22
Red
red hummed softly to herself, stroking her hand through Cinzel’s coarse fur. They were tucked up in the little house, and Cinzel was asleep on his side in front of the fire, his great floppy head resting on Red’s pooled black skirts. His paws twitched as he dreamed about chasing something, and he let out a little whine. Red soothed him with her voice, murmuring a small snatch of an old lullaby. Her fingers dug into his shaggy pelt until she could feel the soft fur of his undercoat. His ear twitched in satisfaction as she gave him a vigorous belly scratch.
Cinzel was more like a dog than a wolf sometimes. Red had made him that way—maybe more so than she had ever realized.
Her fingers stilled in the white fur as her thoughts drifted back to the Snake Witch. Red had thought she was nothing like her ancestor, but now she was starting to wonder.
She imagined the young Witch from Perrin’s memory with her hands cupped protectively around the little stoat. The towering figure depicted in statues and paintings with her snake familiar wound over her arm. The monster the Witch Hunters spoke of, enchanting beasts to obey her will. The woman who stood on the bank of a lake, entrusting her heart to another.
Which one was the real Assora?
There was an old story Red’s father used to tell her called “The Witch in the Bell Hollow.” It was about a Witch who lived in a house overgrown with bluebells and morning glories, a house so beautiful no one believed the woman inside could be ugly. But she was—ugly and rotten and wicked, like all the Witches in her father’s stories. She lured travelers to her hovel with the sound of the wind chimes hung round her door, all of them strung of tiny ivory finger bones. Until one woodcutter’s daughter got the better of her and left her to die, strangled by the bindweed hidden among the morning glories. Proof that the evil had been inside the Witch all along.
The High Lord of the Witch Hunters had been obsessed with stories where Witches got what they deserved. For every action, a consequence. Red knew better than to believe her father’s stories, but the more she’d learned from watching Perrin and the Paper Witch, the more she realized that powerful magic had its own consequences. And Red was not immune from them.
She stroked her hand down Cinzel’s long leg, scratching in between his toes. She’d always known that, when she hummed or sang, she could make animals understand her feelings—talk to them without words. But what exactly was she doing to them? Had she bent Cinzel and his brother to her will? Had she transformed them into something they were never meant to be?
The thought left her cold despite the crackling fire. Red bent over the wolf, pressing her forehead into the soft fur. “Are you happy?” she whispered.
Cinzel didn’t say anything, just gave another sleepy grumble. Red closed her eyes, breathing in the musky scent of his fur. All those dark days when she was a child, haunting the Forest of Thorns like a ghost, Cinzel was the only thing that gave her the strength to keep going. She wanted to believe he felt the same.
She sat up when she heard the door opening. Cinzel raised his sleepy head and climbed to his feet, his tail swishing in recognition. Shane was back, and that meant the council meeting was over.
Shane’s face was serious, one hand shoved deep into her pocket. Red wondered if it had gone badly. She got up slowly, brushing Cinzel’s fur off her skirts.
“What happened?” she asked. “Did they refuse?”
Shane shook her head. “No, they agreed. We head out tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Red’s stomach lurched. It seemed too soon.
“That’s exactly what we wanted, right?” she said, forcing the uncertainty down. “So why the dour look? If you keep frowning, your face will get stuck that way.” Red reached up to poke at the frown lines between Shane’s eyebrows. Shane caught her hand.
“I have to ask you to do something,” she said, squeezing Red’s fingers. “Even though I don’t want to.”
Red swallowed. Her heart was beating in her ears like a warning drum, too fast and too loud. She wondered if Cinzel could hear it, too. Red could feel him vibrating, his whole body humming with protective instinct.
“For us to defeat the Spindle Witch,” Shane began, “for the attack to even have a chance, Perrin has to get to the castle ahead of the soldiers. I need you to take him through the Forest of Thorns.”
The words hit her like a blow. Red closed her eyes. Her ribs felt like they were caving in, crushing against her heart. But her terror at the thought of returning to the forest felt strangely blunted. Somewhere deep down, she had known this was coming.
Shane touched her shoulder, that unbearably serious look on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice rough. “No one else can do this. You’re the only person who knows the way through.”
Red shook her head. “It’s okay. I always knew I’d have to go back someday. You see, I left something in that forest—something important.”
Twilight was coming on. Though the sky was perfectly clear, she could almost imagine it roiling with black thunderclouds and pulsing rain—the sound she still heard in her worst nightmares. Her mind swam with the memory of dark branches, wicked thorns, and the rush of red blood.
“He’s waiting for me,” she whispered. “It’s time I finished this.”
Shane looked scared, which was strange. She was never supposed to be scared of anything. That was Red’s job. “What are you talking about? Who’s waiting for you?”
