Page 1 of Raven Rebel (Sablewood #1)

Meara

A spider crept up the stone wall, its spindly legs skittering across the crumbling mortar. Meara watched it with hands folded in her lap as Brenna dragged the bone comb through her hair and unraveled her nighttime snarls.

“Can I braid your hair?” Brenna leaned over her shoulder to rifle through the trinket tray atop their dressing table. Her fawn-colored curls spilled over her shoulders, brushing against Meara’s flat, inky strands.

They were opposites in every way. While Meara was lean and pale, Brenna had warm olive skin and a laugh like sunlight streaming through the forest canopy.

Their mother insisted they were twins, and the sisters accepted the narrative, no matter how improbable.

As far as Meara was concerned, Brenna was her other half, regardless of their blood.

“Whatever you like, as long as it is away from my face. A pretty hairstyle isn’t worth falling from a tree. ”

With a flourish, Brenna drew out a woad-dyed ribbon the color of the blackberry brambles clawing their way up the cottage’s exterior walls.

Her tongue pressed against her full top lip as her fingers threaded into Meara’s hair to tease apart sections to braid.

Meara’s eyes drifted closed at the pleasant tug.

Brenna adored playing with her hair and she loved indulging her.

“I think that will do.” Stepping back, she propped her hands on her hips.

“Thank you.” Meara ran calloused fingers over the tidy plaits encircling her head. “Lovely.”

The sisters traded places, the floorboards creaking under their feet. Meara deftly gathered up her sister’s wild hair and twisted it into the proper bun expected of a nursemaid.

They fell into a familiar routine with movements as precise and practiced as a dance.

Meara fastened the buttons of Brenna’s petticoats over her linen chemise and hand-me-down stays.

Brenna slipped into a chaste cotton gown while Meara tugged on her worn woolen dress that always smelled faintly of loam and pine resin even after laundering.

Brenna knotted the ties of Meara’s apron, the deep pockets discolored with the blood of herbs and wild berries, before securing her own ruffled apron with a looping bow. Meara was ready with pins to secure Brenna’s dainty white cap.

“How do I look?” Framing her face with her hands, Brenna fluttered her lashes.

“Pretty as a daffodil.”

A beaming Brenna tucked a pair of thick goatskin gloves into her sister’s apron. “Make sure to use these! We don’t need you coming home with stained fingers. ”

Meara scowled. “It was one time.”

“One unforgettable time,” Brenna said ruefully. “Your fingers were stained black as midnight from those walnuts you love so much and it took Mum three days to realize you were hiding your hands.”

“The neighbors called me Walnut Witch for months,” Meara grumbled as she reached for her boots.

“You had plenty of creative nicknames for them as well, as I recall.” Brenna clicked her tongue as she rolled her stockings up her calves.

Damp morning light cast a pallid glow over their garden as the sisters stepped out of their cottage. The autumn weather brought dreary clouds and colder mornings, but it would be weeks until frost threatened the rows of vegetables radiating out from their home.

“Looking forward to your day?” Meara asked as Brenna bounced between rows of carrot and beetroot.

“It is the end of the week so I will receive my first salary.” Her hands clasped over her skirts as she turned, the sunlight illuminating her irises into glowing amber.

Seeing Meara’s hesitation, Brenna continued, “The children are sweet, and the pay is excellent. I’m lucky to have received the position. ”

Even the additional income and her sister’s reassurances couldn’t stop the prickling dread Meara felt when she thought of Brenna’s employer, the esteemed Mr. Lyndhurst. She had no evidence, merely her intuition, but the nobleman made her nervous.

Forcing an appeasing smile, Meara followed her across the yard. The straw mulch rustled under the swaying leeks, causing the sisters to pause.

Brenna crouched and held the alliums aside to reveal a teeny hedgehog blinking up at them with shiny ink drop eyes. “ Good morning, my little urchin,” she cooed. “Did you have a nice night eating all the beetles?” The beastie wiggled its pointed nose at them before burrowing deeper into the straw.

Brushing off her hands, Brenna rose with a furrow in her brow. “Do you think you could bring back a treat for him?”

Meara scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure what hedgies like to eat aside from slugs and caterpillars.”

“I won’t ask you to gather those,” Brenna replied with a laugh that lightened the dreary morning.

“Is there anything you would like?” The gate’s hinges groaned as Meara pushed it open. Brenna scurried through before it swung shut.

“I would love wild strawberries.”

“I’ll do my best, but they're out of season. Blueberries are more likely.”

“Those would be nice too.”

Meara shoved her hands into her pockets, fiddling with the dried remnants of figwort leaves. “How about some hazelnuts?”

