Speaker 1: A forest of Earth and mind, an Arcane Heart Studio
production created and written by Ainsley Bay. Chapter fourteen, the
facade cracks.
Speaker 2: The silence in the dining room isn't peaceful. It's heavy,
like the air before a thunderstorm, thick with the kind
of static that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I stare at my coffee. It's black, motionless and completely unappetizing.
At the head of the table, macam eats with mechanical
precision knife fork chew, swallow. He's pretending everything ignormal. That's
the slate way, isn't it. If you ignore the crazy
hard enough, maybe it'll just go away. Across from me,
Maya giggles. It's a bright, glassy sound that shatters the
tension for exactly one second before the silence swallows it whole.
It's just so atmospheric, she says, gesturing vaguely at the windows.
Atmospheric that's one word for it. Outside, it's eight thirty
in the morning, but the sky is an odd, blackish purple.
The sun hasn't risen. It's just sitting there below the horizon,
held back by a physics defying hand that Malcolm refuses
to acknowledge. The room is lit by candles, hundreds of them,
casting long, flickering shadows that dance a little too rhythmically
against the stone walls and your eyes. Coy. Maya continues,
leaning forward. She's enchanted, poor girl. She thinks she's in
a romance novel. She doesn't know she's in a horror story.
They're literally glowing like gold dust.
Speaker 1: I look up.
Speaker 2: She's right. Coy is sitting next to her, looking like
a man who's been starving for a decade and just
found a banquet. He's basking in her attention, soaking it
up like sunlight. But his eyes they are just amber.
They're glowing. They're literally glowing. I have no idea what
is happening, but I now have no doubt whatsoever something
is happening. I guess I just have expressive eyes. He murmurs,
his voice, low and emotionless, in the let's change the
subject way. Maya laughs again, breathless, expressive.
Speaker 1: I like that.
Speaker 2: They're just so beautiful. Here, let me see. She stands
up to shift your chair closer. It happens fast. Malcolm's
fork hits his plate. Clang.
Speaker 1: Sit down.
Speaker 2: The voice isn't loud it doesn't need to be. It's
granite grinding against granite. It's the sound of a mountain
deciding to move. Maya freezes, half risen. Oh, I was
just you are a guest in this house, Malcolm says,
not looking at her. He's slicing a sausage with surgical violence.
You will not interrogate my son about his anatomy, Dad
Koi starts his face flushing silence. Kir, sitting beside me,
puts a hand on the table. His fingers are long,
elegant and white knuckled. Father, it's fine, Maya. Just it
is not fine, Malcolm snaps. He looks up then, and
I flinch. His eyes are glowing too, a hard, flat
gillow that belongs to a predator, not a father. We
have indulged this intrusion long enough. The temperature in the
room drops ten degrees. I feel Keir stiffened beside me,
his shoulder brushing mine. This isn't the benevolent patriarch act.
This is the alpha, and the alpha isn't angry. He's terrified,
which makes him dangerous. I'm sorry, Maya whispers. She looks
small suddenly. I didn't mean to be rude. I just
thought they were pretty. Malcolm stands up. He unfolds himself
from the chair, looming over the table like a shadow.
His eyes are none of your concern, he says. In fact,
I believe it is time you left.
Speaker 1: What.
Speaker 2: Corey scrambles up his chair, screeching against the floor. No,
she's staying until Sunday.
Speaker 1: She is leaving now.
Speaker 2: I I can go pack. Maya stammers, tears welling up.
Don't bother. We will ship your things. Get to your car.
You can't talk to her like that. Coy shouts. His
voice cracks, and there it is, the grow felt in
the chest rather than heard. I am the master of
this house. Whoa, Malcolm roars the words, and the candles
flare blue, violent hot, the windows rattle in their frames.
It's not just a shout, It's a command, backed by
sentries of blood and authority. Maya whimpers, what was that?
I move before, I think. I catch her eye and
I let all the fear I'm feeling bleed into my face. Maya,
I say, my voice sharp, go now, but just go please.
She sees it. Then she looks at Malcolm, at the
unnatural stillness of him, at the blue fire in the hearth,
and she runs. We hear her footsteps pounding down the hall,
the heavy thud of the front door. Maya wait, Kai
lunges after her.
Speaker 1: Mc coy stay where you.
Speaker 2: Are, Malcolm barks. Cooy ignores him. The door slams again,
leaving a ringing silence in its wake. I exhale, my breath, shaking.
I like her. Malcolm braces his hands on the table,
his head hanging low. He looks old, suddenly defeated. Liking
has nothing to do with anything. He turns to Kir.
