On the morning Meadow turned eighteen, Meadow lay still, listening to the birds. She had grown up inside this ivy-wrapped tower, learning magic from the woman who raised her. Six years ago, at twelve, she stitched life into a scarecrow topped with a jack-o'-lantern that was the first time she learned she could heal and create life force. That was Vesper, her first spell and her only friend outside these walls. She meant to grow strong enough to protect the woods that ringed her home. All her life she had lived in these woods, she knew she was different but Astrid her mother never said anything about it. Astrid knocked at the door she entered and set a tray filled with fresh honey bread and orange juice. Astrid was older now then when she was when the forest spirits brought her Meadow. Astrid now had a white streak cutting through her black hair. She wore her dark gown and the soft slippers that made no sound on stone. She had never once brought breakfast up the stairs. She had always lived downstairs. Meadow sat up. A fern-furred cat uncurled at her feet, moss and ivy trailing from its green coat. It watched Astrid with flat, careful eyes. "Drink the juice," Astrid said. "You'll need your strength." "You never come up here Ma," Meadow said. She did not touch the bread. Astrid sat on the edge of the bed. "I kept you in this tower to keep you safe. But safe is finished now." She folded her hands. "A dark thing has woken beyond the trees. It rots the roots and drinks the green." Meadow looked at the arched window. The birdsong had thinned to almost nothing. "I am not your mother by blood," Astrid said. "Nature answers you because you belong to it." Meadow's chest tightened. She thought of Vesper below, standing guard at the door as he had for six years. She thought of every tree she could see from her window. "Why tell me now?" she asked. "Because it is your destiny." Astrid stood. Meadow rose and crossed to the window. At the tower's base, Vesper turned his carved face up toward her, root hands lifted. Meadow set her palm against the cold stone. The birds had stopped. She had wanted to grow strong enough to guard the forest. "Then I must go," she said. Astrid caught her wrist. "Not before you know all of the truth."

Meadow pulled her wrist free and started for the stairs. Astrid moved faster. She blocked the door with her thin body and spread her arms. "You will not walk out that door," Astrid said. "Not like this. The dark thing already rots what it touches. You have no shield against it." "Then I make one," Meadow said. "I have magic." "Your magic heals," Astrid said. "It does not stop rot. Not yet." Her voice stayed calm, but her hands trembled at her sides. The woman who raised Meadow had never once looked afraid. She looked afraid now. Meadow stopped. The fern-furred cat pressed against her boots. Outside, Vesper's root fingers tapped the door, quick and worried. Even her scarecrow felt the change in the woods. "Sit," Astrid said. "Let me send you ready, or don't go at all." Meadow sat. Astrid took her downstairs. She moved along the shelves and pulled down a leather bag. Into it she packed bread, Fruit, a water skin, dried roots. Her hands worked fast. She was giving Meadow up, and she knew it. Then she stopped at the far shelf. She pushed aside old jars and lifted something small. It was a talisman carved from pale wood, shaped like a tree with spread branches. A cord hung from it. Astrid held it out in both hands. "This is your ward." Meadow took it. The wood felt warm, warmer than the room. "The forest spirit gave it to me," Astrid said. "The same spirit who brought you to my door eighteen years ago. It made you. It will know its own mark. The rot cannot cross this while you wear it." Meadow slipped the cord over her head. The warmth spread down her chest. For the first time since the birdsong stopped, she felt the woods reach back toward her, faint but there. Astrid's face broke. She began to cry. Meadow had never seen her cry. She dropped the bag and pulled the old woman close. Astrid felt small in her arms, all bone and shaking breath. "Where do I go?" Meadow asked. "To the spirit who made you," Astrid said against her shoulder. "Deep in the forest. It called you here to guard the green. Now it will teach you how." Meadow held her a moment longer. Then she let go. She lifted the bag onto her shoulder and touched the wooden tree at her throat. She opened the door. Vesper stood on the step, carved face turned up, root hands reaching. Beyond him the trees waited, and past them the brown edge of the rot crept closer. Meadow stepped outside. The ward held. The rot did not touch her. She had left the tower at last, and now she had to find the spirit before the dark reached it first.

Two days out from the tower, Meadow rode deeper than she had ever gone. Her mother had gifted her a mossback buffalo before she left, a broad beast with moss on its hide and ivy twined through its horns. It carried her fast over roots and stone. Behind them walked Vesper, her scarecrow. His pumpkin face bobbed above the ferns. His root hands twitched at every sound. He could not say much, but he stayed close, and that was enough. Then the buffalo stopped. It snorted and dug its hooves into the dirt. Meadow looked up. A creature blocked the path ahead. Once it might have been a stag. Now brown rot ate its flanks. Its ribs showed through split skin. Black sap dripped from its mouth. One antler had rotted to a stump. Its eyes were milky and wrong. It swung its head toward her and made a wet, grinding sound. "Meadow," Vesper rasped. One word. A warning. She reached for her magic and found only her healing gift. It could mend a wound. It could not fight. It could not calm a thing this far gone. She had no blade, no herb strong enough. The talisman warmed at her throat, but it shielded her, nothing more. The stag lurched forward. The buffalo backed away and nearly threw her. Meadow slid off its back and stood in the path. Astrid's words came to her. Nature answers to you. You belong to it. She had never truly tried. She knelt and pressed both palms flat to the dirt. "Please," she whispered. "Help me." The ground pulsed under her hands. Roots stirred. She felt them the way she felt her own fingers. She did not push her healing at the rot. She pushed it into the soil, into the living wood beneath the sick creature. Roots burst up around the stag's legs. They wound tight and held it fast. The creature thrashed and screamed. Meadow poured her gift down through the roots, into the thing's rotted heart. She could not heal it. She knew that now. The rot had already killed what lived inside. So she did the only kind thing left. She let the roots pull it down. The stag sank into the earth. The soil closed over it. The screaming stopped. Green shoots pushed up where it had stood. Meadow knelt in the sudden quiet, shaking. Vesper touched her shoulder with a root hand. The buffalo crept close and pressed its warm nose to her hair. She had learned something. Her gift did not only mend. It could return the dead to the ground and grow new life from them. But her hands trembled, and cold spread up her arms. Using it had cost her. She was not trained properly yet. She felt dizzy. Where the roots had opened, she saw a path she had not seen before. It led down, into a hollow that stank of rot. The dark had a source. And now the way to it lay open.

