Chapter Twenty-five

 

There was something strange going on. He could tell. His nieces and nephews were invading every nook and cranny of the castle as if they were termites, searching for Serena. They claimed she had sat and told a story to them out on the lower wall, and they wanted to hear another. They also wanted to see her do more wonderful ghost tricks.

Dickie, Underhill reported, was the new king of the servants’ hall, repeatedly recounting a bizarre encounter with Serena in the dining room in which she had apparently begged his forgiveness for being such a rude ghost. No one entirely believed him, but the cocky change in his manner argued that he told the truth.

Sophie and Blandamour had arrived, and Beth had immediately spirited the new bride away, ostensibly to chat about married life, but there seemed more going on than that, given that they spent almost all their time shut up in Beth’s room with Marcy, the maid, who when she did emerge looked as if she were a cat holding a live canary hidden in her mouth. Rhys complained that he was not allowed in his own room except at night.

And where was Serena herself? For two days he had not caught so much as a glimpse of her. He had had time to cool off and collect himself since he had so harshly berated her in the garden, and now he wanted to talk. He wanted to apologize for ignoring her in his office, when she had so clearly wanted to try to make amends. At the time, he had feared he was incapable of being civil to her, and had gone on the assumption that saying nothing was kinder than saying something he would regret. Later consideration had made him realize how cruel a thing that was, to her especially.

He was worried about her. Worried about that shadow she said was trying to harm her, worried about that dying tree to which she seemed somehow connected, worried that, however right he might or might not have been in their argument, he had hurt her and pushed her away. He had the uncomfortable sense that in his eagerness both to be right and to protect himself against an attachment to her, he might have come perilously close to losing something precious.

He remembered the half-drunken conversation with his brothers-in-law after Sophie’s wedding, discussing the merits and problems of having a ghost for a lover. No one had thought to mention that she could disappear completely whenever she wished, and he would have no way to follow.

He heard the pounding footsteps of children in the hall, running past the library door. He wanted to talk to Serena, but he also wanted to know what the hell was going on in his home.

The answer came after dinner that evening. He and the other men had rejoined the women in the blue drawing room, to spend yet another evening in games and talk. At least there would be no dancing tonight, as the piano was safely in another room.

He noticed both Beth and Sophie leave the room together, and several minutes later Sophie returned alone, her eyes shining, her body fairly quivering with excitement.

“Excuse me,” she said, loudly enough to carry over the murmur of voices. “Excuse me! May I have your attention, please?”

Conversation stopped and all eyes turned to her.

“Beth and I have a special friend whom we would like to introduce to all of you. You’ve all heard a great deal about her already, but I’m afraid that much of it has been untrue, and you may have formed a mistaken impression of her.”

Alex found himself rising from his seat, his eyes going wide. They couldn’t mean— No, they couldn’t be about to— Surely she herself wouldn’t—

Sophie turned slightly and nodded to someone beyond their line of sight, and a moment later Beth walked in, her hand holding that of Serena.

Serena as he had never seen her before.

Gone was the long, wild hair, replaced by an elaborate coiffure of ringlets, braids, and a chignon, pinned atop her head and decorated with pale silk flowers. The arrangement emphasized the long, graceful stretch of her neck, and the elegantly sculpted form of her cheeks and chin. The scar was still present on her face, but even less noticeable than usual. His eyes were drawn back and forth between her dark eyes and her pink lips, both emphasized, he was sure, by a touch of subtle makeup.

Gone, too, was her medieval gown of pink, white, and gold, replaced instead with a modern dress that was cut low on her shoulders, with tiny puffs of sleeve that left her arms bare. The fabric was of pale blue and white stripes with pink flowers worked between, the delicate shades complementing her complexion. The bodice fit tightly, the slightly high waist belted in the same fabric, the square buckle made of paste diamonds. The skirt belled gently over petticoats, not nearly as full as those worn by his sisters, but it reached only to her ankle, as the current fashion dictated. On her white-stockinged feet she wore black silk slippers, laced in crisscrosses over her feet and around her ankles.

He thought he recognized the gown as one of Sophie’s favorites, one that had previously had enormous, full sleeves and an equally full skirt. They must have completely undone and reworked it, he thought, and made the shoes themselves. They had transformed his ghost. Her height would still make her stand out in any group, but other than that, the only thing unusual anyone would find in her appearance was her astonishing beauty.

