Page 38

Sometimes, in our willingness to rely on others, we find strength.

Crickets serenaded us as the bright moon sailed through the clouds above.

Lottie and I sat around an old hunting pit we’d dug out, our legs dangled like children at the riverside.

A few steps away, Lysander slumped against a tree.

Though he might feel better, he wore the exhaustion of battling a terrible illness.

Clearing his throat, he broke the strained silence.

“Do you remember when that griffin showed up in the field up the road?”

Lottie groaned and buried her head in her hands.

I chuckled. “What did Lottie say when she saw it?”

Mimicking Lottie, Lysander said, “Daddy, how come it has five legs? Don’t griffins have four legs?” Lysander laughed. “And then she counted”—Lysander laughed so hard he wheezed—“one-two-three-four- five !”

I snorted and looked down, suppressing my giggles.

My father’s face was quite pink as he explained to Lottie, in front of everyone, that it was a boy griffin.

Lottie’s voice muffled through her hands. “It’s no wonder I only ever courted women.” Both Lysander and I burst out laughing. Before long, Lottie joined in too. Lysander wiped a tear away as our laughter faded to chuckles.

The silence returned.

Lottie whispered, “I’m sorry.” I knew Lottie was sorry. I knew by the way she wouldn’t look at me. It gave me some comfort, because I also knew Lottie would do anything she could to repair the damage.

Carrying voices slithered out to meet us.

Lottie and I rose and helped Lysander stand. Together, we disappeared into the trees.

“Where are we going?” Marek’s voice asked.

“It’s just up here,” Mother’s voice answered.

“The Hollow is a dangerous place, even more so at night,” Marek said. “We should continue no farther. Whatever you wish to show me can wait until dawn.” I peered around the tree. Mother wore a lovely spring dress, one that inspired pride and homesickness.

Father made that dress.

The pale-yellow fabric swished as my mother hiked up her hem, trouncing through the brush.

With her hair sweeping her collarbones, it was as if the wrinkles vanished.

She wore youth like perfume, and she shone in the pale moonlight.

Her smile was pretend, but I wondered, is that what she looked like before life changed her?

Is that the girl my father loved?

Marek eyed the hem of my mother’s dress, lingering on her bare ankles, but he made no move to follow. Mother giggled and gave Marek’s hand a playful tug. “Don’t be a coward.”

Marek’s jaw dropped.

“Come,” my mother beckoned him. Marek shook his head but pursued my mother, who approached the edge of the pit. “Look. Down there.”

Marek came to the pit, doubling over to peer in. “I don’t see anything.” Swooping forward, Mother shoved Marek. His arms cartwheeled as he careened over the edge. “Aghhh—”

Whump!

Lottie and I ran from the trees. Lysander lumbered after us.

Black hair unbound and catching the breeze, my mother peered into the hole. I was reminded of paintings I’d seen in books, of vengeful sirens, readying to devour their helpless victims.

I did not envy Marek.

We reached our mother, and Lysander placed an encouraging hand on her back. Marek rubbed his leg and groaned. “I think—I think my leg is broken!” Dirt rained on Marek, and he covered his face. “Wh—What are you doing?!”

Shovel in hand, my mother said, “Giving you the same treatment I gave my husband, as you envied him so.” She stooped and tossed another scoop onto Marek’s face.

“Evette, please!”

“Don’t call me that!” My mother shouted, shovelling in more dirt. “Confess, or I bury you alive!”

“My only crime is loving you! I never did anything—Ugh!” Marek coughed as a smattering of soil choked him.

Mother abandoned the shovel. Using her arms, she pushed heaps of dirt into the pit. Hysteria pitched her voice as she screamed, “Help me!” shocking Lottie and me into action. We too, pushed in piles of dirt. Beside me, Lysander used his foot to drag loose soil over the edge.

“Did you have my husband killed?” my mother cried.

“I—Evette let’s talk about this!”

Voice rising an octave, my mother shrieked, “Did you have my husband killed?!”

“Yes!”

My mother stilled.

“Yes, I did!” Marek pushed dirt aside, his lower half already buried. “But I did it because I love you!” Mother fell back, kneeling at the edge.

Far off in the Hollow, a wolf howled.

Marek was so small down there. So tiny compared to the terrifying beast we’d created, the only thing strong enough to kill my father. What a terrible waste, my father’s entire life taken because of this man’s poisonous jealousy.

Another wolf call.

Closer.

I rubbed my mother’s back. “We should consider leaving.” Mother rose. Without a word, she walked away.

