Author's Note: Apologies for the delay – we were caught up the mess left by Hurricane Irma. Everyone in our families are safe, and there was no dire damage, but it's still a headache. And not being able to sleep for like three days because of worry, or the sound of the wind roaring and flinging branches on your roof, didn't help either. Not to mention our jobs – we both working in mailing and shipping. A lot of people had it worse, though, so we're counting our blessings.

Anyway, without further ado, here's the explanation for a few things from last chapter.


In the end, despite her misgivings, Sarah went back up while carrying a folded and wax-sealed envelope, the contents of which she hadn't peeked at. All she could was hope was that Della turned out better at soothing ruffled feathers in print. So much for a relatively uneventful day out. Life amongst the fae and all that. She hadn't planned on coming back Above until it was time to pick up Toby, but even coronation rehearsals were getting shuffled aside for this. There was no other choice, not with the balance shifted. Della took the offense she'd given, and the apology she owed, very seriously.

Imperiale wasn't open for business yet, but the staff knew her. Yet this time, they seemed reluctant to let her in. "Alix is occupied," Ojore said, frowning. He seemed to fill the doorway, and the scent of incense that clung to him was stronger than usual.

Sarah had known that it would not likely be a welcome she'd receive. With the way Alix had left, it wasn't a surprise, but she'd been in more fraught situations than this seemed. Though the ante was always upped when their kind were involved. "I understand that, Ojore, but it's important that I deliver this letter," Sarah replied, looking up at the African fae. "I know Alix is angry, and I know why, but this is a formal apology. Please, may I take it to her? Or will you promise to deliver it for me? Please?"

He looked at her narrowly for a moment. Ojore often acted as Alix's bodyguard, being taller, stronger, and more imposing than the slight dryad. His sense of honor was impeccable. Sarah knew if he promised to deliver the letter, it would be done … but he stepped aside. "She is downstairs, in Colleen's office. Follow the singing, but take care that the merrow's song does not draw you in as well."

"Thank you, Ojore," she said, acknowledging his allowance with a slight curtsy, as she felt was important in this formal task, nodding seriously as she turned to go. Well, that sounded ominous. Sarah headed downstairs, and sure enough, she heard faint singing. It sounded like a lullaby … and even muffled by a door, she felt her eyelids try to slip closed as she listened. That's a damn good trick, she thought; Alix made the most of the so-called 'smaller magics' of the low fae.

When she found the right door, Sarah opened it gently, not wanting to disturb the singer. She only peeked in, ready with an apology for not knocking, if one was needed. The room itself took her breath away for a moment.

Somehow Alix had arranged a modern office designed for the particular needs of what looked, at first glance, like a stereotypical mermaid of myth. There was a large, deep pool of perfectly clear water, and right at the edge – though carefully raised away from any spills – was a desktop computer with three monitors.

The merrow herself had her elbows propped on one side of the pool, singing softly to Alix, who sat on the edge with her lower legs in the water. The dryad swayed a little in time to the music, her eyes closed; Sarah understood at once that she'd willingly surrendered to the merrow's song, to calm herself after storming away from Della. Regret twisted in Sarah's heart at that. She hated to see her friends so distressed, and she did now count Alix among them.

Colleen, the merrow, was from the waist up a lovely fair-skinned woman with white blonde hair, but beneath the water Sarah could see the body of a great, green-scaled fish. Her expression as she sang was full of sorrow, and an almost desperate desire to lighten it. As well as she had known the type of fae the other woman had to be, seeing it still had Sarah spellbound; even with the seriousness of their current dilemma, the young girl that had always sought the magic within the everyday world fought a swoon. A mermaid, here in New York City, amongst the grit and the grime. And not with an easy-out like there had been in Splash, she thought with the slightest of a grin. Even as Sarah regarded the merrow, Colleen finally noticed her and that little smile died.