She saw the eyes of the wolf. She saw pretty eyes. Dad,
Keir says quietly, she didn't see a wolf until you
started acting like one. Mackham glares at his air. Do
not lecture me, boy, You feel it, don't you? The
pressure the magic is too strong. He gestures wildly at
the room, at the purple light pressing against the glass.
If she stays here another hour, she won't just see eyes,
she'll see boom. A heavy pounding knock. It echoes through
the room, stopping the air in my lungs. It didn't
come from the front door. It came from the terrace.
The glass doors that face the gorge. The doors that
face the timberlands. No one knocks on those doors. Kre
Is moving before the echo fades, placing himself between me
and the glass. Malcolm straitens, the Alpha masks sliding back
into place. The lock turns, the latch clicks, The door
swings open, and the wind rushes in, cold, smelling of
ozone and wet rotting leaves. A figure stumbles in from
the twilight. It's Hollis, one of the sentinels. He's pale,
his heavy coat streaked with mud, his eyes wide and wild.
Alpha he gasps, kre Hollis Kire steps forward.
Speaker 1: What are you doing?
Speaker 2: Down from the ridge. There's a smell, Hollis shivers coming
from the gap. What smell? Malcolm asks, I wonder what
kind of smell would terrify a near feral werewolf? Old
magic like flowers on a grave. I look at MacCAM.
I expect anger, I expect him to shout orders to
rally the troops, but he just closes his eyes. It's them,
isn't it, Kier asks softly. Ah yes, Malcolm whispers, who
I ask? As no one is saying anything. The fay
Kiir doesn't even look at me, as he replies, he's
staring at Hollis. I clutch my coffee cup, the ceramic
biting into my palm, so I say, my voice trembling.
The engine is smoking, viv Keir warns, no, I stand up.
My leg's shaking. I told you, I told you something
was wrong. I told you none of this was right.
I point to the fireplace, which is now glowing with
green fire, and I don't even know what any of
this means. Thank you, Hollis, Malcolm says, with a tone
that is more dismissal than gratitude. I'll need to warn
the other Sentinel families, Hollis says, as he walks backward
toward the door, his eyes on Malcolm. You do that,
And with Malcolm's words, Hollis turns and rushes out. The
door slams shut, but the cold remains. Kir turns to
his father. WE need to talk about sortcha about what
happens when they get here. There is nothing to talk about,
Malcolm says, turning his back on us to stare into
the fire. We wait, we pay the debt. We don't
even know what the debt is. Kere shouts. Malcolm doesn't
turn around, we will know soon enough. He stares into
the flames, and the firelight catches his eyes. They aren't
just gold anymore. They're terrified. And outside, the purple sky
begins to darken enough that I can see stars.
Speaker 1: Chapter fifteen, The Confession.
Speaker 2: The house feels different now. It's subtle, but the change
is there. The air is thinner, sweeter. The shadows in
the corners of the Great Hall aren't just dark, they're deep.
They feel like they go on forever, like if you
reached into one, your hand wouldn't come back. I find
Kir in the library. He's not reading. He's standing by
the winder, staring out at the timberline. The noon night
sky is sparkling with stars, and the moon paints his
skin in bruised hues. He looks exhausted, not just tired, drained.
His shoulders, usually so square, are slumped under an invisible weight. Keir,
I say, softy. He doesn't turn viv You should be resting.
I can't rest, I say, stepping into the room, the
house is vibrating. Can you feel it? Yes, it's the magic.
It's everywhere. He finally turns. His eyes are dark, the gold,
dull and heavy, it's because they're getting closer, he says them,
but he means the Fay. I walk over to him.
The bond hums between us, a warm, steady thrum against
the cold anxiety in the room. I reach out and
take his hand. His fingers are ice cold. Malcolm said debt.
I say, he said you have to pay the debt?
What does that mean? Keer laughs, but there's no humor
in it. It's a gallows laugh of resignation. You want
to know the truth, the real truth always. He pulls
his hand away and paces to the fireplace. The pact
is simple. We protect the phase lands from prying eyes
in the lumber industry, and they have us maintain our secrecy.
Sorchaw helped with that. He wiped the minds of your relatives,
of people who know what they've stumbled upon. But Kere pauses,
as if preparing to deliver a painful truth. What I
walk over to him. The Fay don't trust us, They
don't trust anyone. I don't even think they really like us.
Sorcha wasn't just an attache helping us. He was our keeper,
making sure we didn't do anything. The Fay didn't like
Kere laughs again, not that we'd ever do anything to
threaten the pact. But like I said, the Fey aren't
the trusting type, so they need a new observer. I
don't think they know Sorcia is dead, or they would
have been here days ago. This is all so new
and overwhelming to me. I can't help but keep asking
dumb questions. So what happens when they find out Sorcha
is dead? The Fay have an odd sense of justice.
