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“Ah, but of course. The shadows conceal much in our webs, doesn’t it? Come then, MaryAnne! You will soon know more about the drya than any other human and most fae, I swear.”
ChapterTwenty-Five
Nivira lit a lamp, setting a glass shade over it, and nodded toward a dark corner. “We shall start there, I think. I do not need the lamp to see, but I know human eyesight needs considerably more light.”
Moved by her consideration, MaryAnne nodded and followed her, her eyes widening as webs slowly spun out from the darkness as the light touched them, making them increasingly more real to her.
“Do drya come from the same dark forests as forest trolls like Raskyuil?” MaryAnne asked curiously.
Nivira pursed her lips thoughtfully as she lifted the lamp in her hand a little higher to hang it from some threads she weaved around it, the light giving form to the spindly shadows streaking through the dark corner of the tent. “Our territories often come close enough to overlap and touch at times. We prefer darker abodes.”
“Like goblins?” MaryAnne guessed, recalling the way they obscured themselves so easily in darkness.
The drya’s fangs flashed in a smile. “Precisely.”
MaryAnne returned the smile uneasily and looked up into the illuminated space, and her breath caught. Suspended were not bodies or anything terrifying. There were… plants. Scarlet plants with threads of black in their leaves. Several of them appeared to be blooming with white, waxy flowers tinged with scarlet at the tips of the petals. The unfurled bloom was shaped in a way that resembled the bleeding hearts her grandmother had in her garden when she was young, except that the edges were scalloped as if ripped and the blooms were much larger.
“Wow,” she breathed.
Nivira drew up close to her side, her lips curving into a smile as she gazed fondly at the plants suspended above them, their long vines crawling along the canvas ceiling. “Torn Hearts. Beautiful, aren’t they?”
MaryAnne nodded. “They’re gorgeous. How… how do these even survive in here?”
The drya’s soft chuckle stirred the air near her cheek, and MaryAnne’s skin prickled warily. When nothing happened, she glanced over to find Nivira standing close, her lips curled in a smile as she sniffed delicately.
“Do you know,” she rasped, “you smell a lot like them? Sweet and pungent… and rare. A virgin.” Her smile widened. “Raskyuil should claim you quick. That scent is quite appealing.”
MaryAnne’s brow furrowed, but she managed a nervous laugh. “What… a virgin? Trust me, there’s nothing special about it. If it weren’t for the fact that I haven’t come across anyone I even considered being interested in fucking…”
“I don’t play games with ifs and probabilities,” Nivira interrupted, turning away. “I tell what I see, nothing more, nothing less. And you are right—there is nothing particularly special about the blood of a virgin, but it just means that your scent has not been tainted by the essence of a lover. There is a richness to it that makes it appetizing to some. I confess that drya find it particularly alluring.” She glanced over her shoulder at MaryAnne and smiled as she stroked a claw along one bloom. “But I’m assuming that will be something that your troll will be seeing to soon.”
“Y-yes. Tonight, actually,” MaryAnne murmured, her eyes following the drya as she glided gracefully among the plants.
Long, graceful limbs unfolded from her robe, the claw tips brushing along skeins of webbing lovingly and tapping gently upon the leaves and vines themselves. In the glow of the lamp, their black color almost looked oily with splashes of crimson along the lower segment that extended down to the claw.
“Excellent,” Nivira sighed. “It would be quite distracting, I should think.” She chuckled as she stepped further among the fall of vines until she was half-concealed among them, her arachnid limbs weaving among them in a way that made MaryAnne tremble anxiously. The drya turned her head and smiled. “Do not be so frightened, MaryAnne. I have no interest in harming you. You believe me…” her head cocked inquisitively, “don’t you?”
MaryAnne’s heart fluttered rapidly, and she swallowed even as she tried to recall Raskyuil’s words to her and hold them tightly at the forefront of her mind.It is okay to be cautious but be open. Creatures born of the dark are not necessarily bad. Be open.
Slowly, as if being unwound by an invisible thread, her tension unraveled as the drya’s hopeful smile faded a little. MaryAnne’s lips trembled, the corner twitching as she finally returned the female’s smile, bringing the drya’s smile to life again. “Of course, Nivira.” Her eyes lifted and roved among the Torn Hearts. “You do have a lot of these plants. What do you use them all for?”
“Ah, well that’s easy. Their flowers and roots provide an important supplement for us so that we do not need to imbibe much blood. The flowers are better, but if they are struggling to bloom and we cannot coax them with our magic, then the root will do. We mix it with the dried blood in our tea, and on the rare occasion we cannot get blood it helps sustain us a little longer when mixed with the blood of beasts that the orcs bring us.”
“I see,” MaryAnne murmured. Some of the pressure caging around her heart eased with relief. If the drya was telling the truth, they preferred not to take the blood they needed directly from people. She was certain now that they couldn’t possibly be hiding the children anywhere within any of the webs that they may have crafted unseen near the carnival. She ran a finger along a vine and smiled at the slightly fussy texture of the fine red hairs that covered it. “How do they grow when it’s so dark like this?”
The female gave a throaty laugh. “In the darker parts of the Eternal Forest from which my kind come, there is little light to feed growing things that penetrates the dense canopy. We prefer to make our homes in the thick growth of the leaves, though we will at times rise above the canopy to enjoy the stars at night. The Torn Hearts have a sort of symbiotic relationship with the trees, growing nestled among the lower canopy branches. We descend to gather them, and they thrive there even as we thrive.”
“Wow.” MaryAnne’s eyes left the vines and trailed along the thick braided skeins of spider silk webbing the ceiling. “Not to insult, but can you tell me about your web? I know that spiders use webs not only to catch prey but also to alert them to others that approach them. Is this the same for you?”
Nivira’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, but she nodded. “Drya weave our webbing throughout our homes and along the ground surrounding it. It is not just an alarm but part of our social communication. A male courting with the interest to breed will pluck a mating song upon the webs of one whom he’s interested in. We also communicate among them and can identify ourselves and send messages long distances through interconnecting webs. We may not be in the Eternal Forest, but these places are just as dangerous, and old habits die hard even if we do not have territories that we share with our kin. Even so, our webs stretch throughout most of the carnival, weaved into tents and into the ground without anyone noticing. It is best to be prepared,” she added with the tiniest, grim smile.
MaryAnne understood and appreciated that mentality, but the female’s words also stirred excitement within her. “You’d know if there was suddenly someone unfamiliar in your territory by weight, number and so on, right?”
Nivira nodded. “Naturally. We have long become accustomed to the movement of our companions over our webs. Even Raskyuil, though he’s been with us for a short time. No one could catch us unawares even if they wanted or get anything past us except perhaps at times of great activity when the carnival is open.”
MaryAnne crept closer through the plants, her heart pounding with excitement. “So you would notice if there were a bunch of humans brought in unannounced in the early hours of the morning?”
The drya frowned but nodded. “Naturally. Even if my sister and I were sleeping, the unfamiliar weight on our threads would wake us.” She shuddered. “It hasn’t happened often, but it has,” she whispered, forcing MaryAnne deeper within the growth and away from the lamp she’d hung. “We’ve heard them too, the soft sound of voices. It always happens this time of year, and it makes me wonder if some of the fairy’s still hunt even if they are not permitted to keep their spoils here.”