The song cut off, and those mournful eyes turned cold. "You," she hissed, and slipped beneath the surface. One powerful flick of her tail brought her across the pool, and she surged out of the water at Sarah's feet. Colleen's voice betrayed an Irish brogue as her words grew more heated. "What did you do to her? I haven't seen her this upset in years! If she hadn't forbade it, I'd drag you in and half-drown you myself, for wounding her so!"

As much as the accusation stung, Sarah felt her chin rise. I'd like to see you try, was on the tip of Sarah's tongue, her natural inclination to meet a threat with a challenge. But she forced herself to bite back the words. Colleen's anger was righteous, if misplaced, and getting into a fight wouldn't solve anything. "It wasn't my intention to hurt her, Colleen, far from it. I had never even meant to involve Alix in the first place, neither Jareth or I," she said, making her tone gentle by effort of will. "I came here to bring an apology."

"You and your apology can get parched," Colleen growled, her tail sweeping through the water angrily. Little wavelets slopped over the side, wetting Sarah's shoes.

"It wasn't her," Alix said, in a sleepy mumble. The dryad rubbed at her eyes and yawned. "Easy, Colleen. Sarah meant no harm."

The merrow snorted at them both, and dropped below the surface, circling the pool furiously. Alix only looked over at Sarah. Her outrage was gone, but beneath it was pain so bleak and deep that Sarah couldn't stop herself from moving forward, dropping onto the wet tile beside the dryad. "Alix, what on earth happened back there?" she asked, truly worried. She'd never seen Alix look so desolate. "Della insisted on writing you a formal apology, then and there, but please. Tell me what's going on. Help me understand."

"So you can fix it," Alix added, finishing the half-formed sentence in Sarah's mind. "Sarah, Sarah. Always a social worker, hmm? This might be beyond even you to fix."

Colleen popped up beside them, glaring. "Sure, come now and apologize all sweet-like. Whatever you did, I won't forgive anytime soon. Alix, you know I'd never say this if I didn't care about you, but you trust too lightly."

Alix squared her shoulders. "You overstep, nereid," she said in formal tones, and Colleen sank to her eyes, abashed. It was the first time Sarah had ever seen Alix discipline one of her people like that; she was truly their leader, despite the more casual way they all behaved. Then the dryad softened. "It is no fault of Sarah's. How could she refuse her soon-to-be mother-in-law a trip Above to go shopping on Fifth Avenue?"

"Mother-in-law…" Colleen began, and then her eyes went wide. "Ler's salty balls, the very Queen of Etaron was up here? Shopping?!"

"Yes, shopping," Alix sighed. "Sarah took her to Victoria's Secret. I hope her poor husband is prepared."

"Hey now," Sarah said, encouraged somewhat at Alix's brief humor. "That wasn't my doing; we both know I didn't point her at the lingerie store. She found it on her own. Although she did say she wanted to shock Thiel with modern fashion. I hope she at least waits until neither me or the Goblin King are in residence to spring it on him."

"That black corselet she bought should do it," Alix said dryly. "Anyway, Colleen, now that you've sung me back to sanity, even I have to admit that Queen Cadelinyth did nothing to cause offense."

Colleen huffed angrily. "Oh, sure now. The daughter of the Sorceress of Astolwyr was every bit of proper courtesy to you, urban outcast low fae that you are. Of course she was."

Alix laughed, and ran a hand through the merrow's hair affectionately. "Yes, she was," she said. "That's why I was so furious. And when I snapped at her, she had the gall to call me cousin."

Well, at least they had arrived at that particular curiosity. "Not to interrupt, but the absolutely-clueless relative-age-to-an-embryo human would love to know why that was offensive," Sarah interjected, attempting to make light of the age difference that Jareth often pointed out, as well. Alix was right; there was still so much she had to learn about this world she was about to be a part of. Too soon to be a queen within, even.

It was the merrow who answered her. "Because I'm cousin to Alix, sea nymph to tree nymph, nereid to dryad. We are low fae together, none better than the other, only different. When I want to wheedle her for a raise, I call her sister. And sister she's been to me, these years. There's no merfolk in the city with a pool for an office, save me."

