When I decided to grow the manchineel trees as a trap for the invading soldiers, I hadn’t expected them to turn into something so complicated. I’d even planned to get rid of them afterwards to eliminate the hazard they represented.

  Yet there I was, standing in the middle of a clearing stripped of everything but the manchineels, intending to make long-term use of them.

  Sighing, I looked around at the gnarled trees that had been twisted by my emotions. I had no idea why I kept being drawn to those, but I’d walked straight to their clearing, even though one of the others would have been closer. I picked out one of the taller specimens and studied it for a moment, considering how to go about setting up a proper symbiotic relationship between the tree and the flower cutting I’d brought along.

  I both hoped it would be easy and hoped it wouldn’t.

  On the one hand, completing a task without a struggle was always nice. On the other, I wasn’t sure how I would feel about the tree and flower slotting together effortlessly.

  Alys might have calmed me down, but that didn’t mean I was happy about potentially being the target of unknown machinations.

  “Let’s just get started, I guess,” I grumbled.

  Reaching into my storage bag, I pulled out the box in which the cutting was planted, along with the same pure silver knife from before. It was already tarnished anyway. I could work on cleaning it up later.

  My first task was to extract the flower very, very carefully from its makeshift pot. The earth crumbled away from the roots swiftly, almost like the flower was eager to be extracted.

  Then, setting the little sunlit menace to the side, I approached the mutated manchineel with my knife out.

  I considered working in an area near the tree’s roots. It made sense to keep the flower close to the soil. But that feeble bond I now had with the plant, which gave me insight into its properties, nudged me in a different direction.

  Accordingly, I looked towards the thickest and most vital of the manchineel’s branches.

  The tree contained so much poison that I could examine it easily using my mana. I quickly located an ideal branch. Its poisonous, glowing veins were a little thinner than they were at the roots, but they weren’t quite fading like they did in the topmost branches.

  Nodding, I located the thickest vein, steadied my hands, and made the incision. Between the quality of the knife and the reinforcement of my mana, the blade slid through the odd bark of the poisonous veins with ease, releasing the sap inside to tingle against my fingertips.

  I checked that the opening I’d made was large enough, nodded again, and fetched the flower before the sap could start hardening.

  I wrapped my mana around the flower, particularly its roots, and shifted them around until they were coiled together into a spear-like shape. Then I hardened my mana as much as I could. This allowed me to push the roots gently into the manchineel’s wound and coax them to start spreading along the poisonous channel once they were inside.

  It took time and a frustrating amount of precision, both of which I thankfully possessed.

  Were I not an alchemist, or of a similar profession with an emphasis on control, I don’t think I would have succeeded at all. In the end, though, I had the flower essentially grafted into the manchineel tree.

  I’d been forced to go slowly. Despite the thickness of the poison vein, the flower’s roots almost choked it. It was an exercise in patience to manipulate the poison inside the vein, expanding the space while simultaneously healing the damage in just the right way to keep the vein functional.

  Again, the only reason I succeeded was because I was both an Autumn fae and a Belladonna.

  The fact made a roiling sense of frustration fill my gut, however hard I tried to ignore it. This was yet another example of too much beneficial coincidence. I hated having more proof that I was being manipulated.

  My only comfort was that even if the two spirits had intended this to happen, my skills were what had made it possible. A less skilled member of my family could have botched the process, ruining both the flower and the manchineel’s branch.

  It was always nice to take pleasure in the excellence of one’s own work.

  Regardless, the end result was a flower firmly planted within the manchineel. I could sense its roots already pulling at the tree’s poison in small amounts.

  Unfortunately, this wasn’t exactly symbiosis. It was a parasitic relationship, with the tree earning no benefits from the arrangement. Leaving the flower there long-term would likely end up damaging the tree, or at least neutralize its toxicity.

  That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. These manchineels had already been mutated by the nature spirit in a way that drew their poison inward. This intensified the poison, but also removed the danger of someone being hurt by simply brushing up against a branch. Even the leaves contained some new substance I hadn’t been able to identify. I only knew it wasn’t toxic.

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  If the flower gradually weakened the mutated manchineel’s poison, then these trees would represent even less of a threat than they did now.

  My worry about the trees had stemmed from thoughts of the future. When children finally became part of our lovely town, some would doubtless find their way into the forest. I did not want their lives to end by my hand, no matter how indirectly.

  It wasn’t even because that sort of thing would devastate Alys. I felt uncomfortable at the prospect.

  Now, thanks to the flowers, I could leave the trees here without fear. And yet… the idea bothered me.

  Mutated or not, the trees were mine. I brought the seeds to Swiftband. I decided to grow them. That made me responsible for them.

  I didn’t like the notion of letting them be nothing but fertile ground for the flowers.

  I really needed to give the flowers a name. Referring to them as just ‘the flowers’ was becoming as tiresome as referring to the substance Alys could make as just ‘the material.’ If nothing else, I was looking forward to her grandmother’s visit so I could learn the proper name for the obsidian-like… stuff. I should probably invent a name for these mutated manchineels, too…

  With a groan, I refocused on the situation at hand. Then I paused.

