The room is hot, and illuminated only by a single lantern set on the table. On the wall opposite the shuttered windows is an altar. The icon shows the Lady with her head bowed and palms upturned, twin vines uncoiling between her fingers. A row of guttered-out candles sits underneath.
The monster kneels by the hearth, coaxing alight a small fire. His hair is knotted from the wind, and there’s a smudge of dust on his cheek. The firelight dances over him, paints his tanned skin with amber and orange. But even like this—golden and beautiful—I can’t forget what he truly is. The wrongness clings to him. Even the darkness that pools in the corners of the room seems to stretch out and gather at his feet.
He takes a fistful of twigs from the wood box and throws them into the reluctant flames. I look at his hands and picture his fingers wrapped around a throat. When I close my eyes, the image stays. A white face, blurred beneath water, a rush of bubbles that spills out in a terrible, silent cry.
He gets to his feet when he hears us come in. He sweeps the hood of his cloak back over his hair and tilts his head toward the door. “Arien. A word.”
He puts his hand on Arien’s shoulder and guides him outside. Florence catches my arm when I move to follow them. “No. That isn’t your concern.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Yes, he is.” She’s nearly as tall as the monster, and the way she looks at me is almost as frightening. “And he’s right outside. He’ll be perfectly safe.”
Outside the open door, Arien and the monster stand in a circle of lamplight. The monster is speaking rapidly, his voice low and indistinct. I strain to listen, but I can only catch scraps of his words.
“Two days … the full moon…”
“Here.” Florence pushes a tin kettle into my hands and nods to the corner, where there’s a sink. “Go and fill this for me.”
I clutch the kettle against my chest and go over to the sink. I shove the kettle under the spout, hard. The edge catches with a loud clang. The bowl of the sink is filled with dried leaves and the crumbled bodies of dead moths. The pump handle is stiff. I grip it tightly and lean all of my strength into it. The water spills loose, rust tinged, splashing the front of my dress and washing the dust of wings and leaves into the drain.
I fill the kettle, my eyes fixed on the door. The monster leans closer to Arien. His mouth shapes the same word over and over. Arien shakes his head and tries to back away. He darts a nervous glance toward me, his teeth dug into his lip.
I hand the kettle to Florence, who has started to unpack a makeshift dinner from one of the bags she brought with her. I cross the room quickly, and the monster cuts to a sudden silence when he sees me approach. He turns and walks away, farther outside, until he’s almost completely swallowed up by the night.
I put my hand on Arien’s cheek. “What was he asking you?”
He closes his eyes and leans his face against my palm. “Nothing.”
“Arien. Tell me.”
He looks warily to where the monster has gone, far off in the dark. “He said—”
“Nothing,” the monster calls. His boots crunch against the ground as he comes back into the room. He folds his arms, leans his shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes narrow at me coldly. “It was nothing.”
The darkness behind him is like the depths of a well, but his face is lit by the lamp. He has more scars around his throat. Sharp, blackened marks that wreathe his skin like a necklace of thorns. My fingers rise, unbidden, to trace across my own throat.
What hurt him? What made those terrible marks?
And then, for just a moment, the veins in his throat turn … dark. Just like they did in the village. The light reflected in his eyes turns crimson.
Anxiously, I look around the room, from the shuttered windows to the opened door. The olive grove is a wall of shadows beneath the moonlit sky. How many steps would it take us to run from the wayside to the trees? My mind races as I try to calculate if we could get there fast enough. If we could reach the forest before the monster caught us.
The kettle begins to steam with a piercing whistle. I jolt, my breath stuck, as blotches of white close across my vision. I fight to drag air through my tightened lungs as Florence moves the kettle from the heat. She puts it heavily onto the iron stand, then takes down a stack of enamelware cups from the shelf above the benchtop.
She fills a pot and starts to spoon in leaves from a small hand-labeled jar, making tea. The monster watches her from the doorway as she finishes, then comes forward to take a cup when she holds it out to him.
There’s no table, nowhere to sit except for the folded blankets that have been laid out into four makeshift beds. They’re all together in a neat row. I take the endmost two and drag them away to the opposite side of the room. Arien and I huddle together, so close that our shoulders touch.
Florence passes us each a cup of tea and a plate with a square of almas cake, spiced and sweet, made of dried apples and brown sugar.
“We’ll have a long ride tomorrow.” She takes a sip from her own cup. “Finish that, then try and get some sleep.”
I can’t remember the last time I ate, but there’s only a numb hollowness in my stomach. I pick at the cake until it crumbles apart under my fingers, then drink a wary mouthful of the tea. It’s bitter, with a faint sweetness that stays on my tongue. I put the cup aside and lie down on top of the blankets as Arien stretches out beside me.