Innocent mistakes like wandering onto their land can have catastrophic consequences.
And when Malcolm mentioned the debt, he meant the Fey
want justice for Sorcha's death. Yes, Keir looks at me,
and the fear in his eyes is naked. Now, the
debt for a Faye life isn't gold, viv, it's balance.
I freeze. Wait, what does that even mean? The price
for a life? I don't know, he whispers, but follow father.
He feels like he can negotiate, find something to return
the balance that won't hurt us or cost us too dearly.
And you don't I think the Fae don't negotiate, Kere says,
I think they take.
Speaker 1: So what do we do?
Speaker 2: He turns back to me, and the steel is back
in his spine. The exhausted prince is gone, the dangerous
wolf is back. I'm going to meet them, he says what.
I'm going to meet them, and I'm going to talk
to them before they get here. I'm going to find
out what they really want, why they're coming. If I can,
I'll send them back without knowing. Sorta is gone, so
we can plan for when they do find out. So
you're buying time, Cure sighs.
Speaker 1: More or less.
Speaker 2: First, I need to find out what they actually want.
It may simply be something minor, and they do what
Fay do and send a delegation of ten to talk
about the Sentinel's planting crops too close to their border.
I don't know, but we have no other option. They
may not find out about Sorchaw for decades. They're Faye,
and Sorcha didn't exactly tell us how he reported back.
I make my decisions. I'm coming with you. No here,
no viv. He grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. You
stay here, You stay safe. If I'm wrong, if they
want something else, something dangerous, I need to know you're safe.
I am not a damsel a snap, pulling away. I'm
the one who shot the agent. You need me, I
need you alive, he shouts, the roar echoing slightly in
the big room. We stare at each other, chest to chest,
breathing hard. The bond flares hot, anger and desire mixing
into a potent cocktail. I'm going, he says, quieter. Now alone,
he turns and walks toward the door. Here. He stops
in the doorway, but doesn't look back. If you don't
come back, I whisper, my voice trembling, I will burn
this entire forest down. He pauses for a second, just
a heartbeat, and then he's gone. I'm left standing in
the library, the silence rushing back in to fill the
space he left. But this time the silence isn't empty.
It's waiting.
Speaker 1: Chapter sixteen, The Fay.
Speaker 3: The woods have changed. I know every acre of the
slate timberlands. I know how the pines smell in January
versus June. I know the exact pitch of the wind
when it hits the levine. But this isn't my forest
any more. The deeper I hike toward Whispering Hollow, the
sweeter the air gets. It's cloying, like lilies left too
long in a vase. It sticks to the back in
my throat, masking the usual sharp sense of dirt and
resin my boots. Sink into moss that shouldn't be here.
It's thick, plush and a vibrant, screaming violet. Worse, they
are here, shimmers. It looks like heat haze on asphalt,
but cooler. It ripples, distorting the trees mere yards away.
I stop, I take a breath. I push down the
primal instinct that's screaming at me to run, to shift,
to tear something apart. I lot the wolf away. The
wind shifts, and I smell them. They are much closer
than I anticipated, although the haze should have tipped me off.
At this point, I won't find them. They'll find me.
So I stop and stand tall. I am keran and slate.
I say to the empty air, air, to the pact.
I am here to speak silence. Then the shimmer tears.
It's not a sound like fabric ripping. It's the sound
of a bell being struck under water, a deep resonant ring,
but vibrates in my teeth. Three figures step through. They
are tall, impossibly tall. They were armored that looks like
it was grown, not forged, chitten and bark and spun glass.
Their faces are beautiful and terrible, all sharp angles and
eyes that are too big for their skulls. The one
in the middle steps forward, is wearing a cloak of
woven shadows the air. He says, his voices like dry
leaves skittering on pavement. He leans down and peers at me.
You are small. I am enough, I say, keeping my
voice stiddy. I represent the pact. I try to relax,
but the wolf is pushing hard on the fight part
of the fight or fight response, which the human part
of me knows is suicide. How may I help you?
The fee in the middle stands up straight again. There
was a He is struggling for a human word. I
can tell Sortya sometimes did that, even after living with
humans for decades. Disruption. We are going to ask Sorcha
what has happened. I had practiced dozens of replies, and
they all sounded like lies. So I decided on a
simple half truth, hoping it would be enough. Sorchaw is unavailable,
but I can go back and have him come to
you when he is available. I'm sure he can explain everything.
