“This fell into my hand,” she said, sounding brisk now, and not dreamy in the least. “The tree tells me that it is a gift, and good to eat.”
“True on both counts,” he allowed. “However, there is a third thing, which perhaps it did not tell you.” He nodded at the pod. “The tree . . . engineers its gifts, from time to time. If you eat that, you may become bound to it.”
“As you are,” Aelliana said.
He inclined his head. “As we all are.”
She held the pod out to him. “How does one proceed?”
He took a breath—but who was he to deny her the benefits the tree's gifts so often bestowed? She was his lifemate, and thereby tree-kin. She had a right to the gift.
Taking the pod, he cracked it between his fingers and returned the pieces to her.
“The kernel is what one eats,” he said, and extended his hand, warned by a rustle in the leaves overhead. Another pod dropped into his palm.
He held it up, and gave her a wry grin. “I believe that we are being coddled.”
“A little coddling may not go amiss, surely?” Aelliana murmured, as he cracked his pod. “Your sister—”
“Pray put my sister out of your mind,” he said, teasing the kernel free.
Aelliana tipped her head. “This smells so—odd.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “In what way?”
“Well, it smells not of something—like mint or spice—but rather of the idea that the food is good.” She looked up at him. “Is it always thus?”
“No, sometimes they do smell of mint, or spice, or new leaves. I posit an encryption system peculiar to the tree. These, though . . . ” He paused to sniff his own kernel. “I believe they may have been produced especially for this event. And if that does not frighten you, then you are bolder than I am.”
She laughed, her eyes brilliantly green, and put the kernel into her mouth.
“That's put me on my mettle,” he said, and followed her lead.
Usually, when one ate of the tree, the result was a pleasant taste, and perhaps a mild, pleasurable euphoria. This was not usual tree fruit.
His mouth cooled, as if he had drunk iced water, and the sensation flowed through him, informing each bone, muscle and cell, until his strength was frozen and he sat down, hard, and leaned his back against the massive trunk, eyes closed, shivering.
“I wish,” he said, and his voice was shivering too, “you would at least give one warning. What have you done, wretch?”
“Daav?” Aelliana's voice was not shivering. Indeed, it was remarkably firm.
He opened his eyes and turned his head, carefully. She was kneeling at his side. Green eyes looked directly into his, mild concern apparent.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“I expect I will be,” he said, breathless still, but gaining strength. “Surely it has no need to murder me today, and good reason to keep me alive for just a few days more.”
She frowned. “I don't think the tree means to murder you,” she said seriously. “Though what reason?”
“yos'Phelium is grown dangerously thin. At least I must survive until I've done my duty to the bloodline. Unless, of course, it means to give over breeding yos'Pheliums entirely, which I might do, in its place.”
The shivering had passed, leaving him slowly warming, and in a state of not-unpleasant languor.
Aelliana shifted off her knees and sat on the grass, her shoulder against the great trunk. Her expression was thoughtful.
“I had forgotten,” she murmured, then seemed to shake herself. “Van'chela, perhaps the tree means to—to repair the damage, and render you—able to hear me.”
Well, and there was a thought—and not at all beyond its range. “Though one would still count it a kindness if a warning were issued before the blow falls.”
A leaf floated from one of the lower branches and landed on his knee.
“Your concern warms my heart,” he told it, ironically.
“Are you well?” Aelliana demanded.
He took a breath, and took stock. The languor was fading, though he felt no immediate need to rise and go about his day.
“In truth, I seem to have taken no lasting harm, and only a glancing blow to my pride.”
She blinked. “Pride?”
“One does not like to appear a complete idiot before one's pilot, after all.”
She smiled at that.
“Here,” she said, and put her hand flat against his chest.
“Can you,” she said, and he heard hope raw in her voice, “hear me?”