It was more than a matter of features. A critic would say that her face was too narrow, her nose too long, the bridge too low. Together, though, her features fit, and add to that the elegance of her carriage and her pose of complete confidence, and she could silence a room. As she was doing now.

Philippa was the first to speak. “Sophie, dear, I’m afraid you will have to tell us a little more. Kindly do give us a proper introduction.”

Sophie’s eyes danced with mischievousness. “Certainly. Philippa, I would like you to meet Serena Clerenbold. Serena, my sister, Mrs. George Stearne.”

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Stearne,” Serena said into the utter silence of the room, her accent only faintly audible. She must have practiced those words.

“I say,” Harold Tubble declared, his brow puckered. “You can’t be that Serena.”

“If you mean the one who has been haunting the castle, I’m afraid so,” Serena said. “I am the ghost.”

Felicia gave a little shriek, and covered her face with a handkerchief.

Alex’s frozen brain began to work again, a thousand thoughts jumping in at once: He had to stop this before chaos ensued. He wanted to see what would happen. He didn’t know what Serena meant by this. He had to talk to her. He wanted his family to talk to her. A thousand thoughts jumbled in his brain, and among them a theme became apparent.

He cared about her, in a way he hadn’t cared about anyone. Ever. His throat tightened with an emotion he barely understood, and his vision swam. His brave ghost, Serena, who had enlisted the aid of living women in a crazy plan he was not sure he wanted to see brought to fruition. What did the three of them think they were doing, bringing her into the drawing room like this?

He began to move toward her, wanting her out of this crowd, wanting to be alone with her, to talk with her, to take those silly flowers from her hair and have her be with him as she used to be, unbound by pins and corsets and black laces around her ankles. She didn’t look right to him dressed like this, however lovely she was. He wanted to have her all to himself, to lie with her in the curtained intimacy of his bed through the night. She was his Serena, his nighttime passion, his secret under the stars.

He should not have pushed her about her past, about what she may or may not have done, or what she could not yet tell him. When she was ready, she would. He had his whole lifetime to work on gaining her trust, and maybe even longer. She was making herself vulnerable by appearing this way to him, and to his family, and she could only be doing it for him.

There was a shifting movement of confusion among his relatives. “Ghost” plainly was not a fitting description of the young woman standing before them. Alex came out of his tunnel vision of Serena as Percy spoke.

“Is this some manner of joke?” his brother-in-law asked.

“That’s a damned solid piece of female, for the dearly departed,” Harold said a trifle more loudly than he should have, considering his wife was sitting next to him. Felicia was now peering over the top edge of her hankie, her eyes round and bovine.

Beth spoke to them all. “Serena wanted to dispel some of the worry you have had about Alex. That’s why she is here tonight.”

“I wanted to be able to tell you in person that I want only the best for him, and shall do nothing to harm him,” Serena said. “I also wanted to apologize for the unfortunate incident with the children the other day. I know you were all frightened by that, and I am sorry.”

“You, my dear,” Philippa said to Serena in her haughtiest voice, “are no ghost. I should think I would know a ghost when I saw one. I am not at all certain of what you three are up to, but I think this is a very rude sort of prank you girls are trying to play on us.”

“It is no prank,” Alex said, turning to look at Philippa. “This is Serena Clerenbold, who died in 1350.”

“Alex, you are not funny,” Philippa said.

Alex felt the grin on his own face. This was too much. They wanted to protect him from his obsession with a ghost, and when introduced to her face-to-face, refused to believe she was real.

“Beth?” Rhys asked his wife, his tone speaking the entire question for him. Alex saw her give him quick, shallow nods in the affirmative, her eyebrows raised, her eyes as bright as Sophie’s. The two women were enjoying this.

“Alex?” Rhys asked him, his hand on his arm, stopping his movement forward. His face was a mask of shocked surprise.

“It truly is Serena,” Alex said. He lifted Rhys’s hand off of his arm, but kept hold of it, gently pulling him forward. “Let me introduce you. It is only fitting, since you are, in a sense, the one who first introduced her to me.”

Serena’s lips curled in a small, shaky smile as they approached, and he saw that beneath her confident exterior she was nervous, anxious about the reception she was receiving. It occurred to him that up until the last couple of days, she had avoided showing herself to anyone for centuries. He recalled how disturbed she had been when she realized he could see her, and her sensitivity over the scar that painted its faint trail across her face. Mending the rift between them must mean a great deal to her.