"I would be a very great fool not to make certain you have all the comfort I can give you," Alix said. "You've been at my side for a long time, almost as long as Ojore. And I don't have the head for numbers that you do. I wouldn't know if we were even turning a profit, if I didn't have you."

"Ah, go on with you," Colleen muttered, but she blushed at the praise – greenly, Sarah saw.

Alix turned to Sarah. "When Cadelinyth of Etaron calls me cousin, I know she doesn't mean it. She's of the highest high fae lineage, and a power in her own right. She's only doing it to play nice."

Sarah chewed her lip. "All right, I might grant you that, since I'm still a novice in fae politics. Yet, to be fair, Jareth was up here, all in your face and being a swaggering bastard, and you're fine with him. Della, the one that was trying to play nice, pisses you off to a level I haven't seen you at, yet."

That got a laugh from the dryad. "Your Jareth is an arrogant prick, that's why. At least he's an honest prick. He came up here ready to set the whole place on fire if you were in any danger. Damn the consequences, damn any sense of courtesy, he showed up and threw his glamour off and made sure we all knew how big and scary and powerful he is. And when I gave him my oath, he settled down and spoke to me like an equal."

Sarah sat cross-legged, thinking. "All right, let me get this straight. You expect the high fae to be assholes. Jareth acts like an asshole, but he calms down, and you like him well enough despite the fact that he's a jerk. So Della's nicer. Explain why that's such a huge trigger."

Alix leaned toward her. "Because she's not nicer. Sarah, you're no fool. Look me in the eyes and tell me that woman doesn't use her looks and her charm to get what she wants all the time. She's a spoiled princess who always gets her way, and the fact that she's trying to suck up to me, just because she knows you like me, makes me want to turn her pretty, pretty hair into a nest of briars."

Sarah let out a sigh through her nostrils. It wasn't something she could deny, she was just getting to know Jareth's mother. What could you know in less than a week about a woman that had five hundred years on you? But she had yet to believe that that even scraped the surface of who the older woman was. There had to be much more to her than she had been thus far. "Okay, yeah, Della can be manipulative; who do you think Jareth gets it from? She is a princess, and she does get what she wants most of the time. But Alix, what's so wrong with her wanting you to like her?"

Now the dryad bared her teeth. "Because in her heart of hearts, I'm just another fucking tree," she growled.

"Now, stop. You can't know that from one meeting," Sarah shot back, frowning at that blatant judgment.

Alix and Colleen both laughed derisively, which got Sarah's hackles up. "Okay, look, let's be fair here. Her father is a damned owl. Not high or low fae, an actual animal, which her uber-scary sorceress mother fell in love with. How on earth could she get away with thinking she's so much better than you?"

Colleen flicked her tail dismissively. "It's not about logic. I've known high fae who had less integrity and intelligence than a barnacle. They still think they're better than us, despite all evidence to the contrary. That's even easier for a princess born to power."

Sarah had to scrub her hands over her face in frustration. "Okay, lets just establish that now I'm not stupid enough not to realize that both of you have me beaten by half a century at least, probably. Can you honestly tell me that either of you have you ever met Della before today? Do you know anything about her besides the ballad that seems to be known far and wide? Just checking, since everyone seems to know her."

"She was considered the most beautiful woman of all the fae, when she first came of age," Alix replied. "And her mother invited literally every kingdom to court her, trying to get rid of Deruthiel of Etaron. Everyone knew who she was."

"Yeah, so I've been told. All and sundry have heard the freakin' song," Sarah said with a note of challenge, raising a dark brow. "But do you know her? By anything other than hearsay?"

"No," Alix admitted. "And still she behaved exactly as I expected."

Sarah sat up straighter, her point proven. "So we have preconceived assumptions, then. Alix, do you have any idea what I walked into, the first night they were there? I had to be up here for work, and I was so worried that Jareth was going to have a hard time with both his parents there. It's been years since he had seen them face-to-face. Well, guess what? I got Underground, dressed as formally acceptable as I could on my own and quickly for my royal in-laws-to-be, and guess what I walked into the dining hall to find? All three of them were shitfaced drunk."