Red let out a long breath. “Shadow, the white wolf.”
Shane’s eyes flashed over her face. “One of those creatures from the Forest of Thorns? Your wolves?”
Cinzel pressed against Red, anchoring her with his warmth.
“Those wolves were never mine—not really,” Red said, already lost in the storm that always waited in the dark corners of her mind. “They belonged to the Spindle Witch from the very beginning. All but Shadow.”
red had been in and out of consciousness after her father drugged her. All she caught were disjointed images through her half-closed eyes—the lurch of being loaded onto the back of the cart with the wolf pups tossed after her, the thump of their soft little bodies colliding with hers, and then the sensation of being carried somewhere, her ragdoll limbs swinging below her as strong arms hefted her out of the cart.
It was the rain on her face that finally woke her. A violent storm was raging, bursts of thunder and a wild streak of lightning splitting the clouds with its forked tongue. Red lay in the wet dust at the edge of the Forest of Thorns, blinking up at the twisting black branches. Her mouth tasted bitter, like ash. Her whole body felt cold and heavy, and her head was hazy, like it was filled with cotton.
“Pity.” Her father’s right-hand man, Ivan, appeared over her, his heavy black cloak soaked by the spitting rain. “This would have been so much easier for you if you hadn’t woken up.” He drew the wicked saw-toothed blade from beneath his cloak.
Terror shot through Red like a bolt of lightning. This man she had known her whole life was nothing but a monster, his face transformed by the dark and the storm. The rain rushed in her ears as Red struggled to move. She tried to call for her father, for anyone who might save her—but her voice was so small, so weak even she could barely hear it.
The blade glistened in Ivan’s hand as he raised it high. And then a blur shot between them—Shadow, the white pup, leaping out of the thorns to sink his little teeth into Ivan’s calf, eliciting a hiss of pain. Ivan kicked the pup away. Shadow rolled in the dust, his fur matted and dripping with mud, as Ivan cursed, looking at the bloody bite mark.
Red scrambled to her feet. She almost tripped over Cinzel, still unconscious. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Shadow, his tiny yellow eyes filled with the crackle of the storm. Then Shadow howled, leaping for Ivan at the same moment the Witch Hunter brought the blade down.
A splash of blood hit her dress. She screamed, thunder and lightning burning the color into her eyes. She grabbed Cinzel up into her arms and fled into the Forest of Thorns, sliding in the wet dust and pushing herself through tiny gaps, not even feeling the rake of the thorns as she went deeper and deeper, running away from the horror and the sadness and the grief.
She had spent days wandering the dark knots of the Forest, crying and calling out for her father and the mother she had never known and especially for Shadow. Red clutched Cinzel’s tiny trembling body to her chest and waited desperately for someone—anyone!—to rescue her. They were both half-starved by the time the Witch in the black veil appeared, towering over Red, reaching out a graceful gloved hand to lift her out of the dirt.
“What an interesting creature has stumbled into my forest,” the woman said, her deep red lips pressed together into a smile. “Get up, dear. I have something for you.”
The Witch crooked her finger, and Red’s heart seized in her chest as a white beast prowled out of the cage of thorns.
“I’m afraid he’s not exactly as he used to be, but I believe this belongs to you?”
Red pressed her hands over her mouth. It was a monster with vicious claws and a bony spine jutting from its back, his fur rippling with a snarl—but it was still Shadow, and he was somehow alive, and Red would have traded anything for that.
The Spindle Witch put her fingers beneath Red’s chin, tipping her face up. “Now, then. A favor begs a favor. Let’s talk about what you can do for me.”
that was the bargain she’d taken, the one she couldn’t refuse. She had let her love for Shadow turn her inside out, had cut herself up into smaller and smaller pieces for the Spindle Witch until she barely recognized herself. She’d even learned to use her magic to whistle commands to the monstrous wolves. And when she fought Shane and Fi and Briar in the Forest of Thorns, she had used the wolves to attack. She had almost made Shadow into a murderer with Shane’s blood smeared across his jagged mouth.
She didn’t know what Shadow would be anymore, now that she had betrayed the Spindle Witch. Would he still recognize Red, or would she just be the enemy? Would she have to kill him, finish what Ivan had started so many years ago? Leaving him alone in that forest, at the mercy of the Spindle Witch, had to be worse.
She only realized she was crying when Shane pulled her in, tucking Red’s face against her shoulder. She held Red tight while Cinzel whined and pawed around her. Red buried her face in Shane’s ragged coat. She’d never told that story to anyone before. The confession left her raw, the words ripped out of her.
“It’s my fault,” she whispered, pushing back until she could meet Shane’s eyes. “It’s my fault Shadow became that way.”
