Page 23

I told you: never bargain.

Creaaaak.

Blinking awake, I shaded my face from the light pouring through the tower window. Rook stood in the open door; the keys swung in his hand. I sat up and stretched my neck.

Motioning to the keys, I said, “What if you couldn’t find those?”

“Be thankful the Hound couldn’t find them last night.

” Rook mumbled. Shame clung to him; he refused to look at me and took extra care to avoid the thick graze along my cheek.

I exited the cell, and he followed like a beaten animal.

Descending the steps, it was only when I reached the bottom that I noticed Rook limping.

“What happened?”

Who did you kill?

Understanding the real intention of my question, Rook replied, “They were prepared. Only the Hound was injured.” That didn’t ease my concern as much as I’d thought it would.

“Show me your leg,” I ordered, entering the sage room.

“Trousers off.” The phrase might have excited Rook once, but today it only reinforced his shame.

He unbuckled and slipped from his trousers.

“Sit.” Rook sat by the fire, and I propped his leg on an ottoman.

The wound in his calf was deep, and the flesh jagged.

When I realized I could see bone peeking out, I bit back bile. “What did this?”

“A sort of ridged pike.” Rook made a stabbing motion. I gave a dizzy nod and set to work cleaning the gash.

“So, you can’t always control when you change?”

Lowering his gaze, Rook fidgeted with a shirt button. “I cannot.” Pulling out my sewing kit, I bunched Rook’s skin and started stitching. Rook’s nails dug into the chair and his head fell back.

Hoping to distract him, I said, “It seemed like you knew it was coming.”

“I can smell it.” Rook waved vaguely at his nose.

“It starts soft and sweet, like lilac or apple blossom. Then it thickens…and it hurts.” He rubbed his stomach.

“There’s an unending pain—a hunger. It drives me mad; I’m not myself.

” Rook massaged his temples. “The scent pulls the Hound toward…” He trailed away and sighed. “Well, you know how it ends.”

My father. Lysander. Countless other innocents.

When I finished sewing, the wound didn’t look bad at all. There would be scarring, but Rook would be perfectly fine. With some difficulty, I removed the stitches from Rook’s side, which no longer served their purpose. I sat back on my heels and rubbed my neck, readying for the conversation to come.

“Rook,” I began.

Rook went rigid, already alarmed.

“It’s time for me to go.”

Rook blinked several times, like he hadn’t understood what I’d said.

“You can change again,” I said. “I have to go home.”

Rook reacted as if I’d thrown a bucket of water on him. A flurry of emotions warped his expressions. Furrowing of denial, snarling of anger. Finally managing to find words, Rook spit, “But I must know!”

“Know what?!”

“What happens at the end of the story!” Rook leapt up, only wincing slightly when he put weight on his leg. “How do they defeat the queen?”

“You’ve learned your letters and the basics of reading,” I said. “You can figure the rest out on your own!” Rook steadied himself on the fireplace, his eyes darted while his mind worked.

He’s looking for a reason to keep you here.

“You swore!” Rook straightened and jabbed a finger in my direction. “You promised you would teach me to read, and only then would I help you escape!”

“My brother is dying!” I cried. “Every day he creeps closer to death! I must go!”

“You gave me your word!” Rook shouted, his face twisting into a hideous scowl.

“You will stay until I can read, not just the letters and basics, but until I can read without you beside me!” Rook stooped to yank on his trousers.

“If you fail to fulfill your end of the bargain, so shall I.” Though Rook’s voice had calmed, his fingers shook so violently, it took him three tries to buckle his trousers.

He shrugged and said, “You can live with the knowledge that your treachery killed your brother.” Rook tore the door open, and it was in desperation that I said the words that would wound him the most.

“What if you hurt me?”

Rook paused, his knuckles bone-white on the doorframe.

“Hm?” I approached him, fists clenched. “Last night, what if you’d torn my head off in your rage? What if you returned and found my mutilated body in that cell?”

Rook glanced back… He looked at my scraped cheek.

I’d spoken his fear, thrown it out and forced him to confront it.

Though Rook wore an angry scowl, his eyes—tinged pink and dewy with grief—betrayed him.

For a moment, that same grief rocked me.

I pitied Rook, who mourned the life he might have lived.

Part of me wanted to reach out, to console Rook and ease that suffering… No.

I would not let my feelings stop me from doing what I must.

“This is your chance to do something right,” I said.

“Rook, please. Let me go to my brother.” In earnest, I continued, “Lysander. His name is Lysander, and he’s the youngest in my family, my baby brother.