Lottie drew her bow and pointed it at Marek. “Shall I finish him?”

“Leave him,” Mother called. “Let him endure the same fate as your father.”

“No, please!” Marek shouted. “You mustn’t leave me here!”

Lottie pouted and put her bow away. We took one last look at the man who killed our father. “Please!” Marek begged. “Help me before the wolves come!” As a group, we turned from Marek and pursued our mother. Another low howl pierced the night as we caught up with her.

“Let his evil not consume another moment of my story,” Mother whispered, shoving aside branches.

Marek’s shouting continued. Right about now, the first wolf was probably slinking from the trees. More would follow, snaking their way to the pit. I imagined the moonlight, glinting off so many teeth, smiling down on Marek.

Both hunter and hunted knew a feast approached.

How terrified Marek must be, knowing the food was his flesh.

As if in answer, Marek’s shrieks reached a high, terrified pitch. Did he have a weapon? My mother must have been thinking the same thing, for she withdrew a long dagger—bearing the captain’s markers—from the deep pocket of her dress. Even Lottie grimaced, her good eye meeting mine.

‘Yikes.’

Was it difficult for my mother to sneak the captain’s blade away?

Absently, Mother tossed the weapon aside.

Marek’s hysterical screams accompanied our procession.

The farther we walked, the more the cries faded—until they choked and died, as if Marek’s vocal chords were no longer tucked safely in his throat.

A frenzy of yips and snarls started, as the wolves fought over who would consume which piece of meat.

Chin held high, my mother continued walking.

Would Rook feel Marek die? Like a leash pulling taut and snapping, the bond that held them forever broken. I hope he felt it, wherever he was.

Far behind us, baying howls called to the moon.

The wolves were fed.

And it was done.

My mother, whom I’d only ever seen cry once, collapsed. The day my father died, my mother hadn’t said goodbye. Every morning, she woke, loving him still. Sometimes, when I left my bed at night, wandering for a cup of water, I’d hear her whispering to him…

'It was a tough day, beloved.'

'You should see our children grow.'

'Lottie was in trouble again, fighting with that girl.'

'I miss you.'

Marek had no capacity to understand my mother’s devotion.

And yet, that wasn’t his greatest error.

No, Marek’s true failing was his arrogant assumption that he might single out my father.

It’s true, Mother and Father were strong together.

But Marek underestimated how strong my mother was… on her own .

That mistake cost him his pathetic life.

None of us rushed our mother while she sobbed. As I waited, watching her weep, I considered two unequivocal truths.

Firstly, over the years, Mother had developed an obsession with justice.

We believed it to be the result of escaping strict parents and exercising her agency to choose right from wrong.

It was a wonderful thing…until our father was killed.

Every day, Mother woke, carrying the grief of not being able to pass justice on his killer.

When someone is slaughtered by a wild animal, there isn’t justice.

Even if you kill the animal, it doesn’t feel just. The animal can’t comprehend what it did; it’s only an animal.

But Marek knew exactly what he did. And this spoke to my mother; this was her language of justice.

A second truth: Mother was not soft—was not one for touching or affection. She tended to lean away and growl, ‘Not here!’ when my father kissed her in public. No, my mother’s love was in her actions, providing safety and comfortable spaces.

Or, in this case, feeding Marek to the wolves. Though gruesome, this was her way of showing our father she loved him, even now. While she cried herself empty for her lost love, part of me believed that a few of those tears were crafted with pride.

Pride in herself .

Gradually, Mother’s crying subsided. “Come. Help me up,” she murmured. “Let us never look back on him again.” As we walked out of the Hollow, I let everything sink in.

The man responsible for our father’s death was dead.

This was a momentous occasion in all our lives. Justice had been served for my father, Lysander was alive, this was all I ever wanted. I should sit with it, appreciate all we’ve accomplished, but…a new desire burned within me.

And I would chase it with everything I had.

***

"I won't let Rook die."

Back at the cottage, my mother and I sat at the table drinking.

Lysander lay on the sofa, and Lottie stood by the fire.

Maybe it was the drink, or the fire flickering against the old beams overhead, but the cottage seemed warm again.

It reminded me of holidays, autumn harvests and the midwinter celebrations.

All of us together, drinking around the fire.

How it used to be. How it should be. This is what I wanted for the rest of my life. There was just one thing missing.

“I have to free him,” I said. “I have to.”

“Our family is safe.” Lottie pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need to quit while we’re still breathing.”