Your ways are beyond our understanding, or I would tell
you I shrug, Not even sure Faye would know what
a shrug was. Sore Chay is available. The face said
it with such calmness that I didn't immediately pick up
that he was calling me a liar. And in the confusion,
I stumble, I mean, sure he's available, but he's not
at slate fault. Right now, he's helping my father with
something elsewhere. The Fay look at each other with what
I first think is confusion, but I am quickly disabused
of that thought. The one in the middle turns back
to me, soor Chair would not depart with such a disruption,
he would report to us. I panic. I never panic,
but I've never faced three Fay lords before. I'm sorry,
but I didn't want to deliver the news here. Sorch
has passed away. Passed away. He died and was heroic.
He died defending the pact. Telling them Sorts had died
was bad, but I can at least make them understand
that it was his decision. He confronted an invader that
wanted to expose you us, all of us. I stopped
talking which I should have done minutes earlier. The Fay
look at each other. I get the sense that they
are talking, but they don't say anything. The middle one
turns to me, this is unfortunate. That's all they say,
even as I wait for more. Finally I break the silence.
It is a tragedy. We all loved Seucher. The Fay
looks at me, means down again, and then speaks, Take
us to them. We will honor them and then discuss
the balance. I know what they mean by balance, the
cost the debt they feel we have taken Sortia or
his absence is a price that needs to be paid.
Whatever twisted Faye logic they're going to use, the result
is the same. I will be escorting them to slate Fall,
and they will be returning with payment. I don't want
to even consider what that may be.
Speaker 1: Chapter seventeen, The procession.
Speaker 3: The walk back to slaveh Fall is quiet to quiet.
The Faye delegation moves through the woods like smoke. They
don't snap twigs, they don't leave footprints. They just glide,
their long robes, catching on nothing. Their face is serene
and terrifyingly blink. I am leading them, tech me I
am the air welcoming a foreign delegation. In reality, I
am a man walking to his execution, hoping the executioner
is in a good mood. Your forest is quaint. The
leader says, he hasn't given you a name. He is
just the envoy. His skin the color of birch bark,
and his eyes are entirely black. It is healthy, I say,
keeping my voice steady. We have kept the industry out.
We have kept the humans on the paths. The envoy
touches a pine tree as we pass. The bark instantly
turns brighter, more alive where his fingers brushed it. It
smells of fear. It smells of wolf. I correct him,
this is our territory. We are in agreement. Then he smiles.
It's a sharp, thin expression. I simply was expressing the
voice of the trees. He keeps walking as I ponder
if trees can fear wolves, or if trees can fear
it all. Behind him, the others follow. There are five
of them, two guards in armor that looks like looven thorns.
Without my even seeing when, nor how, two younger ones
aides maybe joined us after my discussion with the envoy,
and the last one, there were five of us, and
then in a blank there were six. The new one
is different. He's looking around without any motion the touch,
bark or examine the ground. He looks on his board.
Who is he? I ask, nodding to the bored one
that the envoy glances back.
Speaker 1: That is.
Speaker 3: He struggles for a word I'll understand. Finally, he adds,
that is the cousin, Sarch's cousin. Nothing else makes sense
to me. A cousin. Your language does not have the
word for their connection, but you may use the word cousin.
The envoy says, we are all eager to pay our
respects to the fall and attache. I feel a wave
of relief. If this is what they are traveling to
Slate Fall for, to pay their respects to Sorta. We
don't have anything to worry about. He is buried in
our family plot. To honor him, I say, And the
respect in my voice is real. A grave, the envoy says,
how human. We reach the edge of the tree line.
The man arises up from the gloom. Its windows dark.
The sun still hasn't risen, but the purple dark is lighter.
Here A shower of meteors feels the sky for a moment.
You have a lo large stone pile, the envoy says,
looking at the house, it is well joined to the land.
I'm shocked that a Fay is actually impressed by our
Frank Lloyd right house. Soerzer never said anything. It's all home.
I stop at the date. My heart is hammering against
my ribs.
Speaker 1: This is it.
Speaker 3: Once I let them in, there is no going back.
I am inviting the monsters into the castle. Before we enter,
I say, turning to face them, I need to know
what happens after you pay your respects. The envoy stops.
The others stop behind him, perfectly in sink. After he asks,
I want to say that they spoke of balance a debt,
but I don't want to open that door. Will you
speak with my father, the Alpha, or will you return?
They envoy smiles. It sounds like ice cracking. We will grieve,
then we will talk. He steps closer. The air drops
twenty degrees. I can see my breath clouding in the
space between us. Take us to Sortia for the first time.
I feel the compulsion of the Fay, and it's so
complete and so powerful. But I don't even hesitate. I
open the gate and start walking toward our family plot.
