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“Rue?” a voice hummed in Rue’s head, louder than her sad buzzing. “Are you okay?”
The voice sounded like Henry, but that couldn’t be. Trees didn’t talk, at least none that Rue had met.
Still, she wiggled her fuzzy body up through her leafy hiding place and looked up at Henry. Was it her imagination, or was the bark moving, shifting—was that a face?
“Rue?” came Henry’s voice again.
The bark didn’t move like he was talking, but the tree did seem to be watching her somehow.
“Rue, can you even hear me?” This time, there was a note of despair, desperation, in his voice.
“Henry?” she tried to say. But it only came out as a vibration through her body, a shifting of wings.
She tried again, this time focused on what she wanted to say in her mind. If he could talk without actually moving lips, why couldn’t she? If the voice really was Henry at all, that was...
“Henry, is that you?” She reached with her thoughts.
“Rue!” Henry said, this time sounding relieved. “Are you hurt? Where did they go? Quick, change me back!”
Rue’s heart—did bees have hearts?—dropped into her six tiny feet. She’d have to tell him eventually. How she’d promised to get him home, tried to save them both with this disguise.
And how badly she’d ruined their chances of escape.
“Rue?” A hint of fear.
She pulled in a deep breath of rotten air, nearly choking on it. “They’re gone.”
A pause. “So change me back, and we’ll get out of here.”
Rue shook her head slowly, unsure if Henry would even see it. “Mother took the wand.”
Silence, heavy and oppressive, dropped over the forest. Rue couldn’t bring herself to even look at Henry now. She felt sick with the guilt, that this was all her fault. Now, Henry would live in the forest, unable to leave, never to see his family again. And the closest they could ever be was this: a bee and a tree.
Rue began crawling back out of the leaves, ready to fly off and escape Henry’s pain, his disappointment, his inevitable ire.
“Rue,” he said, his soft voice stopping her. It was gentle, too gentle for what she’d done to him.
She stood several paces away, afraid to face him, afraid to hope. Bracing for whatever he would do to her.
“Rue, please come back,” Henry said. His voice was still soft, and her heart slammed into her chest as she anticipated the things he was about to say to her. The well-deserved criticism, the blame, the rage.
And from him that would hurt just as much as if he’d been able to actually strike her.
“Rue? You can’t... You can’t just leave me here.”
Ah. The guilt card. Mother liked that one.
But it worked. Rue turned and walked back across the leaves, avoiding the injured leg, too sad to use wings that felt too heavy.
Once she settled on a root, Henry said, “That’s better. Now. Mother took the wand? Okay. What else can we do? How can we break the spell?”
Rue took another deep, choking breath. “I don’t know. Mother never let me touch it before, except to bring it to her. She said only someone with Fae blood could use it. And I was...” She choked again, but this time on the words, sharper than any thorn. “And I was nothing more than flotsam she fished from the lake. So how could I?”
Henry paused for a moment before responding. “Okay, a few things here. One: you’re not just flotsam. She should never have said that.”
Anger tinged the voice in her head, and Rue crouched lower to the ground, bracing for the explosion that always followed anger.
“But you can’t know that,” she said, voice pleading. “You’ve only known me half a season. And we couldn’t even talk until I stole the wand.”
“Yes, the wand you wielded.” He paused expectantly, but when she didn’t respond, he continued. “Never mind. We’ll come back to that. Because the truth is... I feel like I’ve always known you. And I know you’re so much more than flotsam. Don’t you feel it, too?”
So many thoughts warred in Rue’s mind that it was hard to focus on any one part. But he was right about one thing: she did feel that connection, like she’d always known him. Even before they could communicate with words, she knew he was good, real, that he cared about her as much as she cared about him. Words only confirmed what she’d already known.
Her breath hitched, and she nodded. Somehow it seemed Henry could sense it, as his roots trembled, almost pulling free of the soil.
Almost.
He sighed. “Now, about that other part. Mother told you only someone with Fae blood could use the wand. But I promise you she was lying.”
Her gaze snapped back up at him. “What? How could you know that?”
“Because I used it,” he said. “And I have no Fae blood.”
Which meant maybe Mother wasn’t magic either, not gifted like the Fae. Maybe she really was just a monster. Mother was a liar. About everything, it seemed.
“So where does that leave me?” she whispered. “What now?”
“Well, if I wasn’t a tree, I’d take you home with me. Because... There’s more, Rue.”
“More? How could there possibly be more?”
“I know who you are.”
The world froze around Rue, Henry’s words seeming to echo louder than the birds. I know who you are. She’d suspected Henry knew more about her, about her past, but they hadn’t had a chance to talk since she’d used the wand to let them communicate.
“You’re the daughter of my employer. There was a boat crash, so long ago. My boss was rescued, along with his wife, but they never found you.”
“How? How could you know this?”
An image of the pendant Rue wore on her wrist—at least, when she had been human—flashed into her mind. “Because the baby had the same pendant. That symbol is the logo of my boss’s company.”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I could have just found it. Maybe it just washed up on the beach with me. You can’t know that!”
“Rue, come on,” Henry continued. “You’ve seen the pictures in my locket. You look just like your mother. Your real mother. And they’re good people. They took me in when I had no one. Gave me a home. A place to belong. And they never once forgot you, never stopped wondering what became of you, hoping to find you alive and well.”
“It can’t be...”
“It is. Your name is Aimee. You belong with us.”
It was like all Rue’s wildest dreams were coming true, now that she had no hope left of finding them, no possible way to break the spell she’d put on herself and on Henry. A cruel twist of fate.
No. She wouldn’t lose this, not now that she’d found the truth, after all this time. Because yes, she believed Henry.
Her name was Aimee, and she had a family. A real family who loved her, who wanted her. Who thought she was valuable just because she was her and not because of something she could do for them.
A tear-less sob broke from Rue’s body with a buzz. For the first time, she had hope. If they could only break this spell!
She would figure something out. And she still had Henry. They could find a plan together, a new plan, something that would make everything right again.
“We need a different plan. Obviously run away as fast as we can didn’t work.” Rue fluttered her wings in agitation, finally looking back up at Henry. Her despair was fading, replaced by raw determination.
“Yeah, it didn’t work for the gingerbread man either,” Henry said.
"What?"
“Nothing. An old children’s tale. Never mind. You were saying?”
She didn’t know the tale he spoke of, but she couldn’t keep the smile at bay. Something about knowing the truth, knowing that there might be hope, made her feel just a little bit lighter, and she fluttered her wings. “I was saying we need another plan. Any ideas?”
“Actually... yes,” Henry said. His voice smiled, too. “I think I know these woods. And that means I know how we can break the spell and get your Mother and Grun back to their island.”
