Page 24

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Rook’s voice shattered my eardrums. The courtyard teetered as I was shaken like a doll and Rook appeared. He bellowed, “Did you eat it?!” His eyes, wide and terrified, searched my face.

Fingers shaking, I withdrew the seed. Rook slapped my hand and sent the seed bouncing across the cobblestone. “My brother,” I whispered. Rook’s head darted wildly around the courtyard; he couldn’t see Lysander.

But I could.

Lysander’s head tilted. His smile stretched and his pupils thinned to reptile slits.

Scoffing, he knelt and crouched on all fours.

He backed into the darkness and disappeared.

Free from the unwelcome enchantment, a shudder racked me.

Rook yanked off his night coat and slipped it around me. He guided me back into the castle.

“Come dawn,” Rook said, “we’re getting you out of here.”

***

When morning came, I found Rook in the chair by the fire at the end of my bed. Wide awake, his brows furrowed at the book he held. I sat up, and Rook set the book aside.

I blurted, “Did you mean what you said last night?”

Rook wrapped his arms around himself. “When you’re ready, we will go.

” I jumped from bed and tugged on my clothes.

Without a word, Rook headed to the balcony.

Once dressed, I joined him outside. It was a grey, dreary morning, and the humid pressure of an oncoming storm kindled an ache in my temples.

I thought of last night, of waking to the beckoning whispers of the tree. “Why is this place so intent on me eating the fruit?”

“There’s an evil that inhabits this place,” Rook started. “It creeps, spreads like an infection. Every wretched creature is driven by some evil that wants you to be cursed…” Rook’s voice trailed away. Cursed… like me .

“To be cursed is to serve this place, to carry out its bidding. And if it can’t curse you, if it can’t make you bend to its will, it’ll kill you.”

All the close calls flashed through my memory. The Lady of the Lake, the ghouls dragging me down into the mausoleum. “But why?”

“You can’t escape and warn others if you’re dead.

” Rook sighed. What he said next, he said so softly I could barely hear him.

“You’ll never be safe here.” Rook looked out, over the far-off treetops.

His fingers tapped the railing, reminding me of a woodpecker rapping a tree.

“Before we part”—Rook paused and cleared his throat—“I must apologize for how I behaved yesterday. After I change, the experience leaves me…easily enraged for days. Normally, there are no consequences for these fits but…”

I offered a sullen nod, accepting his apology.

Rook’s dark hair, unkempt from the night before, fell in lovely tangles around his face.

I wanted to brush it aside, so nothing might conceal him from me.

I shook the thought away and gazed over the bramble of roses.

Rook couldn’t possibly have looked this way when I’d first stumbled in here.

Another trick of the castle; like Rook said, it cast some spell—bewitched me into believing him handsome, so I might remain here forever.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the tapping of Rook’s fingers.

I tried not to picture his hands at all, lest I be taken with the feeling of them trailing along my skin.

It’s no spell, silly girl! My mind scolded. It’s hormones! You need to leave this place. If you must think of him, let it be at night, when you’re alone and safely in bed…

A gentle ‘tink’ ceased my rambling thoughts. My knife sat on the railing. “It’s beautiful,” Rook remarked.

I slid the knife into the sheath on my belt. “It belonged to my father.” It seemed there was nothing to do but part ways, and I started toward the door.

“This is a terrible thing to say,” Rook began, “but I’m happy you tried to kill me. In a forest of cursed things, meeting you was a blessing.” He half-smiled, his scar pulling back into a sweet dimple. “If I should live another seventy-five years in this prison, I’ll treasure the time we shared.”

My mouth suddenly dry, I swallowed. This was a sham, a forbidden friendship.

This man killed my father and very well might kill my brother too.

The shame I felt was depthless when I realized…

I was happy to have met Rook too. The feelings were too complex to voice, and when I said nothing, Rook’s smile faded.

A clap of thunder cracked above. Rook looked to the clouds, and squinted as the first rain drops fell.

Fear leapt within me as the drops kissed my skin.

Would Rook use this as another excuse to keep me here?

Through the pelting rain, we looked at one another.

Rook didn’t suggest I stay. In his silence, I wondered if he was considering which fate was worse, for me to catch an ailment from the storm, or to remain here, with him.

My answer came quickly. Rook approached me, pausing so close I could see watery rivulets streaming down his neck, around the goosebumps that sprung up against the chill.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, and went inside.

Somberly, I entered after him. Rook waved at the vanity.

“Take whatever you wish; it’s wasted here.

” He headed for the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready. ”

And just like that, I was alone.

I didn’t want a reminder of this place, and I certainly didn’t want to take anything, lest it curse me.

I examined a bud vase on the mantle. Though, it would be a nice way to teach Lottie a lesson for borrowing my things without asking.

I checked the room, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

I slipped my cloak on and opened my satchel to make sure I’d packed everything: bright peacock feathers filled the satchel.

I shifted the feathers, and found a velvet pouch filled with petals, the ones I’d known would make a lovely dye.

I withdrew a feather, and the emerald eye glinted back at me.