There’s a scrape from the stove drafts as Florence banks the fire, then the rustle of blankets. The room lulls into a tense silence.
Arien lies on his back and stares up at the thatched ceiling. His face is creased with worry, and there are tired, leaden shadows beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry, Leta. I’ve really messed everything up.”
“Arien. This isn’t your fault, not at all.”
He sighs. I reach across and touch his hand, trying to think of a way to comfort him. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”
The stories are my clearest memory of our life before. And now, whenever I tell them to Arien, I hear the low rumble of my father’s voice as he read aloud to me. I feel my mother’s hand as we went to the village, how she promised another tale if I’d walk just a little farther.
“Mm?” Arien rolls over to face me. His mouth curls into a faint smile. “Yes, please.”
“Which would you like? The knight and the prince?”
It’s his favorite: a forgotten prince, rescued by a clever knight. I’ve never asked if he imagines himself knight or prince, rescued or rescuer. But I’ve seen the pleased, secretive glow on his face when I tell stories that end with two boys falling in love. I know that some things are close kept, too precious to share.
“No.” He rubs tiredly at his cheek. “Tell me your favorite one instead.”
I wriggle closer to him and put my arm around his shoulders. The words of the story rise easily, making me feel warm and pleased as I speak them. “Beyond seven forests, beyond seven lakes, there was a labyrinth. Inside, there lived a monster. And one day, a brave maiden went in search of a wondrous treasure…”
I’ve loved this story for as long as I can remember. My parents would both tell it to me, over and over, as many times as I could convince them.
The labyrinth is deep beneath the earth, with walls that are made of trees. And at the center, a terrible monster sleeps on a bed made from bones. No one who enters has ever come out. But the maiden—when she goes inside—has a ball of twine hidden in her pocket. And as she walks, she unravels the twine behind her.
“The monster chased her, but she was fast. She followed the twine back through the trees…”
Arien smiles drowsily as I go on with the story. And for a moment it’s like we are back in the cottage, with the walls around us and the world far away. When it still felt almost safe, before everything changed.
Then I look past him. Across the room, Florence lies still, her breath drawn out in sleep. But the monster … he’s awake. Reflections of the flames dance in his eyes as he watches me. As he listens.
I cut off abruptly. When he realizes I’ve noticed him, he turns over swiftly and drags the blanket up around his shoulders. My cheeks burn. I feel peeled bare. Could he tell, from my voice, how I long to be as unafraid as the girl in the labyrinth? Does he know how much I wish I had my own safe path, clasped tight in my hands?
I stay close by Arien as he falls asleep. The door has been left open to let a breeze through the room, but the night air is dense, motionless. I look out through the doorway at the unmoving branches of the olive trees. Suddenly I’m aware of how quiet the room is, how still. The monster is a darkened shape, his breath slow and heavy.
“Arien.” I put my mouth against his ear. Shake him quietly awake. “We can’t stay here. We can’t stay with him.”
He stirs with a groan. I sit up slowly, hardly daring to breathe. Understanding lights his face as he looks toward the open door. We stand up. Each shuffle of cloth and creak of floorboards is endlessly loud. I keep my eyes pinned to the monster, but he doesn’t move.
On tiptoe, we cross the room. Outside the doorway, we pause. Arien spares the monster one wary glance, then nods at me, resolute. We run, together, into the barren, moonlit forest.
We run for a long time, on and on through the tight rows of the olive groves. I don’t know where we’re going, only away. I have to put as much distance between the monster and my brother as I can. I let the woods close round me, until finally the spindle-leafed branches part and give way to the wilder forest.
Arien stumbles as he tries to keep up with my swift pace. “Leta, why didn’t you run to the road?”
“He’d see us there. We can circle back once we’re out of the trees.”
My feet catch on a fallen branch, and I stumble forward. My knees hit the ground, and I’m stunned by the pain. I dig my fingers into the detritus of leaves beneath me and let out a frustrated hiss. “Ash. This damned forest.”
Arien crouches beside me, his frightened eyes shifting from ground to trees to sky. “Are you hurt?”
I stand up, groaning at how much I ache. “I’m fine.”
We go on. I keep my gaze fixed on the path ahead, searching for a way through the trees. Every now and then I pause, straining to listen, all my muscles wound up into an ever-tightening coil with each moment that passes. The woods are full of strange noises: night birds, the creak of wood, the rustle of leaves.
And beyond that—indistinct and angry—comes a voice. The monster, calling Arien’s name.