That did seem to startle them both a bit, and Sarah continued. "Well, to be fair, Della wasn't quite drunk yet, but the men were roaring. Yeah, she was all precious about asking the castle bard to sing her song, but I honestly hadn't heard the story of how she and Thiel got together. I'm guessing Jareth knew it would happen, so didn't want to spoil it. And his father gave me footnotes the whole time. While she was teasing Jareth and making jokes and practically snuggling in Thiel's lap. Those two are disgustingly in love, by the way. I dunno about you, but drunk and cuddly doesn't show up in any of the stories about fairy princesses that I read growing up. Far from it."

"So she's friendly with the other high fae, and her son's human lover," Colleen shrugged.

"No, hold on," Sarah cut her off. "It turns out that Thiel is the one who's a little bit racist, and I just set him straight. When he was rude to my goblin, Della kicked him in the ankle for it in front of everyone. When we had a runner the other day, she was down on the floor in the middle of the goblins, changing the baby. I won't even sit on that floor, I've seen the damn chickens running back and forth, and let's not even talk about the vulture."

There was silence from them both as they thought about it. "None of this is to say she's perfect," Sarah went on. "I'm not saying you had no right to be upset. Again, novice observer, clearly. Just … give her a chance, okay? If she was that much of a two-faced snob, I wouldn't put up with her, mother-in-law or not, and Jareth would be finding himself another queen, curse or not. And despite what either of you seem to think, I'm not that easily fooled by charm. I have dealt with His Nibs for fifteen years and I was able to walk away at one point. I know charm. Trust me, my own mother is incredibly charming, and she's the biggest flake on the planet."

"And you call the King and Queen of Etaron, Della and Thiel," Colleen murmured. "I've known fae who were killed for less, though not by those two."

Knowing what she knew of nobles and the rules by which they lived, Sarah knew she was right, but could only shrug. "I know that, but if that's what they insist you to call them…"

"You said she wrote an apology," Alix said at last, and Sarah handed over the letter. Alix broke the seal, took out the parchment, and read silently. Colleen leaned against the pool's edge beside her, but didn't try to read over her shoulder.

"Ah, damn," Alix sighed, and tossed the letter to Sarah.

To Alix of New York City,

I, Cadelinyth, Queen of Etaron, daughter of Queen Iswyniel of Astolwyr and Jarrek the Owl-Born, do offer you my sincere apologies for the offense I caused you today. It grieves me to have wounded one who has been such a friend to my daughter Sarah, and who moreover has exhibited nothing but courage and integrity in her leadership. I pray you will permit me to make such amends as you deem needful.

With the formalities out of the way – Alix, I am sorry. I knew when I spoke the last that I was going to remind you of a terrible injustice done to you. I hoped that by doing so, I could make you vent your spleen at me, and I could apologize for being what I am. I did not ask to be high fae, or a princess, or a queen. I did not ask to be beautiful or gifted with strong magic, either. I cannot say I don't like being all of those things, for it does make my life a great deal easier in some ways, though more interesting in others. I am what I am, and I suspected that someone like me had treated you badly in the past, to make you hate me so much on so little acquaintance.

Whoever she was, whatever reason she gave for her action, she was wrong.

If you committed high treason, or murder, or rape, in my realm, Thiel and I would kill you, yes. But not that way. Beheading is very quick, or so it seems. To cut down a dryad's tree is death by torture. It is heinous, cruel, and completely unwarranted in every case. I would put to death anyone in my realm who did such to one of my dryads.

And I was wrong, too. I should not have spoken of it to you. Not then, not in public, not in front of Sarah. I am old enough and powerful enough to swallow your wrath without souring my stomach. I should have done that, and brought it up to you later, quietly. Or simply given you the chance to learn that I am not she who tried to murder you, that I will do everything in my power to ensure I am nothing like those fae who treat the so-called lower races as chattel.

