These trees are truly the portals between worlds. The roots have powerful magic. The portals must be guarded. And kept secret.”
Sinia turned back to the tree. “Morwenna learned about her in a secret book of magic called The Hidden Vulgate. It is a book of great power and greater evil. It was created, originally, by my father’s brother, a terrible ruler who once enslaved all the kingdoms of his world and destroyed them. His essence is bound inside that book. It cannot be unmade. But it was hidden by Morwenna and it will remain hidden. Her connection to the book has been broken, but her hatred cannot be cured.
“A Dryad will not appear to mortals unless forced to,” she said after a brief pause. “She will come if commanded by the one bearing the ring. The rest of you must shield your eyes. Kneel on the plinth, if you please.”
“Can I see the Dryad?” Gannon said eagerly after approaching her. “I saw them in Mirrowen.”
Sinia smiled at him and tapped his nose. “We are in the mortal world now, Jorganon. You must resist the temptation to look.”
He frowned at the request and then joined Trynne and Drew as they knelt on the stone plinth. Trynne obediently shut her eyes and put her hand on Gannon’s shoulder to help him be still.
There were no words said. The wind rustled the branches and wafted the scent of eucalyptus throughout the grove. It was interesting how the lack of sight made Trynne’s other senses heighten. The drone of a bumblebee could be heard in the woods.
And then she heard it, the little crack of a stem. Then the delicate crunch of fallen leaves trod by bare feet. She felt the Dryad’s Fountain magic, sensed that another person had joined them in the grove. The compulsion to look was fierce. It clawed at the back of her mind, demanding that she witness the being who had stolen her father’s memories. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply.
She could feel Drew shudder beside her.
Amidst the cacophony of voices inside her head, she still heard the trickle of the waterfall, the warble of birds. And then she heard the tiniest sound—the press of a kiss. If she hadn’t been kneeling so close, she wouldn’t have heard it.
Followed by the sound of her father gasping.
“You may look now,” Sinia said reverently, her voice thick with tears of joy.
Trynne opened her eyes, staring up at her father. He stared back in recognition, his eyes sparkling with tears, his face awash with a thousand conflicting emotions. He sank to his knees, clutching Sinia’s waist, and buried his cheek against her abdomen while she stroked his hair, breathing fast and hard as if he’d jogged up the side of a hill. The look of a stranger was gone. Owen was finally himself.
Trynne crawled to him and hugged him, clutching him fiercely, with all the love in her heart.
“Trynne,” he gasped. “There you are! My Trynne!” He trembled like a leaf, as if all his strength was gone. “I’m . . . I’m breathless,” he said. “It’s all back. All of it. I remember . . . everything. Everything I’ve ever said. Jumping into the cistern. Ankarette’s smile.” His voice choked with emotion. “I never realized how sick she was. She was dying before she met me.” His trembling intensified. “I can remember every missive I’ve read. Every conversation. My mind is going to crack into pieces.”
Sinia dropped down to her knees, holding him protectively, drawing Trynne and Gannon close as well. “The magic of a Dryad’s kiss is potent. You’ll remember everything in greater detail. Every book you’ve ever read, my love. Or will read. You will be an even stronger servant to your king. I experienced the same when my mother kissed me. It takes some getting used to.”
Trynne looked hungrily at her mother. “Do you know what has happened to us, Mother? Did you see it from the Deep Fathoms?”
Sinia nodded. “I’m so proud of you. So proud of what you’ve done. This is what you were meant for, Trynne. I understand that now. I was blinded to it by my concern for the safety of my people.”
Trynne warmed at the sentiment. She’d long carried the guilt of not continuing her Wizr training. “So Gahalatine can get his memories back?”
“Yes. And Dragan too. But it cannot cure Gahalatine. He will die from Morwenna’s kiss.”
Trynne’s heart sank. She’d hoped his fate would be different.
“And his people? Are they doomed to perish?”
“I have seen visions of the future, Trynne. I cannot speak of all that I know, but Gahalatine has a special gift from the Fountain. His words are convincing. He must use his gift to persuade his people to enter the treasure ships that he had them build. Those who hearken to his word will live. Those who don’t believe in the judgment of the Fountain will perish. He must be returned to Chandigarl at once. His