Page 99 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

Lark squeezes my hand. “You mean the bond between Oisin and me.”

“No,” Ophelia says. “I mean the bond between you two and the crowns.”

Oisin takes an alarmed step away. He’s already shaking his head. “You cannot—We cannot simply give them back. That is not how this works.”

“It’s a bond,” Ophelia says. “And it’s not a permanent one.”

Lark stares at her for too long. “What do you mean?”

“It’s what you two said in the cell. It’s missing an element, which means it isn’t complete, and if it isn’t complete, it can still be broken. Which, thank fuck. I think any third person added to the mix would have made this a lot more difficult.”

My heart leaps. “You’re sure?”

“I’m as sure as you two were,” she says, gesturing at me and Grant. “Which is to say, no, I’m speculating a lot. But what you said seems to make sense, so why won’t this?”

“A third person?” Lark asks.

Ophelia sighs and drops into one of the chairs. Grant sits on the arm next to her, and Lark draws me down to sit on the sofa next to him. Oisin remains standing, on edge.

“There were three rulers before,” Ophelia says. “We think. Three crowns. Three… everything.”

Lark sighs. “I met the witch in the halls. She is angry. Particularly with my parents, but she wishes to punish me, too. I suppose this makes more sense than anything else.”

“I was never meant to be here, was I?” Oisin asks.

“I fear not,” Lark replies. “But that does not mean you are not meant to help your people.”

“Yeah, about that…” Grant pulls a face. “You know that whole Seelie versus Unseelie thing was made up, right? I mean, I get that it’s an issue now, but it doesn’t stem from anything.”

Lark huffs. “Yes, I have been somewhat aware of that for a while.”

I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. I want to sleep. Only, I think sleeping might not be a good idea, but then again, Lark’s here, and he would never let anything happen to me, would he?

“…do not know how we will break it…”

“…powerful bond…”

Their voices slide in and out of my consciousness. Lark smells so good. Like pine and lavender and—

“Oak,” I murmur.

“What’s that?” Lark’s voice is gentle. The others are all talking over each other, not quite arguing, but they’re getting close to it.

I blink up at him. “The big oak tree. What’s it for?”

“It is this realm’s source of power. It is… It has been dying. My parents could not feed it enough power.”

“And it’s…” I don’t need to ask if it’s sentient. I know it is. I felt it when we walked past it in the town. It was sleeping.

I sit up straighter. “We need to go to the oak. I need to talk to it.”

They all start talking at once. It’s getting light out. The oak is sacred. Since when could I talk to trees, anyway?

I look up at Lark’s face. He’s silent, and his eyes soften when he looks at me.

“You truly believe,” he says, “that you can speak with a millennia-old magical representation of a tree and convince it to let us go?”

I chew my lower lip, then nod. “I think I can try. I think I have the best chance of trying.”