He realized then that her caring for him, and her trust, went far deeper than he had suspected, even that first time he had brought her pleasure and been discomfited by her tenderness. This time, though, the realization brought with it a warming sense of wholeness, as if an answer he had been asking the universe had finally been answered.

He made the introduction, and Serena held out her hand to Rhys in the way that Beth and Sophie must have taught her. Rhys hesitated, then gingerly took her fingers and bowed, kissing the air just above the back of her hand.

“I just don’t understand,” Alex heard his sister Amelia complaining behind them. “So all along this Serena has been a real person? Why was everyone saying she was a ghost? That’s not a new euphemism for a mistress, is it?”

“Amelia! Really!” Philippa huffed.

Alex couldn’t fail to notice that Rhys was staring agog at Serena, for once left with nothing to say. Beth released Serena’s other hand and took her husband’s arm. “It’s all right, darling,” she said to him. “I assure you, she will not throw you off a wall.”

“I remember you as a little boy,” Serena said to him, smiling. “I can still see some of the imp that you were in your face.”

Rhys at last found his voice. “That is a most startling thing to hear from a woman who looks to be at least ten years my junior.”

“I am fortunate that I do not show my age.”

Rhys gave a startled laugh. “Indeed.”

“If you will excuse us,” Alex said, “I would like to speak with Serena alone.”

“Of course,” Rhys said.

Sophie and Beth both gave Serena encouraging smiles, and then he took her arm and led her out of there, away from them all. A threesome of children saw them, and stopped in their tracks.

“Serena! We’ve been looking all over for you,” Louisa said earnestly. “Where have you been? And why are you dressed that way?”

“I’ve been here, there, everywhere,” she said, gesturing about in the air. “Your aunt Sophie and cousin Beth dressed me like this, so I could meet your mama and papa without scaring them.”

“I should have liked to have seen their faces if you came in with a sword!” a boy said. “That would have been grand.”

“Perhaps another time,” Alex said, pulling her away.

“Will you come back and tell us another story?” Louisa asked.

“If I can,” Serena said over her shoulder.

He led her up toward his room, but she resisted, saying, “Could we go up to your tower? I should very much like to see the stars tonight.”

He nodded his assent, and they went together up to his study, and then up onto the roof. He grabbed a blanket from the study on the way, knowing the air would be crisp.

“I am not used to my arms being bare,” Serena said, rubbing them with her hands after they had both come out above. He shook out the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then pulled her to him, holding her against him. After a moment she put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re not still angry with me?” she asked.

“Shhh,” he said. “It is forgotten, except that I am sorry to have treated you so poorly. You deserved better from me.”

He felt her squeeze him once, a silent acceptance of his apology. “I don’t want to waste time talking about it,” she said, and Alex thought that that must be the first time he had heard such words from a woman. “There are other things I want to tell you about my past. The things I was unwilling to before.”

He leaned back and tilted her head up so he could look at her. Even solid as she was now, she still had that luminescence that spoke of unworldly origins. “Don’t feel that you must.”

“No, I want to,” Serena said. “It is important: I want you to know all about me. How can I ever know that you cared for me if you never knew who I really was?”

“I know who you are,” he said. “Whatever your past, I know the woman who is standing in my arms—although I’m not entirely certain of what went on between you, Beth, and Sophie.”

“Isn’t Beth wonderful?” Serena said. “When you wouldn’t speak to me, I went to ask her advice. She said that I should continue what I had already started with Dickie and the children: showing people that I was not a monster, and apologizing. She said you would never leave someone you had any feelings for alone to face your sisters.”

“She’s plainly far more devious than she looks,” he said with a laugh.

“And Sophie is smarter than she appears, when she wants to be,” Serena added. “It took a clever mind to rework a dress to fit me. ’Twas a good thing she could find so much extra fabric in it.”

“You like your new clothes.”

She shrugged. “I like that I have this chance to finally wear something different, but I do not much like this hairstyle. My head is aching from the weight of it. But Alex,” she said, changing her tone. “I do want to tell you about what happened with le Gayne.”

“The shadow that has been following you?”

She grimaced. “Ah, that. I may tell you of that as well. But first, there is so much else....”

He sat on the reclining chair that was still up there, the back half-raised, and settled her across his lap leaning against his chest, both of them covered by the blanket. The sky above was dark and clear, the stars shining brightly in the firmament.

“Do you remember that song you kept singing after we passed through each other in the doorway, the song with the ravens?” she asked him.

“Yes, of course. ‘There were three ravens sat on a tree—’ ” he sang.

