Braph pressed his fingers to the smooth bark, again mesmerized by the way the tree’s shimmer responded to his touch, appearing to ripple out and wash back. While pale blues and pinks dominated, the full rainbow made appearances, if one watched closely. The effect would be truly impressive beneath a night sky. Romantic, even. But that was several hours away. Lights were pretty, but of no value to Braph.

  “Whoa,” Orin murmured behind him obliterating any thoughts of romance. Children and romance did not mix.

  Orinia completed another circuit of the tree, her attention fully captured by the display, despite the continuing panic beyond the garden’s borders. A true island of calm. She appeared not to need to check where she placed her feet; her gaze remained fixed on the rippling branches above, her mouth open.

  “Ajnai,” she murmured, having only just learned the name herself.

  Braph was mildly curious at the fact Aenuks knew less about these trees than Quaven natives, but the fact that no modern Aenuks could expect to come across an Ajnai in their lifetime answered any potential questions before they fully formed.

  “None other quite like this, though.” Braph pressed his hand flat against the tree. The shimmer washed out from under his touch and back again repetitively, a heartbeat, as if repelled by his touch, but desperate to refill the void created. “Your daughter had this one planted. It is a memorial to your grandchildren.”

  Orinia winced each time Braph referred to her daughter. Even now, after he had assured her Llewella was once again free. He supposed there were some complexities when one had to choose between their children; not that Braph doubted for a minute Llewella held any sway verses himself and Orin. Still, Orinia’s freedom had been won at the cost of Llewella’s. A mother might be expected to have some feelings about that.

  At the mention of her grandchildren, though, she stopped and looked at him, all the unvoiced questions clear in that gaze.

  “Yes. My brother and Llewella nearly became parents, but sadly lost the children early on. The unborn Immortals are buried here, beneath this tree.” Braph had Orin’s attention now, too. “There are Ajnais in Turhmos, too, but they don’t shimmer like this. One can only imagine the power contained in this tree, what good it might do for the world.” For me, at least. He moved his hand, shifting the focal point of the ripples. A pretty light show, but he felt nothing. Likely, to access that power he would have to drain it out, just like with an Aenuk or Immortal donor. Luckily, he had expected as much and come prepared.

  “Did they marry?”

  The inane question jolted Braph from his wonder. He shook off his musings and laughed. “No. My brother’s mission is to spread his oh-so-special seed far and wide.” He smirked at the revulsion on Orinia’s face. How he loved her for it. “Yes, Llewella got caught up in his apparent superiority. But she will learn.” He looked up into the rippling branches. “Along with everyone else.”

  Out of curiosity, he lifted his flesh hand from the bark, pulled the glove off his metal hand and pressed it to the tree. He had no sense of touch through that hand, of course, but it was very much a part of him. The tree’s rippling took on a frenetic rhythm. Yes, the tree had an awareness, and it didn’t seem to like him much. He pulled the metal hand back, looked to Orinia. As much as she had looked at the tree tonight, she had yet to place a hand on it.

  “Touch it,” he said. “It is family, after all.”

  She looked to him before tentatively reaching for it. Just before she touched, Orin leaned in with his hand bared, pressing splayed fingers firmly across its surface.

  “Ha!” he exclaimed at the lighting display he had set off; a quick pulsing.

  Orinia’s fingertips brushed the bark gently. She swept them back and forth lightly, initiating an array of lighting effects. Then she pressed her hand flat and a gentle pulse set in around her touch like a calm breathing, revealing the full spectrum of colors in turn, while further around the tree, where Orin touched, the dominant pinks and blues surged out and in and swirled, almost – if Braph allowed himself to believe such a thing – as if the tree were panicking.

  Orin pulled his hand back and knocked the tree a couple of times with his knuckle and laughed at the display. He knocked it harder.

  “Orin!” Orinia admonished.

  “It’s just a tree, Ma.” He took an inexpert boxer’s stance, punched the tree lightly a couple of times. If he hit harder, he would be the one who hurt. Braph was pleased to see he wasn’t so stupid, but the lighting effects were entertaining to an eight-year-old, he supposed.