I remembered how desperately I’d wanted to take as many as I could, and how Rook had seemingly read my mind and given me one. Loss pitted my chest.

Perhaps it would not be so easy to forget this place.

I met Rook in the foyer. Arms crossed, he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

At least, I think that was the case. I couldn’t really tell…

because I wouldn’t meet his. I was nearly through the grand doors when they tried to close on me.

Rook’s arms thrust out, stopping them. A vein chorded his neck, and he shouted, “Knock it off!” I doubled over and ran beneath his arm.

Slipping through, Rook turned on the ruined castle.

“On my life,” he growled, “she will leave this wretched pit of misery!”

In response to Rook’s hushed threats, the many black windows of the castle bore down upon us. I hurried down the crumbling stairs, and my foot slipped on the wet stone, and I flailed. Rook caught me.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t reply.

We walked through the overgrown hedges and the tangled roses. It seemed so long ago since we’d come in together. As we continued along the cobbled path, Rook pulled his sopping shirt over his head and tossed it away.

The veil crept closer.

Rook unbuckled his trousers. My presence didn’t hinder him as he slid out of his clothes, uncaring. He trudged along, naked in the pounding rain. Nearing the veil, Rook tossed his trousers aside. Splintering cracks rang out as his body broke and reformed.

The Hound crossed the veil.

The trees themselves cowered and retreated. Only when one whimpered did I realize they were thin wolves. Unafraid, the Hound advanced. The wolves ran—the Hound lashed out and grabbed the slowest. The Hound shook the wolf like a limp rabbit and tossed it aside.

The wolf was dead before it hit the ground.

The Hound leaned back, unleashing an ear-rupturing howl.

It sprung up and pursued the fleeing wolves.

Just like we’d discussed, I waited until the Hound was out of sight, and I approached the veil.

I couldn’t deny there was an uncomfortable reluctance to pass through.

It’s this place and its trickery! I assured myself.

I took one last look at the towering castle, at the gargoyles guarding Rook’s window. I’ll feel better…when I’m home.

I hope.

With less vigor than I’d anticipated, I stepped through the veil. A cloud of breath billowed out, and I shivered. I listened to the sounds of the Hollow.

Nothing.

I ran, grabbing my crossbow on the way. It was slippery, and I was extra careful as I heaved it up.

Be swift, Little Dove.

Ancient trees passed me on either side. Up ahead, the meadow peeked through the gloom. Only when I burst into the fresh air did I slow to catch my breath. The rain had softened to a light drizzle, and I waded through the tall grass and wildflowers.

A far-off growl quickened my pace.

I’d nearly made it to the copse of birch trees when a low howl floated across the meadow.

Back the way I’d come, a thin wolf stalked from the thick pines.

The grass parted as it crept into the meadow.

Behind it, a second wolf prowled. I did my best to reign my panic, but the wolf was closing in, almost sliding through the grass like a serpent.

I yanked the crossbow forward and loaded a bolt.

Crouching, I aimed. Grey fur exploded in front of me.

I flinched and pressed the trigger. The wolf yelped and collapsed, trampling the grass and wildflowers.

Though it’s body still twitched, the bolt protruded from the wolf’s eye socket.

It was dead. I braced the wolf’s head and ripped the bolt out.

There were two! My panicked mind raced. Where’s the other one?

! I reloaded the crossbow and peered over the meadow.

My head whipped wildly, trying to locate the threat.

Delicate flowers danced in the breeze.

I strained to hear anything—panting, footfalls, crushing underbrush—but only the pitter-patter of rain and the rushing of a far-off stream could be heard.

Movement came from my side; a force collided against me and sent me sprawling, the crossbow slipping from my grasp.

Both the wolf and I regained our footing and rounded on one another.

A gob of drool fell from the wolf’s jagged teeth.

I drew my knife as the wolf crouched, readying to spring forward and rip my throat out.

Needles and leaves exploded from the trees at the far-side of the meadow.

For one horrifying moment, I thought it was more wolves, that I might be torn apart by a frenzied pack.

My horror didn’t abate even after I recognized the dark figure of the Hound bounding across the meadow.

It attacked the wolf with such momentum as to send them both hurtling through the grass.

Pained yips rang out as the Hound pulled the wolf apart—I didn’t want to see any more.

I snatched my crossbow; squeals battered me as I fled.

The trees approached, and an intrusive thought, a memory of my father, pushed into my mind.

Father pulled me outside. At the end of the cobbled path, we watched my mother head off to work. I’d asked, “What are we doing?”

“Waving to your mother.”

“But we’ll see her tonight, won’t we?”

“We will, but what if something happens to her while she’s gone?

We wave so she knows we love her and hope to see her soon.

” When my mother reached the end of the road, she turned and waved.

I returned it and started to head inside, eager to get back to my sewing.

I held the door for my father, but he wasn’t behind me. He remained on the road.

Only when my mother was lost from my father’s sight did he join me.

Reaching the trees, I stopped to take one last look at the Hound. Watching me go, he stood out, a blight in the meadow. I smeared rain from my eyes, and I couldn’t stop myself.

I waved.