I have to take care of him.” Rook simply stared, unspeaking.

Laboured breathing heaved his chest, and when I could take his silence no longer, I whispered, “Roo—”

“Agh!” Rook shouted in my face. Last nights events were fresh in my mind, and I curled inward, protecting myself from him.

That tiny reaction—cowering—crumbled Rook’s features, and he covered his face.

He tore from the room, and I swore the entire castle shook with the slammed door.

A small carving fell from the mantle and shattered.

I rushed the door, trying to tear it open. It wouldn’t budge.

“You talk of forgiveness yet do nothing to atone for your misdeeds!” I cried. “Are you a monster, or are you not?”

Rook didn’t open the door.

It was my turn to welcome shame.

Stupid girl. He never intended to let you leave. You’ll never see Lysander, or Lottie, or your mother again.

I’d wasted all this time, when really, I should have been trying to escape.

What do I do now?

Out on the balcony, the roses I’d climbed down were gone. At the base of the castle, only roots and tiny, hacked away stumps remained.

Was it a trick of the castle?

A memory of Rook swinging the axe, felling ancient trees like they were saplings, danced through my mind.

Back inside, I sat on the bed. Morning faded into afternoon, and my stomach growled.

Rook never returned. My thoughts drifted through the castle, down the steps, and into the library.

I could almost see Rook, sat at the fire, staring into the flickering flames, unblinking against the heat, a hand resting against his temple.

Brooding in his lamentable misery. Did he long for a goblet of wine?

Did monsters long for wine? Or was it bloodlust that beset Rook in his torment?

I dragged the chair and jammed it under the doorknob. Like that would do anything to protect me if Rook chose to come—to unleash his rage on me.

I lay down. In the sage room, I was more comfortable than the tower cell, but caged, nonetheless.

***

“Liliwen.”

A whisper.

“Nng.” I grunted against the blankets.

“Lili.”

Blinking awake, I squinted. The fire had long burned down to ashes. On the bedside table, a three-pronged candelabra flickered to life.

The bedroom door was open.

Again, a whisper beckoned me. “Lysander?” I muttered.

“Lili,” Lysander’s voice called.

Yawning, I rubbed a knuckle at my eye but couldn’t seem to shake the sleepy haze that clung to me. Slipping from bed, I took the candelabra and shuffled to the door. I struggled to think—to remember where I was. I peered around the door and castle walls met me. Oh…right.

“Come,” Lysander’s voice called. “Downstairs.” Had my family come to rescue me?

Warmth, like a comforting arm, curled around me and encouraged me forward.

I stumbled, feeling quite drunk and unsteady.

I hadn’t had anything to drink last night, had I?

The same presence that wrapped around my shoulders guided me all the way to the foyer, pausing at the door below the stairs.

It was wide open.

I held the candelabra higher, lighting the way. “Lysss?” My voice was slow, slurred.

“I’m here,” Lysander’s voice floated out. I scuffled down the hall and into the dark courtyard. Soft moonlight illuminated a figure standing at the base of the tree.

“How’d you get here?” I called. “Was it the wolves?”

Lysander turned. Open wounds ran along his chest; they oozed blood, like thick sap. Lysander reached for me. “I’m dying, Lili.”

My breath caught and I stumbled forward. “I’ll get my needles, Lys, I can fix—”

Lysander grabbed me and a chill sprung up my arms.

“Stitches can’t save me, Lili!” He plucked a fruit from a branch.

“But this—this can.” The fruit shone in his palm.

“Eat this. Escape and come back to me.” He picked a second fruit.

“Bring me one. It’ll make me strong; I won’t die.

” Offering me the fruit, Lysander whispered, “Eat it and save us both.” Reluctantly, I accepted the fruit.

I wanted to throw it away, but my thoughts were slowed, confused. Why didn’t I want it near me?

“I’m not supposed to eat this,” I slurred. “It’s poison.”

“It’s not poison,” Lysander hissed. “He’s lying. Eat, and you won’t need him!”

I tore the fruit in two. The cloying scent assaulted me, and the seeds reflected the moon like small gems. How tempting it was to pluck one from the cream-coloured membrane that held it captive.

“Just one seed,” Lysander murmured. I wiggled a seed free. Lysander’s eyes darted between the fruit and my lips, his head bobbing. He brought his hand beneath mine and pushed it toward my mouth. “Yes! Save me, Lili!”

I popped the seed in my mouth—