And although I don't want to do it, by all
that is holy, I can't help but feel unhappy to
do it. Welcome to slate Fall, I say, in a
voice that may or may not be mine. The envoye smiles,
thank you, and as his foot hits the gravel of
the driveway, the drively lamps flicker and turn a burning,
violent violet. The Fay have arrived.
Speaker 2: Chapter eighteen, The Uninvited. The Fay are in the library.
They've been there for an hour. The door is closed,
but I can hear sounds, not voices. Sounds like wind
chimes in a storm. Sounds like heavy furniture moving on
its own. Malcolm is in the study with kir they're conferring.
I'm in the kitchen with Koi. He's sitting on the counter,
swinging his legs. He's eating a bowl of cereal, but
he's not really eating it. He's just stirring it. They're loud,
he whispers the Fay. I don't hear anything. I lie
not with your ears, he says, tapping his temple. In here,
they're singing, I stop scrubbing the counter, singing.
Speaker 1: What about the.
Speaker 2: Trees, he says, about how much they hate the walls.
They want to make them grow. I shudder, eat your cereal,
COI the door to the kitchens open. Kir walks in.
He looks wrecked. His shirt is untucked, his hair is
a mess, and his eyes are wide like he's seen
a ghost. How is it going, I ask, strange, he says,
grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. They went
to the grave first, surchise grave. Yes, the envoy touched
the stone, and moss just erupted. If I'm honest, it
looks beautiful, but it also looks like it doesn't belong,
if that makes sense. It covered the whole marker in seconds.
And now they're arguing with father. What about Well, this
started by defining value, like the most basic thing. This
is worth X, and this is worth Why so your
father's negotiating. Yes, they made it clear there's a debt,
he says, rubbing his eyes. But they can't even agree
on what has value and what doesn't. I swear if
Dad offered them an orchid, they'd think it was the
most valuable in the world. Have they agreed on anything,
Koi asks, milk dripping into his beard. Kir looks at
KOI a life for a life, but Father is not
accepting that. That's where the whole value discussion is happening.
Father is arguing that a life voluntarily given has different
value than one taken. They're looking for a sacrifice. No,
Keir says quickly, look, it doesn't matter. We aren't giving
them anyone. Suddenly the air in the kitchen changes. It
doesn't get cold, it gets bright. The overhead lights flare
with a violet hue. The basal plant on the windowsill
suddenly shoots up six inches, its leaves unfurling with a
wet snap. The air smells of ozon and crushing flowers.
The kitchen door pushes open. The envoy stands there. He's
holding a glass of Malcolm's best whiskey, but he's holding
it wrong by the rim with two fingers. The alpha
is boring me, he says. He looks at me. You
the ink girl. My name is Viv.
Speaker 1: Viv.
Speaker 2: He tests the word short, sharp, like the bark of
one of them. He points at Kir. He steps into
the room. Kir instantly moves in front of me. Get
out of the kitchen, Kir growls. The envoy ignores him.
He looks past Kir, straight at Koi and you. He says,
the broken one, Why are you hiding in the food room?
I I was hungry. Koi stammers, hunger is good. The
envoy nods, hunger is honest. He puts the whiskey glass
down on the counter. The granite beneath it blooms with
a spider web of violet cracks, not broken but infused
with color. The Alpha offers us dirt. The envoy says,
we do not need dirt. It is not in balance.
He looks at me again, Then he looks at Koi.
Then he looks at Kir. We are generous and will
not take your alpha, but we will take. We will
give you time, but you must choose. Choose what The
Fay looks at me, and my knees go weak. I
feel like I'm smaller than the tiniest piece of infinity
as his eyes pierce my soul. Choose the life, and
without saying more, he turns and fades. He simply disappears.
I look at Kir. When Malcolm stumbles in, he looks
weaker than he did during the Nadier. He is drawn
and struggling to hold himself up. He sees us, and
he knows the envoy talked to us, he knows what
they said. There is no agreement on terms, he says,
as if he's negotiating with a lumber company. But we
all know he's desperate and wrong, desperately wrong. I don't
know what the Fay will do, but I know it
will be bad if an agreement isn't reached, catastrophically bad.
I look at kir my beautiful, amazing, handsome and wonderful mate,
dragged into this when he did nothing wrong, and a
thought suddenly enters my head. A life voluntarily given has
different value than one taken. Malcolm spoke that, and he's right.
Speaker 3: The shadow moves where the light one stood.
Speaker 1: Sullenly whispers in the mt. The wind did rise, It
calls man
Speaker 3: A fleeting ancles signals chosen free,