Behind me, Arien falters, staring back toward the sound. I pull at his arm. “Don’t stop!”
We go farther and farther. The forest is endless. Our breath becomes labored, and my lungs burn. The light starts to fade from gray, to soot, to pitch-black as the trees close in. Even the faint moonlight that illuminates the pale branches has gone.
Arien trips, then catches himself against me. “You should have stolen a torch,” he whispers, irritated.
A feverish laugh snags in my throat. “I’ll remember that next time we’re running away from a monster.”
Then the monster’s voice, harsh and furious, echoes through the trees, and we fall into a desperate silence. I tug on Arien’s arm, guiding him forward between two pale trunks. We go on swiftly through the dark.
The air is hot, the summer heat trapped by the latticed branches. Sweat soaks my dress and tracks down my spine. I swipe my sleeve over my forehead and lift the heavy weight of my hair from my neck. Surrounded by the trees and the heat and the dark, I can’t see, can’t catch my breath. But we have to keep moving.
I run with my hand outstretched, grasping at the air in front of me. There’s a crunch of leaves, a wrench on my arm. Arien staggers back, his hand torn loose from mine as I fall forward.
“Arien?” I turn in a circle, searching. “Where are you?”
“I’m here!” He sounds muffled, far away. “Leta? I can’t see anything!”
Then his voice is cut off, an absence that’s filled with the night. I hold my breath, trying to listen for him through the dark. “Arien!”
My fingers strike against another trunk. But rather than cold and smooth, the bark is wet, smeared with a thick, oozing liquid. I snatch my hand back and scrub it against my skirts. The ground is damp, too. Mud catches my boots as cold moisture seeps in through my stockings and over my feet.
I’m in a clear space, ringed by trees. Skeletal roots jut from the forest floor. In the canopy above there’s a bare piece of sky—star specked, lit by the moon.
And at the center of the clearing is a single, tall tree. Its bark isn’t pale but an oily, midnight black.
The grove is blighted. The magic in the earth—the Lady’s light that flows through the world—is poisoned with darkness from the world Below, and it’s spread through the ground, the roots, the trees. It happened in the almond orchard near Greymere once, but never as bad as this. Here, even the air feels wrong.
My feet cut through the sodden earth as I pace the clearing, but whatever path led me here has now vanished. I’m caged by trees. Arien weaves back and forth on the other side, trying to find a way through. He looks at me, his face a frightened sliver between the trunks, before he’s swallowed up by the gloom.
Then a low growl cuts through the air.
“Arien?”
He doesn’t answer. Everything is still. I can’t even hear the monster.
The growl comes again.
I press back against the edge of the grove, my pulse thudding hard. Behind the poisoned tree there’s a blurred movement. A creature comes out from the darkness, hunched close to the ground.
It takes form. Long legs, a tail, pointed ears.
Sharp teeth.
A wolf.
Head lowered, it stalks forward. I’m frozen by fear, captured by the intent sharpness of its eyes. It gathers itself, teeth bared, a growl in the depths of its throat.
I shout over my shoulder. “Run, Arien! You have to run, you—”
The wolf leaps. I throw myself down and curl forward, closing my eyes as I wait for those teeth to tear through my skin.
Then a bright wave of heat flares past my face. I look up hurriedly. The monster is there, tall and dark and furious, with a pine torch clutched in one hand. Arien is behind him, wielding a broken branch.
The monster rushes between me and the wolf. They collide in a blur of cloak and claws and teeth. He feints, then the wolf is on him, snapping ferociously. There’s a sickening bite, and the monster cries out as the wolf catches his arm. He wrenches himself free with a snarl, the sound spat through his teeth. He looks just as fearsome as the wolf, just as dangerous.
He thrusts the torch forward. Sparks fill the air, and the wolf writhes. Then everything happens in a blur, so fast I can hardly parse together what I’m seeing. There’s the sound, a slice, a splatter of dark blood over the ground.
The monster shoves his hand against the earth where the soil is wet and black and blighted. The air gives a tremor, and the sense of wrongness from before builds and builds.
I can feel it in my chest. I can taste it, sour, on my tongue. Tendrils of darkness unfold from the ground and snare the wolf, wrapping its legs like vines. It whimpers, struggling to get free, teeth bared and eyes rolled back, white half-moons of fear.
With another snarl, the monster pulls his hand back from the ground. The shadows evaporate in a rush, and the wolf, freed, falls down with a yelp. It scrabbles to right itself, paws carving the mud, then turns and runs swiftly back into the forest.
