nothing.
“They told me the ceremony had to be performed in secret.
They told me Delasai itself chose Roselle.” Tyron’s smile disappeared.
“They also told me how your wife and your brother were eaten on the same day.” The clearing became completely silent.
Roselle looked at her father.
Zino’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Tyron continued.
“You know what it is to lose family to those things.” “Stop.” “You know what it is to receive whatever pieces they decide to return.” “Tyron.” “So perhaps you should understand better than anyone what the families of those seven feel every time she walks back through these trees without them.” Roselle looked down.
Arkena’s face appeared in her memory.
Then remember.
Tyron pointed at her.
“She leaves Delasai because she thinks she can change the fate of our race.
She returns with fewer elves every time.” “Enough,” Zino said.
“Five deaths should have been enough.” “Enough.” “Six should have been impossible.” “Enough!” “Seven is an insult to every law you expect the rest of us to obey.” Zino moved close enough that only a few paces remained between them.
“Please.” The word escaped quietly.
Tyron heard it.
So did Roselle.
So did everyone else.
Tyron’s expression changed.
Satisfaction.
“Good.” He drew a knife.
“Then let’s stop arguing.” He placed the blade against the tip of his finger.
Cut.
Flesh dropped onto the soil.
Blood followed.
Tyron raised the injured hand toward the trees.
“If raising this child is truly the will of Delasai, show us.” For a moment nothing happened.
Then the trees flashed green.
A collective breath passed through the crowd.
Roselle looked toward the child.
It remained beside her, watching Tyron.
Tyron stared at the green light.
His jaw tightened.
He raised the knife again.
“Fine.” This time he cut deeply across his wrist.
Blood ran over his hand and dripped from his fingers.
“If postponing Roselle’s degradation is the will of Delasai…” He spread his bleeding hand toward the forest.
“…show us.” Nothing happened.
Roselle waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
The trees remained unchanged.
Five.
She swallowed.
Six.
Seven.
“Come on,” she whispered.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
Nothing.
Roselle shook her head.
“No.” Zino closed his eyes.
“Do it again,” Roselle said.
Nobody answered.
“Do it again.” She looked at her father.
“Maybe it didn’t hear.” Zino opened his eyes.
“Roselle.” “Do it again.” “I’m sorry.” The words struck harder than Tyron’s insult.
Roselle stared at him.
“No.” “The forest has answered.” “It didn’t answer anything.” “Sometimes silence is the answer.” “No.” Tyron approached.
The elves holding Roselle tightened their grip.
She fought them.
“Let go.” Tyron stopped in front of her.
“At last.” Roselle spat at him.
The saliva struck his cheek.
Tyron wiped it away.
Then hit her.
Her head snapped sideways.
The elves released her as she fell.
Zino moved.
Two older elves blocked him.
“The judgment was given,” one whispered.
“Move.” “Zino.” “MOVE.” Tyron seized Roselle by the throat before she could stand.
His fingers tightened.
He pulled her close enough that she smelled his blood from the ritual.
“Today,” he whispered into her ear, “you finally belong to me.”