“Oh, yes,” I started. “I’ll be very safe up in the castle, all alone. Tell me: How will you rearrange our bedroom once I’ve gone?” No one responds well when reminded of mistakes, but the way Lottie scowled at me, you’d think she was considering substituting the next bit of kindling with my bones.

“At least I didn’t bring a monster home to meet our mother!

” she shouted and balled her fists. “Tell me: Are your prospects so pitiful? Hm? I mean, come on, Lil! Ruven was right there! Sure, he’s dumber than a stump and looks like a top-heavy carrot, but at least he doesn’t eat the neighbours!

” Lottie looked to Lysander and Mother for support.

None came. Her eyes widened, baffled they didn’t agree with her.

“I mean, there’s a one-eyed dog up the road that would make a better partner.

Monsieur Moustache. I’ll introduce you!”

I crossed my arms, doing my best not to rise to Lottie’s attacks. “Rook saved me in the Hollow.” I pointed at Lysander. “He healed our brother.”

“Lysander wouldn’t have needed fixing if your stupid-ass friend hadn’t tried to eat him in the first place!” Lottie roared back.

“He’s not stupid!” I snapped, rising to Lottie’s attack. “And he had no control over hurting Lysander! It was Marek—” My mother touched my hand. We all knew it wasn’t Rook’s fault, including Lottie. We’d reached the inevitable point where Lottie was arguing just to argue.

“And what do you propose we do?” Lottie shouted. “You haven’t been in the castle; I have. It’s an impossible task!”

Lysander chimed up. “I’m in.”

“Ugh!” Lottie kicked the sofa.

“He saved my children,” Mother said between sips.

“What happens when we get caught? Hm?” Lottie paced around the den. “They’ll execute us, one-by-one after him.”

“If you’re too frightened,” Mother said, “you might remain here.” Lottie crossed her arms. She adored violence—why the sudden caution? Her eyes darted to Lysander, and she chewed her lip.

It seemed there was one thing Lottie cared for more than bloodlust.

“What do you propose we do?” she continued.

“I have a plan,” I started. “Though, it isn’t without risk.” I gulped down another drink. “Well, a great deal of risk, actually.”

My mother, already quite drunk, smiled over her glass. “Sounds like something Jean would approve of.”

I chuckled. Actually, it did.

“Our family has given enough!” Mother threw her glass down, startling us all. “We will free Lili’s boy, and then we will flee this despicable place!”

Lili’s boy.

The words twisted my gut. I bit my lip, not trusting myself to speak. My mother hiccupped and said, “We will free him.” Around the room, all eyes set on me.

We will free him.

Together.

***

“I can’t believe it.” A gnarled old physician sat beside Lysander.

He lay in bed, arms tucked proudly behind his head.

She inspected his wounds, which had shrunk by half since Rook’s injection.

The physician’s eyes were suspicious slits.

“I’ve never seen anyone fight the Hound’s poison on their own. ” Lysander and I exchanged a glance.

“Ah!” Lysander grinned and tapped his nose.

“You’ve never examined me .” He raised an arm and flexed.

The muscle was not nearly as prominent as it used to be, but I admired him for trying.

“The Hound’s lucky he’s locked in a cell where I can’t get to him.

” Lysander mimed punching and beamed. The physician laughed.

She did not ask any more questions.

“Not that you need my help, but…” The physician trailed her fingers along the wounds, slowing over Lysander’s stomach.

The dark lines that ran under Lysander’s skin pulled back and shrunk.

She patted Lysander’s chest, more than once, and said, “You’re a lucky boy.

You’ll be just fine.” The physician stood and picked up a leather bag twice her size.

“Only fine?” Lysander buttoned his shirt.

I trailed the physician as she waddled down the hall, her gait bouncier than when she’d come in. Three guards sat at the table, waiting. All of them rose and stared at Lysander behind me.

“Here. Allow me.” Lysander grabbed the bag I’d leaned against the table leg. He winked at the guards on his way up, one of which, a skinny lad with black hair, blushed. Outside, we found eight more guards on horseback. Had they come to protect the physician?

Or prevent my escape?

The driver offered to help the physician into the wagon.

She tsk ’d their outstretched hand and gave them her bag.

Lysander threw my bag into the wagon and backed away.

“Ahem,” the physician coughed. Lysander offered a hand; she took it, and he helped her into the wagon.

She sat, her smile broad as I climbed in after her.

Lysander clapped my knee. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Stay safe.

The wagon started, and when we were almost out of sight, Lysander waved. If everything went as planned, I would see him soon.