The monster watches it go before collapsing onto his knees with a groan. His head hangs forward, his face hidden behind his hair. He holds his arm against his chest.
Arien throws down the branch and runs over to me. “I went to find him. He came back for you—he wasn’t going to, but we heard the wolf, and—”
I look quickly from the monster, slumped on the ground, to the forest, where a space has appeared between the trees. He won’t catch us now if we run. We can leave him here. We can go.
But Arien’s words are like a knife at my throat. He came back for you.
I take a halting step forward. “You saved me.”
The monster’s head snaps up. There’s a smear of blood near his mouth. His sleeve is torn, and on his arm is a deep wound—from teeth or claws or both—that bleeds freshly crimson. We stare at each other as the truth of it settles. This monster, who claims there’s darkness in my brother, who wanted to take Arien away and leave me behind, he came back for me.
I reach to my skirts, gather them up in my hands. The embroidered pattern I stitched at the hem is rough beneath my trembling fingers. It’s the nicest of my two dresses, the one I save for best. I wrap the linen around my hands and pull, hard.
I tear once, twice, then a piece comes loose with a loud rip. I hold the length of cloth out between us. The monster doesn’t move, but for just a breath his expression softens. It’s like seeing a mask slip then quickly be put back into place.
I crouch down beside him. “I can help you.”
He lets out a harsh laugh. “You’ve certainly helped quite well, so far.”
But he sits still while I wipe the cloth over the cut. Blood spreads through the fabric and onto my fingers. I start to shake, overcome as I remember my own blood, too bright and too fast, as Arien helped me wrap my knees. The cloth slips from my trembling fingers. I try to catch it but instead put my hand clumsily on the monster’s wrist.
He looks at me, startled.
“Sorry,” I manage. “I—I just—”
“If you’re going to be squeamish about blood, maybe don’t run into the blighted woods next time.”
“I didn’t know they were blighted!”
Impatiently, he grabs the cloth and starts to bind his arm. He moves deftly, not at all awkward, despite using only one hand. As though he’s done this before.
Then I see another cut on his palm, visible through a slash in his glove. I peer closer. It looks different from the cut on his arm. The blood is darker.
When he notes me staring, he quickly folds his fingers closed over it.
I tear another strip from my dress and hold it out to him. He snatches it from me, turning his back as he wraps the cloth around his hand.
When he starts to get up, I reach out to help him, but he ignores me. He struggles to his feet, then stands for a moment, his hands against his temples as he gathers himself. He swallows heavily and takes a deep breath. “Ash damn it. You have both been one disaster after another.”
Arien lifts the torch from the ground and holds it out. “Thank you for coming back.”
“I’ll not save your sister a second time. Don’t run from me again, either of you.” He takes the torch, relights the end with a sparklight from his pocket. Then he jerks his head toward the trees. “Come on, let’s go.”
Wordlessly, we go back through the forest. The monster ahead, Arien and me close behind. Florence meets us partway with a lantern. Her eyes widen at the sight of the monster with his bloodied face and bandages on his arm and hand.
“What happened?” She reaches out, but he pushes her away.
“Never mind that. There’s a blighted grove.” He points to indicate the direction, then takes her lantern, giving her the torch in its place. “Go back and burn the trees. You’ll need to watch the fire so it doesn’t catch the whole forest.”
Florence hesitates, her hand still stretched toward him. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
He glares at her. “Yes.”
She turns with a sigh and vanishes into the trees.
We walk the rest of the way in silence. When we reach the tree line, the monster motions for Arien to go on ahead and pulls me aside.
He puts his gloved hands around the tops of my arms and leans close. My gaze goes from his dark eyes to his bloodied mouth, and I’m filled with a strange, hot feeling that isn’t quite fear. He slides his hands down my arms and holds my wrists loosely. He brushes his thumb against where my sleeve hides the bruises.
“Are you truly sorry I took you both from that cottage?” His eyes lower, and he goes on quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The rest of it echoes, unspoken, made clear by the touch of his fingers on my wrist. I won’t hurt you, not like that.
“And what about Arien? What do you have planned for him?”
He gives me a guarded look. “That’s none of your concern.”
“I don’t care if you hurt me.” My teeth clench tight at the thought of it, but I don’t pull away. After all I’ve faced from Mother to keep Arien safe, I know I could bear it if the monster was cruel to me. I could. “Just leave him alone.”
“You’ve heard enough about Lakesedge Estate to know I can’t promise you safety.”
He lets go of me and walks back into the wayside cottage without turning to see if Arien or I will follow.
He doesn’t need to. He knows that we have nowhere else to go.