I am sorry. I would beg your forgiveness, but I do not yet deserve it. If ever there is some favor I could perform that would help me atone for the wrong I've done, please, tell me.

I'm sure you would rather I simply stayed well out of your way for the rest of our lives, but I cannot. You had the courage to stand up and call me out. It was not mere bravado, it was righteousness. I respect that, and I respect your friendship with Sarah. Since she is to be my son's queen, and since I quite love her for her own self, we must cross paths, and I cannot let such a wrong on my part stand. Please let me earn your forgiveness.

Yours,

Della

Sarah read with her eyebrows rising steadily higher. That was … freaking masterful, actually. And sincere. She handed it back silently, and Alix passed it to Colleen. About half way through, the merrow dropped her mouth below the water and made a noise that sounded like a particularly virulent curse.

"If you hadn't told me about her and the goblins, I would've read this and said she deserves to be called the Queen of Spin," Alix said.

"Yeah, well, she has to be, to have been Queen for so long in that world," Sarah said with a shrug. "The thing is, Della can be real, too. That first paragraph is her being Queen Cadelinyth. The rest is true to what I've seen of her being Della."

"Ojore? Your opinion?" Alix said, taking the letter from Colleen and holding it out. Sarah turned around to see that he'd followed her at some point, and stood guard in the doorway.

The tall dark-skinned fae read the letter over, frowning. "It is different for us," he said. "But this queen … if she speaks true, she is worthy of respect. And she offers us a potent favor as recompense."

"I know," Alix sighed. "I know what you're thinking, but I won't let her do it for me. It has to be me, it has to be us, or we'll always be beholden to someone else. And I won't have that for any of us. No, I'll let her help me if the situation arises, but I won't ask much of her. Not even with her word in print offering it."

There was another pause, which Sarah finally broke. "And that's why I trust you," she said quietly. "Everyone tells me not to trust the fae – but you're damn careful not to get mixed up in all this. You told me once, all you want is to protect your people. And you've had a lot of chances to take advantage, of me, of others, that I've watched you pass up."

"Alix is trustworthy, first and foremost," Colleen said firmly.

"That is why she leads, and we follow," Ojore added. "Among my people, it is not the strongest who leads, or the cruelest. Our kings are wise, and just. A leader is driven to protect his people. Or her people."

"Also I had the money to buy the club, which gave me a chance to meet you all," Alix said self-deprecatingly.

Colleen slapped her tail against the water, splashing them all with fine droplets. "Nonsense. You don't lead here because you're rich. That idiot in Brooklyn probably has more money, but he spends it on himself and lets his people go cold and hungry."

Alix only shrugged. "I do what's right. That's all I've ever tried to do. And you all know why. But Sarah doesn't."

Ojore shifted on his feet, looking balefully at Sarah, and Colleen sank in the water again. Alix turned her caprine eyes to Sarah again, and the grief was still in them. "I feel as though I owe your Della an apology, and you an explanation," she said. "Let me tell you a tale that will serve as both, if you would listen."

A little chill ran down Sarah's spine. "Only if you feel as though you can tell me without hurting yourself worse," she replied. "Whatever this was, it's ugly. I can tell that much."

A wry smile curved Alix's lips. "Oh, ugly indeed. Look." And she drew her legs out of the water, rolling her soaked cuffs up to bare her left leg.

Sarah couldn't help gasping, and tears sprang to her eyes. Just below Alix's knee was a deep scar, half an inch wide and sunken into the flesh an inch deep. It circled her leg, as though someone had tried to remove it at the calf.

Above the scar, Alix's skin was fair and perfect, free of any blemish. Below it, all the way to her toes as she removed her now-ruined boots, was a nightmare.

Her skin was seamed with a mixture of ridged greenish scars that looked like human burns, and buckled into gnarled squarish shapes that looked like charred wood. The deep grooves between were blackened, while the surface had an unhealthy powdery gray look. It was as if she walked on a burnt stump … or two of them, as Sarah saw when Alix rolled up the right cuff and took that boot off, too. Her feet had once been human-like, but her toes were just blind nubs now, missing at least the last joint.