Meadow steadied herself and started down the hidden path. The buffalo would not follow into the hollow. It stamped and snorted at the smell of rot. She left it above and went on foot. Vesper walked at her side, his root hands twitching. His pumpkin face glowed faint in the dark. Two days ago he had barely spoken. Now he stayed close, a step behind her, and that comfort was enough. The path narrowed between rotted trees. Black sap dripped from the bark. Then the smell grew worse, and Vesper grabbed her arm. Two creatures blocked the way. Once they might have been wolves. Now brown rot split their skins. Their ribs showed. Their eyes ran milky and wrong. One let out a wet, grinding growl. Both crept toward her, low and fast. Meadow had no blade. Her healing gift could not fight them. She knew what she had to do. Her legs still shook from the stag. She dropped to her knees and pressed both palms to the dirt. "Please," she said. "Once more." The ground answered. Roots stirred under her hands. She felt them like her own fingers. She pushed her gift down into the soil, into the living wood beneath the sick things. Roots burst up. Vines whipped around the creatures' legs. They snarled and thrashed. Meadow poured everything she had through the roots. The vines wound tighter. They pulled the creatures down into the earth. The soil closed over them. The growls stopped. Green shoots pushed up where they had stood. The cost hit her at once. Cold spread up her arms. The dark hollow tilted. She tried to stand. Her knees buckled and she pitched forward. Vesper caught her before she struck the ground. His root hands were rough but gentle. He eased her down and knelt over her. His pumpkin face dimmed, then flared, as if searching hers. "Meadow," he rasped. One word. Fear in it. She wanted to tell him she was fine. Her mouth would not form the words. Her eyes closed. The last thing she felt was his hand on her shoulder, holding her steady in the reeking dark. When the world went black, Vesper did not leave. He crouched beside her, root fingers curled around her arm. He turned his glowing face toward the path ahead, then back to her. He could not carry her up. He could not fight what might come. So he stayed, and he watched, and he waited. Meadow lay still on the cold ground. She had cleared the way. But she had used her power twice too fast, with no training to spend it safely. It had emptied her. The source of the rot waited somewhere below, close now. And Meadow could not stand.

Meadow woke in a soft bed. Warm light fell across white sheets. The last thing she remembered was the reeking hollow, the wolves, the cold rushing up her arms. Now she smelled clean linen and bread. She sat up too fast and the room spun. A pumpkin face turned toward her from the corner. "Vesper," she breathed. He crossed to her in three quick steps. His root hands hovered over hers, not quite touching, as if afraid she might break. His carved face glowed steady. He said nothing, but his shoulders dropped. She had never seen him look so relieved. "Where are we?" she asked. Before he could rasp an answer, a voice came from beyond the door. Soft. Careful. "You've awoken." The door opened. A man stepped in. He wore a green tunic and a cape stitched with gold thread. A thin crown sat in his blond curls. "My guards found you and your friend deep in the forest. You were half dead. We let you heal." Meadow gripped the sheets. She did not know this man. She did not know this castle. Her ward, her talisman, her boots — she looked for them and found her gown folded on a chair. "How long?" she asked. "Three days," the king said. He kept his distance, hands open at his sides. "I am Silas. This is my castle." He nodded toward the tall window. Red-roofed turrets rose beyond the glass, wrapped in green gardens. "You spoke in your sleep. You spoke of the rot." Meadow's chest tightened. "You know of it." "It creeps toward my walls," Silas said. His jaw set. "My healers cannot stop it. Trees blacken. Deer fall sick and turn. I have lost two farms already." He studied her. "Your friend would not leave your side. He would not eat. He only watched the door." Meadow looked at Vesper. The scarecrow tilted his head, then reached out and closed one root hand gently around her wrist. The touch steadied her. "You pulled him from the hollow," she said to Silas. It was not a question. "My guards did. He fought them until they showed they meant no harm." A small smile crossed the king's face. "He is loyal." Meadow swung her legs from the bed. Her knees held this time. Strength had come back into her, slow but real. She had gone into the forest alone and woken in a stranger's care. That could have killed her. Instead it had bought her days to mend. She met the king's blue eyes. "The rot has a source," she said. "I found the path to it before I fell. It waits below the hollow. I mean to reach it." Silas was quiet a moment. Then he nodded. "Then you will not go alone," he said. "Rest tonight. In the morning, I will help you."