  Braph tapped the bark with his metal index fingertip. Time to open you up.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  He squeezed two sprung clips, pulled off the finger tip and reached into a pocket, released the fingertip into its depths and pulled out a proprietary drill bit that clicked into place via the same sprung mechanism. A brief pulse of magic to start the drill, followed by a lower intensity hum to maintain the rotation …

  Orinia gasped. “You—” she began, but had the sense to stop there.

  Braph pressed the tip of the drill to the bark, applying just enough pressure to ease it through the wood without straining the bit or the mechanics behind it. The entire tree sent out surges of color outwards from the point where Braph made contact.

  “You’re hurting it,” Orinia whispered harshly.

  Braph gave her a flat look. “It’s a tree.”

  “But look at it. It’s reacting. It must feel.”

  “It’s a tree. It’s full of power I can make better use of.” Braph stopped the drill to meet her eye and reach out his flesh hand to her wrist in what he thought might be a reassuring touch. “Trust in my vision, my love. This is for the betterment of us all.”

  He turned his attention back to his drill tip, fitted it into the shallow divot he had already created, angled upwards. The bit was short, little over an inch, and he drilled until it disappeared. Then, with a thought, he reversed its spin and eased it back out. Sap beaded around the hole, puddled at the bottom lip and rolled down the trunk. Braph caught some with his flesh thumb and brought it to his tongue. Somewhat sweet, unsurprisingly woody, some sort of spicy tang, and a dirty, dusty undertone. He suspected that, like Aenuk blood, ingesting it would have no effect. Still, there was satisfaction in attaining it. Holding his drill fingertip out of the way, he fished in his pocket again and found his tubular funnel, lined it up with the hole, filled his muscles with Immortal magic from the crystal in his device, and gently hammered the funnel into the hole with the tip of his mechanical middle finger.

  He clicked his flesh fingers at Orin. “Bag.”

  Orin swung the bag from his shoulders and placed it beside Braph. Honestly, what would be the point of bringing a child if he didn’t carry something?

  “Pot,” Braph stated plainly.

  “It got me! I’m going to die, aren’t I?” Someone wailed out on the street.

  “We don’t know that.” Another voice.

  “Yes we do,” the first voice sobbed, continuing past the garden. “They started dying yesterday, too weak to even breathe. Oh, gods …”

  Braph lined his pot up beneath the funnel. The sap flowed slowly. This would be an exercise in patience. So much patience.

  Llew hadn’t had a moment alone in days. She needed time with her feelings without having to manage anyone else’s.

  She crossed the carriageway to the Ajnai trees, sat beneath one and breathed. She wished she had Merrid and Ard’s calm wisdom to turn to instead of their loss to mourn, Jonas broken and weak, Karlani possibly weakened, too, and Braph … Braph with his mind-control and flying machines. Would he ever leave them in peace? She was starting to think she might never find peace again while that man lived.

  She looked up to find Jonas still standing at the door, leaning heavily on his crutch, and gave him a small smile. He accepted his other crutch from Anya and maneuvered his way onto the porch. Llew sat watching him, figuring it more likely he’d want to make his way alone than have her rush to help. Anya stayed at the door, also watching. Jonas’s prosthetic had a cuff cushioned with rags for his thigh to sit in, a hinged knee and a sculpted lower leg and foot connected by a second, less mobile joint. Jonas had to concentrate for each step he made on it. Other than his awkward gait, though, he looked much as he had when they’d met, in shirt and trousers, with long hair and a few days’ shadow covering his jaw. No hat, though. Perhaps there was one amongst Ard’s things. Once he was on the carriageway itself, Anya closed the door.

  “I thought maybe you weren’t wantin’ to be, uh, alone alone,” Jonas said as he reached Llew.

  “Depends how much talking you want me to do.”

  Jonas shrugged. “You don’t gotta talk. Don’t even have to listen, if you don’t want to. I don’t have much to say. Just thought … Well, maybe you wanted to be alone … in company.”

  Llew smiled. “That’d be nice.”

  “Give me a hand to get up after?”

  “Of course.” Llew patted the ground beside her.

  Jonas let his crutches drop, leaned on the tree, and eased himself down on his good leg, letting the prosthetic slide out in front. As he sat beside her, he nudged her with a shoulder and grinned at her. “That feels right strange, but at least it don’t hurt, thanks to you and your blood.” He grimaced at the last. He didn’t like using her blood like that. Llew didn’t mind and shrugged her shoulder gently against his.