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Alix said calmly. "I actually don't have much feeling at all. Learning to walk again without being able to feel where I stood was … challenging, let's say."

"What the fuck … who did this to you?" Sarah's voice shook with horror, and dawning rage. The words were out of her mouth before she considered them. "What kind of monster would do such a thing? Jesus Christ, Alix, tell me you killed whoever did this."

The dryad laughed. "You are so young, Sarah. No, she lives. And I would not kill her, even if I could. Listen…"

Once there was a grove of dryad-trees, dancing in the winds. Oak and ash, beech and willow, the sisters sang their songs and stepped from within the life-giving wood to dance when the moon rose over their glade. There was no rank among them, for they were the daughters of the trees and needed none. All they needed was rich loam and strong sunlight and clean water, and each counted herself queen of her own little realm within the bark.

Trees do not count years like humans or other fae. One of the oaks was eldest, for her trunk was the thickest, but that mattered not. They slept in the winter, and danced in the spring and summer and fall. A dryad can live forever, and these had lived many long years without growing any wiser – or growing bitter. The green life is sweet, and simple, and eternal.

Other fae and even mortals came to the dryad groves to join the dance; all nymphs are beautiful, and free with their favors. In some tales a fae or human falls in love with one of them, but their hearts are not the same, and though a dryad may love greatly in the moment, she's as likely to forget her beloved's name tomorrow. For most, the dryads are a lovely summer night's tryst, and that is all the dryads want.

Most dryads.

Once upon a time, a dryad fell in love. The willow by the bank was not as her sisters; she withdrew to her tree when the satyrs played their pan-pipes and sported all night with the nymphs. When mortal men came calling, she did not sing to them under the stars. She danced only with her sisters, and with the water-nymphs who tickled playfully at her roots. No one cared, or even noticed. They had their own lives and loves and sport, and her choice to abstain from men of any kind harmed none.

Until a lovely highborn fae girl stumbled into their grove. She did not come to dance, she came to weep, and the dryads hid from her. They did not understand grief, and the girl's tears frightened them. But the willow came forth, curious, and asked the girl why she wept. And the girl watered her shoulder with salty tears, crying out a tale of disappointing her parents and being scolded by them. A child's problems, surely. The willow soothed her with song, and let the girl sleep in the safety of her branches.

The girl came often to the grove, seeking out the willow's company. She was a lonely child, her mother's only babe, and much was expected of her noble blood. Only in the grove could she simply be herself, and speak freely without worrying that she would be scolded for pertness or improper behavior. The other dryads befriended her too, and plaited flowers into her hair, but the willow was her first and best friend, always.

Time moved for the girl as it did not for the trees, and she became a woman. In her heart stirred things for which she had no name, and one summer while the bees droned loud and the scent of blossoms lay like a drug over the grove, she kissed the willow. There beneath sheltering branches the dryad taught her how to dance, and in so doing found that she had given a piece of her green heart to this high fae girl. In return, part of the girl's heart was hers, and it changed her forever.

The willow would dance with no other but her lover, and for that her sisters teased her. Gently, for they had no cruelty in them, but they laughed that she would choose to dance only with one fae girl, when all of them and the naiads were here for her if she wished. The willow smiled, and let her branches sway, and dreamed until her lover returned. All that summer, and that fall, they loved, every chance the girl could get away from her parents.

In winter, the dryad forced herself awake, though the cold nipped cruelly at her branches. The girl wove woolen blankets to wrap around her trunk against the snow, and brought her hot teas to drink, and though it was too cold for much else, they smiled into each other's kisses, and thought of spring.

For the first time in the willow's life, she knew impatience, waiting for the seasons to change. She knew time, it had hold of her at last, and even when the sun's warmth set her branches blooming again, she fretted, for winter would one day return. Never had she worried about such things before, and she begged her lover to come to her more often, to store up their hours of pleasure against the cold.