“Now let me tell you why that song has stayed with me through all this time,” she said, and then began her story.

He was mostly quiet throughout it, except for murmurs expressing that he listened and the occasional question asked for clarification. She told it with a touch of self-deprecating humor that only emphasized the desperation she must have felt while she lived, and while she and her brother plotted and carried out their foolish plan.

As she talked, the pieces of memory that he had involuntarily received from her in the doorway that night, and briefly again when he had tried to revive her on his bed, played through his mind, serving as illustrations for the events she described. He could feel echoes of the emotions she had had, and see through her eyes. He understood why she had kidnapped le Gayne, and imprisoned him in hopes of a marriage.

“Thomas, properly outfitted, went off to war, and le Gayne took me home to the castle that used to stand here,” Serena said. “He was civil to me, giving me no cause to be on my guard other than the truth of the situation as I knew it. In front of all the castle people he treated me as if it had been a marriage like any other, a practical agreement that demanded only that husband and wife play the roles prescribed. He was remarkably good at playing that game.

“I only wish he had kept on with it.

“I retired to our room early, and as I had no waiting woman to attend me—and le Gayne had not arranged for one—I set about preparing myself for our first night together. I took down my hair, but could go no further. I could not bring myself to undress and bare my body to his touch.

“I paced and I argued with myself. I had known this time would come. I had known what I would have to do. I had even, before, persuaded myself that it would be worth it, in order to have children. But now, faced with the reality, I could not do it.

“I don’t know how long I walked the length of that room, with its new tapestries on the walls, its huge wooden bed with no sign of woodworms or bedbugs. He was as rich as Thomas and I had suspected, and his chamber was furnished in a manner Clerenbold Keep had never seen.

“He finally came in. He had been drinking with his men, but not so much that he was impaired—just enough that he felt free to do whatever he pleased, which he was free to do anyway, short of killing me, now that I was his wife in the eyes of God.

“If he was surprised I was still dressed, he did not show it. ‘Take off your clothes,’ he said. ‘Let me see the mare I’ve been forced to purchase.’

“I shook my head no.

“ ‘Looks like you’ve got a fine pair of breeding hips on you,’ he said. ‘Now it’s time to put them to use. You can’t have crops without first planting the seed.’

“I backed away from him.

“ ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t this why you were so wild to get me as your husband? You’ve got what you wanted: you’ll be ridden from sundown to sunrise, and at noon, too, if the mood hits, and I expect you to bend over and lift your skirts and say, ‘Yes, master, please,’ every time you see me.’

“The facade of civility was gone now, and I could see the look of hatred in his eyes that he’d had when he was locked in our cellar. He continued to insult me, telling me how ugly I was and how grateful I should be that he would deign to mount me. He said he couldn’t stand the sight of me.

“I had signed myself over to him, and he knew it. The only thing that surprised me was that even while trying to intimidate me he made reference to siring children. It gave me a shred of hope that whatever else he might have planned for me, he would at least keep me sufficiently intact to bear his child, and would care for that child when it came.

“Not that it was a great comfort, at the moment.

“I didn’t know much of lovemaking, but I did know that if the woman was unwilling, it would go badly for her. I had even heard of young girls who, taken repeatedly against their will, had died of the experience.

“He came at me. I dodged, sidestepping him, my training with my brothers finally coming to some use. He came at me again. I feinted, and then he snatched me by the arm. Even half-drunk, his skills at battle were far better than mine.

“He kicked my feet out from under me, and we went down on the ground. I was as helpless beneath him as I had been on the bank of that stream, his weight holding me however hard I bucked or kicked, his strength under that fat greater than mine would ever be.

“I stopped thinking. There was no thought of submitting left, no thought of future children or filled larders, no thought of starving in the winter. All I knew was that I was trapped and the creature atop me was going to harm me.

“Is that how men in battle feel?” Serena asked him suddenly, and he shook his head, for he didn’t know. “Or perhaps it is closer to what an animal feels, put at bay by the hunters with their hounds.

“I had one arm free, and in my scramblings I caught hold of something familiar: the hilt of a dagger. It was tucked into his belt, the same as any man wore, and most women.

“I yanked it out, and stabbed it into his shoulder.

“He screamed and rolled off me, his hands reaching for it, seeking to pluck it from his body.

“I saw what I had done and lay stunned, awakened for a moment from the blind panic that had possessed me. He started cursing—terrible words, threats, worse than I had ever heard from my own brothers—and I saw that he was in no mortal danger from his wound, but was instead furious.

