Tree Singer Jacci Turner (classic book list .txt) 📖

the maid to gather information, Mayten had decided to do her own investigating. Each person on this team had a specific bit of information, information that could help her understand what was happening with the trees.

Nan was a botanist and had done the most research.

Count Monroe was a respected historian and probably knew the most about the forest in the broader sense.

The prince had grown up with the trees and rode his horse through the woods. It was quite possible he had something to offer.

Even the woodsman, Rafe, knew things about this forest—if she could work up the nerve to approach him.

She had to start by earning their trust.

“I was quite impressed,” Mayten continued. She was determined to get this girl to talk.

Nan gave her a sideways glance, clamped her lips shut, and turned away.

How would Cather deal with this situation? Mayten thought a moment and pressed on. “My da is a famous gardener in our area. He would be amazed at what you’ve done.”

A smile played at the corners of Nan’s lips. “Really?” she said without looking at Mayten. “Do you by chance know what he uses for fertilizer? I have developed a rotating system of taking all the table scraps from the kitchen and mixing them with horse manure. It is a process of decomposition I’ve perfected over the years, and I believe I have the formulations about right, but am always looking to improve.”

“I’m not sure.” Mayten kept her own smile hidden. She hadn’t expected the princess to respond so quickly. “I think he just sings to them.”

Nan turned and stared at her in disbelief. “Sings to them?”

She sniffed, turned on her heel, and stalked after the others.

Puzzled, Mayten caught up with the princess. “What do you have against singers?”

The girl glared at her.

“I’m a scientist,” she said as though speaking to a child. “What you are describing is nothing but witchcraft.”

She hurried to catch up with her brother, leaving Mayten standing alone, feeling like she’d just been slapped.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Count Monroe caught up with Mayten. “My dear, are you well? You look a bit flustered.”

She glanced down in surprise as her hand brushed Anatolian’s back. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been chasing down a scent. Had he sensed her distress?

Mayten forced her feet to move, stroking the dog’s soft fur as the smell of oranges drifted over her, calming her ruffled nerves. “You might not understand this, but all my life I’ve thought everyone loved singers. Trained singers are held in high esteem in our clan . . .”

One glance at the count’s kind face and words tumbled out. “Then I learned that Adven hates singers, though I don’t know why. This morning the king told me a story about an evil singer who sucked energy from trees and even killed a dog! His grandfather banned singers from the castle. Now Nan tells me she thinks singers use witchcraft. Witchcraft!”

She stopped and faced the count. “Has the world gone mad?”

Her face flushed with heat, realizing she’d poured out her grief to a man she didn’t really know.

“Witchcraft?” the count muttered. “That is absurd.”

Count Monroe’s soft assurance calmed her and they walked on.

“Singers have a history of aligning with nature to help things grow,” he said. “They aren’t using outside forces, just encouraging the life force already present within.”

“Tell that to the princess.” Anger grew inside as Mayten remembered Nan’s disdain. The trail was winding up a hill and she dug her feet into the earth with a vengeance.

The count started wheezing and finally stopped. “I’m sorry. My lungs are not what they used to be. I’m afraid I have to move a bit slower.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry.” She was supposed to be leading this group, not having a childish temper tantrum. “Please forgive my rant.”

She waited for him to catch his breath, then started at a slower pace. “How do you know so much about singing—if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A historian is a lifelong student of all things. I have interviewed countless singers, healers, travelers, crafters—you name it. I could—and have—written volumes on each subject.”

Mayten’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you know about the evil singer then? The one the king told me about? I’ve never heard about him.”

“Oh yes, he is a particular interest of mine. And I wouldn’t call him ‘evil.’ Most people, once you get to know them, have reasons for what they do.”

“Did you know him?” she asked. “Personally?”

He laughed. “No dear, I’m not that old.”

Once again, heat flushed her face. She glanced away, embarrassed, but he didn’t seem at all insulted. “But he took energy from plants and killed a dog! That goes against everything a singer is taught.”

“True, but think for a moment. Be honest now, Mayten. Have you never thought about taking energy for yourself? Most of the singers I’ve interviewed have at least thought about it.”

She fell silent. Of course, she’d thought about it. The temptation hid, like a dirty little secret, tempting her when she was tired. How easy it would be to take a sip of tree energy . . .

She would never actually do it, though. No singer would.

At least, that’s what she’d thought before hearing the king’s story.

Could the count be right? Did all singers consider the temptation?

What about Mother? When she was exhausted from caring for so many children along with her clan responsibilities—did she think about it?

Had she ever tried?

It didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility, a realization that disturbed Mayten beyond thought.

She firmly shook the idea from her head. “I’d never do such a thing and neither would my mother.”

“That’s good,” the count said with a nod. “You and your Mother are noble indeed.”

Mayten didn’t know if she was noble, but she could tell right from wrong and loved the idea she might be like her mother—at least in character.

They walked in silence as the hill crested. The trail led down a gentle slope into a canyon filled with redwoods. Mayten’s favorite trees. How could anyone hurt something