Page 48 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

Not all of them—the upper part of the hill was still a riot of color and pollen, buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies. But every plant up to the point where Mara had been standing was back to normal, exactly as he would expect for the season.

It took Ethan about half a second to make up his mind.

He had no fucking clue what Mara was up to. Why she was laughing, why she had done something with the flowers that had meant everything to her just the day before.

But he goddamn well wasn’t going to pack up and leave before he found out the answers.

His first instinct was to run, to chase her at top speed without care for anything else, but he immediately understood that first instinct—like, he had to admit, many of his first instincts—was deeply stupid. This wasn’t a lark. It was another siege.

And he knew what that siege would take.

He drank two protein shakes and plenty of water. He wrapped his ankle—though it was mostly better now, really—and packed his backpack with more food and water. He changed into clothes that were…well, not clean, but at least dry and not smelly.

And he put on his armor. One piece at a time, feeling like drums were beating in his veins.

This time, he would be victorious.

Or he’d end up crying Mara’s name to the uncaring skies again. He didn’t know what the fuck she had planned for him, really.

He just knew he had to try.

Chapter nineteen

Counter-Siege

“I’m sorry,” Mara said gently. “I know you will miss me.”

The bees buzzed around her as if they understood. Perhaps they did—or their queen did, at least. She did not understand words, of course, but they had communicated much over the years, simple messages like there is food here and this human is no threat, do not sting him. The queen and her workers had listened, of course. She had given them unprecedented sources of nectar, and their colony would thrive with the year’s unexpected bounty.

Ethan probably did not realize how she had protected him, but perhaps he did. He seemed like a man with a healthy respect for and understanding of pollinators.

It was one reason she—

Ah, but she was not ready to think that. Not yet.

She was waiting for him to arrive.

He had begun to follow her before she was half done with her labor, and she had laughed watching his progress. He was faster than her—his legs were long, and while he had to navigate the thorny path she’d created, he did not have to stop to bid farewell to each plant, as she did. When he had narrowed the gap between them, she shouted taunts at him. Mocking his slowness, his armor, his wits, though she knew he was clever and brave. She couldn’t very well tell him that, not yet.

Ethan had just grinned at her and shouted back, all defiance. Well, admiration and defiance. He seemed to hold them both in equal measure.

It was exhilarating. Breathtaking.

And now he was almost here.

Mara stood in the very center of her bower. These trees were still blooming. She would let them go, too, but not until the final moment, until she and Ethan had faced each other again. She needed their shelter and comfort, their support, so that she could be brave one last time.

Also, she knew Ethan had a healthy appreciation for drama. Especially when it was excessive.

She heard him panting before she saw him, felt his footsteps on the earth outside her shelter, and she raised her head high. She was not here to be rescued, nor to be conquered, nor to be his prize.

It was simply time for the end.

He strode into the shadow of the trees with only the barest hint of a limp.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello.”