  Something was happening between the tree and the flower. It was appearing very, very slowly, but it was there.

  Drawing closer, I examined both the tree and its new parasite carefully, tracking the flow of poison and the way the flower absorbed it. At the same time, I noted what I already knew about the flower: it radiated positive energy, attuned heavily towards life, healing, and purification.

  I could use that.

  Infusing my mana into both plants, I started to nudge things along. I encouraged the flower to share more of its energy, letting it seep out into the manchineel. At the same time, I made the manchineel accept it, drawing the pitiful stream of energy throughout the tree as far as I could make it stretch.

  This wasn’t very far. The flower was potent, yes, but it was still a freshly realized plant that hadn’t had much time to grow. Briefly, I feared I would just drain it and achieve nothing.

  Then the fiery little thing began guzzling down my mana for the second time that day.

  I allowed it. I even smoothed the process, watching with fascination as the flower’s roots shifted on their own, only aided by my power rather than guided.

  Most of the flower’s roots merely moved a small amount, their new positions allowing them to better absorb the manchineel’s poison. About a third, however, pushed right up against the walls of the vein… and then through it.

  The flower rooted itself further into the tree, and the outward stream of its power intensified, slipping deep into the manchineel.

  The effect wasn’t instantaneous. Nonetheless, it was striking. My eyes widened as the same red patterns that adorned the flower began to stretch across the manchineel’s poison vein. They didn’t travel very far down the branch, but they stretched upwards faster and faster until they faded away into the thinner branches, just like the vein did.

  For a moment, I thought that would be it. But then the manchineel’s leaves lit up with the same symbols, even as their color shifted into gold.

  I blinked, then blinked again as the unknown substance I’d sensed before within the leaves grew significantly in potency. It only stopped when it was equal to the power of the tree’s poison. Its properties clicked into place in my mind, and I smiled.

  Antidotes. The leaves were the perfect antidotes to the mutated manchineel’s poison.

  I sensed that they hadn’t been quite as powerful before the flower’s arrival. A poisoned victim would have had to gorge on them to neutralize the poison’s effects completely, though a few leaves could have purchased enough time to find help.

  But now, with the flower’s effects at work, the story was quite different. I was willing to bet a single glowing, golden, red-patterned leaf was enough to save anyone’s life after mutated manchineel poison exposure, with no long-term consequences. The antidote would likely serve for regular manchineel poison, too.

  Furthermore, I could tell that the vital energy of the flower was feeding the entire tree. This sped up the processes of poison production and refinement, which, in turn, improved the antidote-bearing leaves.

  If the tree and flower were left alone now, they would become something truly special in a couple hundred years. In a thousand years? Two thousand? I couldn’t guess where this relationship’s potential ended, but I wanted to see it fulfilled.

  Better still, the trees had now become a far more useful and potent ingredient. I didn’t need the gardens of the Belladonna family! I would craft my own wonders of nature right here in Swiftband. One day, my stock would rival, and even surpass, anything my family had access to.

  And I wouldn’t have to serve Autumn while doing it, either.

  Only one point somewhat mired the occasion: I still had no clue how much of this had been planned. In fact, the perfect synchrony between the flower and the tree only added weight to my suspicions.

  I tried to force myself to consider Alys’ perspective. Perhaps neither the stag nor the new spirit was plotting against me. It was possible, however unlikely, that both spirits had merely made a nice gesture.

  The stag could have noticed my nature and decided to gift me a flower that could feed off of poison to produce the opposite effects.

  The new spirit under my feet could have noticed the trap I was setting and been entertained by it, or perhaps simply approved of the land’s defense. The spirit could have sensed the flowers in my possession and decided to gift me improvements to the trees I’d grown, so I could use both for the benefit of the town.

  But… why? Why would either spirit do that? And even if this more benevolent explanation was true, did that make any debts between us lighter or heavier?

  A fae did not have to acknowledge a debt. Without thanks given, whether willingly or under pressure, I was technically not bound to repay the spirits for what they had done. I could just continue living my life, ignoring the potential threat of two spirits roaming around my new home.

  Yet how long would it take for that to backfire horribly? And could I even believe that the spirits were genuinely benevolent to begin with?

  All of my instincts and experience told me no. No, I could not. Every creature that powerful had an angle. Seasons, almost every creature had an angle, no matter their strength.

  Nasha had an angle for greeting me and being friendly: threat assessment. The elders had an angle for accepting me: alchemy. Even Alys had initially wanted me around for the woodworking supplies I could create.

  Granted, some of those relationships had evolved far beyond what they were at our first meetings. Angles had fallen away and been replaced by genuine fondness, or even love. But those angles were the reasons any relationships had formed in the first place.

  I groaned and threw my head back, fighting to set aside my Court mentality in favor of Alys’ easy acceptance.

  I didn’t want to stress any further. I wanted to sort out the second flower offshoot I’d brought with me, and then get back to my dragoness.