“Yes, please.”

They passed the neighbor’s elderly milk cows and a potato field freshly harvested. Meara’s stomach knotted as they approached the road that stretched through the center of their borough.

The sisters paused at the edge of the lane. The morning’s chill subdued the stink of manure and piss, but it would be unbearable by the afternoon.

“Have a nice day,” Brenna said brightly, a wisp of her hair catching the light as she turned.

Meara wavered, her soft gray eyes studying her sister. “Please be careful. ”

“I should be saying that to you.” Her plump lips pressed together in chagrin. “You’re the one out in the wilderness.” With an elegant arch to her eyebrow, Brenna took her sister’s hand and traced the ragged scar that ran down her index finger and across her wrist.

“Please, I have a bad feeling,” Meara said in a quiet plea.

Brenna sighed dramatically as she pressed her hand to her generous chest. “I am always cautious. All will be well.” She winked before spinning on her heel and setting off.

Meara watched her sister’s careful steps along the edge of the muddy carriage tracks. Her breathing was tight as anxiety clawed at her ribs. She trusted Brenna, but many would prey on her sister’s kind heart if given the chance.

Shoving her worries back into the tidy bundle she kept buried in her chest, Meara turned the other way toward her mother’s shop.

Her path passed the bakery and the scent of roasting flour filled the air.

Two girls gossiped through the open door as one washed the display window and the other arranged tidy rows of barley loaves and wheaten bread.

A theatrical cough had Meara rolling her eyes and slowing. “Good morning, Luella.” When the woman’s sister leaned out the door and waved, Meara added, “And Orla.”

“Meara, what brings you to town?” Luella’s smile was like holly berries, a beautiful and toxic crimson.

“I’m going to our apothecary, like I do most days.” She kept her voice level and light.

Luella raised a hand to her mouth in faux surprise. “I didn’t realize you were still working there. I thought you had become a wild thing and ran off into the woods to be with those nasty faeries. Your temperament suits them, after all. ”

Orla’s giggles wafted out the door, souring Meara’s mood further.

“What an appealing thought,” she said dryly, snapping her fingers dramatically.

“Oh, please mention to your mother, we restocked the balm she likes for her swollen joints. You should visit the shop too.” She drew her pointed finger in a circle toward Luella’s sneering face.

“We might have something to help the unfortunate situation of your face.”

Luella let out a squawk like an angry goose.

Gathering up her skirts, she marched to Meara and pushed into her personal space.

Her voice was low and nasally. “If you ever hope to catch a husband for you or your sister, you should start respecting your betters. Men don’t like girls with smart mouths. ”

“No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to marry someone like Sandon or his greasy friends.

” Meara’s lip curled, revealing canine teeth slightly too long, much like most of her body - a little too angular and thin.

She couldn’t help her disdainful reaction, but the thought of damaging her sister’s prospects was ice sliding through her veins.

She may have no interest in a husband, but Brenna was a romantic.

Smoothing her features, she stepped away from Luella. “This was such a nice visit, ladies. I hope you have a day worthy of your character.” Stubbornness kept her head high as she stalked toward the apothecary. She wouldn’t reveal how hard her pulse beat or how sick the exchange made her.

The familiar arched door with flaking green paint felt like a sanctuary. She stepped in, breathing in the poignant smell of medicinal herbs like chamomile and lavender, layered over softer scents like beeswax and myrtle oil .

Her mother balanced on a step stool in the workroom, reaching for the jars holding their infrequently used ingredients on the highest shelves. Meara rushed forward and stepped on the stool beside her, snatching the jar of dried nettles her mother couldn’t quite reach and presenting it to her.

“Thank you, love,” her mother said. Laugh lines marred her tanned face, framed with wavy hair the color of cinnamon.

Brenna inherited her cheery nature from their mother, while Meara gained her affinity for plants.

If only she was decent at speaking with patients and devising their treatments, she could take over the apothecary like her mother had from their grandfather.

Unfortunately, Meara was useless at the duties involving people.

She was far more comfortable roaming the forest, foraging for the coveted botanicals that gave their shop’s tinctures and balms their potency.

Her mother set the jar aside and crossed to the counter where a pencil rested atop a scrap of paper. She added one more item to the list before handing it to Meara. “I am hoping you can find some elderflowers before the frost kills them off.”

“I’ll do my best,” Meara promised. She stooped slightly to allow her mother to press a kiss to her forehead. “Have a good morning, Mum.”

With the list tucked safely in her apron pocket, Meara slipped out the back door, heading toward the shadowy edges of Sablewood that felt like home.