“I feared for my very life. I scrambled to my feet and ran out of the room, bumping into and then rushing past a serving wench who had been the first to respond to the shouts of her master. I could hear others coming down the hall, and the bellowing rage of le Gayne behind, coming after me.

“As I came to the head of the stairs I turned to see how close he was, and he was right there. He reached for me and caught at my arm. We struggled, and he struck me across the face with his good hand. His other arm was too weak from his wound to hold me, and I came free of his grasp. He struck me again, and I lost my balance. That is when I fell down the stairs, to the hall below.

“It didn’t hurt,” she said, looking at him now. “Isn’t that strange? I felt the impacts as I tumbled down the stairs, the force of my body against the stone, but I didn’t feel the pain.

“I lay there for I don’t know how long, not thinking anything, not moving. Then I saw myself lying there, as if I were a person standing above my body, looking down at that poor half-dead thing. I was still part of that body, though. I knew I wasn’t completely dead.

“Then le Gayne, bleeding shoulder and all, was above me, and his men, too. He went down on one knee and held his hand in front of my mouth, feeling for my breath. I don’t know if he felt anything. My eyes were closed, and I could not open them, could not move.

“ ‘She’s dead,’ I heard him say. He ordered most of the men away, but kept two by his side, who helped him to carry me out into the garden. There were saplings there waiting to be planted, and a hole half-dug for a cherry tree. The men dug it larger, and dumped my body there on le Gayne’s orders. They filled it in with dirt, and placed the sapling atop me.

“Le Gayne stood at the edge of the hole while they worked, staring down at me. ‘If you want my castle so badly,’ he said to me, ‘have it. You can spend all eternity here, for all I care, and may the devil eat your soul.’

“He wouldn’t give me a proper grave, would not bring his priest to pray over me. I think he knew I was not wholly dead, however close I may have been, and this was his vengeance for everything I’d done to him.

“As I was buried in the dirt I felt my last ties to my body loosening, breaking up. Soon I would be free of it, as the last of my life left it. At the same time I could feel the roots of the sapling spread around me, full of new life, with the power to grow and endure. I clung to those roots. I refused to go. I could not let le Gayne win, and I could not let it all end this way. It was unfair. I had fought so hard to survive for so long, I could not give up. I was angry, and could not let go.

“Somehow I became entwined with the cherry sapling. My soul, or life—I don’t truly know what—became dependent upon it, like mistletoe on an apple tree. As it survived, so did I.”

“But it’s dying now,” Alex said, a sick knot forming in his gut.

“Every time I appear to someone, or speak so they can hear me, every time I move an object or make a noise, I take strength and life from the tree. It supports me, but it is fragile. When I draw too heavily upon it, I hasten its end.”

It made sense to him now, her tie to the tree, and why she would hang the medallion there rather than anywhere else. “Ben Flury has grafted a branch onto a new sapling. Will you be able to draw from that as well?”

She shook her head, a silent no. “I would have felt the change if that were so. It is the tree whose roots go through my soul that matters, and that cannot be replaced.”

He sat forward abruptly, holding her in his arms. “You’re killing the tree right now, by being here with me, aren’t you?” How long had he let her sit there, talking? It felt like it must be well past midnight now. How much time did she have left?

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It will die soon whether I hasten the end or not.”

“You can’t hurry it along! Go transparent, or invisible—whatever it is you do.”

She touched his temple, smiling gently. “It cannot be stopped. Let me end the way I wish, with you, here.”

“But you can’t go! It’s too soon.”

“Too soon for what?”

“For you. For me. You can barely write your name. There is too much yet for you to learn,” he protested, unable to say what was in his heart, barely recognized but there.

“I’ve learned what I needed to.”

“What was that?” he asked, but just then she turned her face upward, her lips parting in surprise.

“Look, Alex! Look!”

He tilted his head back, and saw a shooting star streak across the heavens, and then two more. Several began falling at once. “It’s like the night I first saw you,” he said in hushed awe. He looked at her. “I was thinking this evening, when I saw you come into the drawing room, that that faint scar on your face looks like nothing so much as the trail of a falling star.”

She reached up and touched the line on her face. “You make it sound almost beautiful.”

He leaned back in the chair, pulling her with him, until they were close against each other, gazing up at the raining storm of stars overhead. He tried not to think of the future or of how long they might have left together. He simply tried to stay where he was, right now, Serena in his arms, silent streaks of light above them in a moment that was, he hoped, perfect enough to last an eternity.