Shane’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
“You don’t know that,” Red insisted. “You don’t know what my magic’s capable of. Neither do I.”
Shane’s gray eyes were clear—so clear and sure as she brushed the tears away with the pad of her thumb.
“Yeah, I do. Because I know you, Red. I bet you loved Shadow the way you love Cinzel—fiercely, with everything you are. That kind of love could never turn someone into a monster. And I think the mutt will back me up on that,” she added, as Cinzel bunted his furry cheek against her hip, crooning low and soft.
Red bit down a sob. She wanted to believe that. But she wouldn’t know—not until she faced Shadow.
“I still have to make it right.” Her smile twisted, rueful. “That’s what you told me, remember? You live with it by making it right.”
Shane grimaced. “Gotta stop making speeches I’m going to regret later.” She shook her head. “The truth is I don’t want you anywhere near this battle. I want to tell you to get somewhere safe.”
She hesitated—then she breathed out, and her hand slid down, tracing the straggles of curls that lay soft against Red’s jaw.
“I love you, Red,” she said seriously. “More than I’ve loved anyone. You came along and filled a part of me that I didn’t even know was hollow. I don’t think I can go on without you anymore. So we’re going to have to do this—together.”
Red sniffed, turning her face into that warm touch. “I’m afraid of failing,” she admitted.
“So am I,” Shane said. “And so is everyone else. Anyone who says they’re not is lying through their teeth. But we can’t give up. Especially me—or so I’ve been told.” A fleeting smile crossed her lips.
That got a watery chuckle out of Red, but she still felt numb. Shane had just told her that she loved her—more than anything. She wanted to answer, but her heart was all twisted up inside her, a labyrinth of dark brambles and razor thorns.
“I don’t think I could do it for anyone else. But I’ll do it for you,” she said. Cinzel whined, and Red knelt beside him. “We’ll do it,” she amended, catching Cinzel’s jaw and pulling their faces close.
Maybe it was time for both of them to face Shadow.
“You won’t be alone,” Shane promised.
“Because Perrin’s lurking somewhere in this house, eavesdropping?” Red teased, looking around. The four of them had been tripping over each other for days.
Shane chuckled. “No. He and the Paper Witch are spending the night in the tower—fussing with some Witch thing that I’ll apparently only muck up. But you’ve still got me and the wolf.”
Cinzel tilted his head up to look at Red. Then he darted in between them and shimmied out a hole in the stone wall, vanishing with a mischievous flick of his tail.
Shane laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, you’ve still got me.”
Red got slowly to her feet. Her stomach was churning with so many things—exhilaration, and dread, and something else. Determination. She had the sense, suddenly, that Shane was a beacon, guiding her forward through the night. No matter what darkness Red walked through, she could make it if Shane was on the other side.
Red twined their hands together, trying to memorize the rasp and catch of her fingers sliding into the gaps where they fit so well.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, pressing her palm to Shane’s.
Shane shook her head. “Not as long as I live.”
“Clever of you to make that promise right before heading into a battle where we’ll probably all die,” Red murmured. She stared up at Shane, taking in all the parts of her Red had fallen for. Those strong hands that could still be so gentle. Those arms that never hesitated, whether they wielded her ax or wrapped tight around Red, holding her together. And that foul mouth that somehow looked so inviting now, her lips just parted.
How was it that a single smoldering glance from Shane could undo her so thoroughly?
Red was no stranger to desire. She had felt it before—the tingling heat that radiated from her core. The soft gazes and heated exchanges in the dead of night that had made her feel less alone, if only for a single fleeting moment. Red was no stranger to playing pretend.
But this was different. If she kissed Shane now, it wouldn’t be pretend.
Shane wasn’t the type to play around with. Red knew that all too well. The huntsman would claim Red. Shane loved too fiercely to do anything else. Whether they ended up together forever or not, Shane would leave her mark on Red’s heart.
Maybe that was what she wanted. To be claimed by Shane. To belong to someone. So that even if she never found a place to belong in this world, there would be one person who was home.
“Red . . .” Shane started. But Red didn’t want to talk anymore. She hooked her arms around Shane’s neck and pulled her down into a kiss, bold and sure and desperate—all the things she felt for this wild heart that had stolen hers. Heat crackled on her skin as Shane’s fingers slid up her back into her hair, the kiss deep enough to make her shiver.
Red had wanted girls before, but she’d never needed anyone like this. Or maybe that was exactly wrong. She’d needed comfort before, and found it on dark nights in cold, forgettable places. But she’d never truly wanted. And now she did. She wanted Shane.
“Are you sure?” Shane asked, her eyes on fire.
“Yes,” Red whispered. Then she gave in to the kiss, and to everything she wanted—one bright and burning moment to carry with her into the dark.