It was the next year's summer, when the stream chuckled busily and the birds sang to drown out all else, that the girl's mother found them.

The willow-dryad had never thought to hide their love. Her sisters looked on at the dance without judgment, and eventually with boredom. The beasts of the glade were too busy in their own lives to care what a dryad did, or with whom. So when the girl's mother found them lying on the soft grass, in the shade of the dryad's own branches, the willow had no idea why her lover yelped and clutched her clothes.

She learned.

The girl's mother was outraged. Never before had the dryad heard her kind called stupid and weak, foolish sluts good only for keeping goatish men occupied. The trees rattled with anger, and the willow rose up, her branches swaying. It was not the insult to herself that enraged her, but her lover's tears. The girl was weeping, and begging her mother, and promising she'd never come back. The willow did not understand why she was being betrayed for this cruel woman. She remembered no mother, herself.

The mother struck her child in the face, and bowled her over, making her cry harder. The dryad lashed out with a slender branch and laid open the mother's cheek. "Let her be," she called, "she does no harm here. You have no right to hurt her."

The mother had magic, and attacked the dryad, singing the leaves from her branches. Green wood does not burn well, and the hurt was only superficial, but it was threat enough to silence the other dryads in fear. The mother cuffed her child up and pulled her away, still crying – and apologizing to the willow, calling out to her to run away, to go while she could.

A dryad can change her tree, but it takes a very long time, and leaves her weak in the new tree. The willow was foolish, then, not understanding and not wanting to leave. She'd had many years, perhaps centuries, in this tree, whose every branch and bud she knew like her own hand. Besides, if she left, however would her lover find her again?

The willow did not know her danger until the mother returned later that day, with men at arms. They bore torches, and axes, which kept the other dryads in their trees. But what drew the willow's gaze in terror was the big iron saw carried by two men.

She shrieked and came forth, flying at them with hopeless rage. Two of the soldiers beat her down and held her while the woodsmen went to her tree. Even in her dread then, she could see that they had no desire to do this. They were as afraid of the mother as she was. For a second, she could pity them, too.

When they started cutting, the saw's sharp iron teeth ripping fast through bark, her agony blanked out everything else. And until the tree's ancient trunk was severed, all she could do was scream. Her life's blood ran from her and from the blunted stump. It would have been enough to kill her, but the mother saw that sap flowing amber … and called the flame again, setting the stump afire. The burning made her howl, and her sister trees swayed and lashed the ground, until the mother and her soldiers fled.

Rain came down, and put out the fire, but the damage was done. The willow was severed. Hours passed, and the dryad lay in the open, staring dully at her tree, waiting for death to claim her. She could feel herself withering above the cut, watching the leaves curl up and fall from what had been her branches and were now dead wood.

When night fell, her lover came, and wept bitterly. She begged the dryad to live, but the willow only closed her eyes. She had no strength to comfort her lover, could not stand or even raise her arm. She lay sprawled as the soldiers had left her, hovering at the threshold of death, and looked on that end with welcome.

Her lover begged the other dryads to help. At first they ignored her, then they blamed her for the willow's torture and murder. Their branches lashed at the girl, the little beasts that lived in their shelter ran out to peck and bite her, but bruised and bloody she rose to her knees and begged again for aid. At last, they joined their power together, and sent it to the blackened stump of the willow.

From the still-living roots untouched by saw or fire, the dryads together coaxed a shoot to grow. This the girl carefully dug up with her bare hands, watering it with her tears. She placed it in a pot and brought it to the dryad, begging her to hold to life for a few more days. The willow didn't care, but placed her hand on the young green stem when the girl pleaded with her. It was a tremulous, tiny thing to which to trust her life and safety. But willows are strong trees, and grow swiftly, and in the dryad's heart was now a wish to live – to spite the murderer-mother, and free her lover, and never see another dryad's tree touched with iron and flame.


End Note: Salixia Obduron is sort of bastardized Latin, from Salix obduro, roughly, the willow that endures.