She began to lighten in his arms, to grow less dense, his hold on her slipping; then she lost all solidity and his arms fell closed on an empty dress.

“Serena?” he asked, turning his eyes from the stars.

Her hair was loose and flowing again, its tangled strands spread around them, floating on the night air, and she was wearing her old white and pink clothes. The blue-and-white gown she had been wearing lay atop him, flat and empty, the silk flowers from her hair lying now on his shoulder.

“Do you know what it is I learned?” she asked him, her voice a whisper on the wind. “I learned what it is to love. I love you, Alex Woding.”

And then she was gone, her face fading into the streaking stars, her dark eyes blending into the eternity of night.

“No!” he shouted, the suddenness of it, the reality of it ripping at his heart. “No!” She couldn’t be gone, not yet. It was too soon.

There was no answer to his cry, the night silent under the streaming light of the stars, the vast emptiness of the heavens stretching soulless above him. The magic of life that had been with him a moment before was gone, passed into nothingness with the passing of Serena.

“Nooo!” he cried again, the word an anguished wail.

She was a ghost, goddamn it! She wasn’t allowed to die. She wasn’t allowed to leave him.

Gone. She was gone. His chest constricted. The first wave of a crushing grief burned his throat, and made his head feel ready to explode.

The stars continued falling, but the skies held no glory without her, had no wonders to compare to her. I love you, Alex Woding, she had said. Those words were more miraculous than any number of falling stars, and they touched his soul in a way that no astronomical marvel ever could.

He remembered something else she had once said to him, about his quest to decipher the workings of the heavens. “You believe that if you could unravel this mystery, you would be unlocking a secret of the universe. You believe that if you could understand this, you could understand what your place is on this earth.”

He hadn’t comprehended her meaning at the time. He thought he did now. Her love for him had unlocked the greatest secret of the universe, the one he had utterly failed to understand: that a life without love was not a life worth living. It was love that gave life meaning, love that gave one a place on this earth.

Gone, gone, gone.

“Come back to me,” he said softly into the night, his voice rough with tears. Let it be even a day more with her, he would give his very soul for it. “I love you, Serena. Come back.”

As if in answer one star, a brilliant fireball, fell directly toward him, its brightness making him throw up his arm to shield his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. He heard a sound like the crackling of flames, and in a brilliant flash the fireball streaked past where he stood atop the tower, so close he could feel the heat of it, and before he could even turn to follow its course, it had struck with a crashing roar that shook the very foundations of the castle.

The cherry tree in the garden was aflame, the ends of its dead branches burning like torches. The trunk was partially split, half the tree listing at an angle. On the far side of it a large section of the garden wall was missing, the ground a furrowed crater.

“No!” he cried out in horror. Not the tree, not the cherry! Whatever trace of Serena that might remain was in it, in the very flesh of the bark and the roots that reached into the ground.

He ran for the steps, half fell down them, ran through his study, downstairs, through halls where people were emerging from doorways, questions on their lips, downstairs again and out the door to the courtyard, barely aware that Rhys followed behind him, tying shut his robe. He sprinted across the cobbles, through the garden gate, and to the flaming tree.

“Serena!” he screamed at the flames. “Serena!”

And then he saw it, in the center of the black crack of the trunk that had been partially split by the fireball. There was a wedge of paleness, bare and new as a baby’s flesh, something there inside the trunk that could not be part of the shattered wood.

He lunged for the trunk, grabbing the opposing sides of the split in his hands and pulling them apart, forcing the split wider. Rhys grabbed at him, trying to pull him away, but he snarled, shaking his cousin off. When the wedge came wide enough he jammed his foot in, using the strength of his leg to pry the wood apart. It cracked under the pressure, sparks and cinders falling on him from the burning branches above. Rhys was shouting something, but he did not know what, and did not care.

At last the tree fell wide open, half of it crashing to the ground as Serena, naked as the day she was born, fell out of the raw inner wood and into his arms. He heard a shout of surprise from Rhys, and then his friend was beside him, helping to pull Serena out and away from the falling sparks, her body covered in sticky pink sap, her hair plastered to her skin.

“Serena,” Alex said softly, cradling her in his arms, wiping at her eyes and mouth as Rhys draped his robe over her. “Serena. My love.”

Her eyelids fluttered opened, and her irises were the clear blue of a summer sky.