Page 20 of The Maiden and Her Monster

There, with the Rayga in front of them, was an opportunity to get everything they wanted. Malka, obtaining Imma’s freedom. Amnon, marked a hero for killing a creature not even his father could kill.

But the Rayga was no ordinary creature and had command of the forbidden Yahadi magic. Malka hoped Amnon would not prove himself a Falag pine tree now, and let his desires be the death of him.

Metal glinted as Amnon slid out the dagger and charged toward Nimrah, aiming for her neck.

With a flick of Nimrah’s wrist, roots rose from the cracked floorboard and wrapped around Amnon, squeezing until he was red in the face. The dagger clattered on the table.

Nimrah’s command of the vines mirrored the creature that had held tree branches as whips, with Amnon’s life hanging in the balance.

Malka slammed the clay mug in front of her. Lukewarm tea splattered across the table and a few sharp pieces pricked at her skin, welting bright red. She closed her hand around one of the larger shards and pressed it to Nimrah’s neck.

“Let him go!”

“Your friend drew his knife first.” Nimrah’s gaze steadied on the shard, held in a vise grip in Malka’s fist. “I know you want me dead, but I cannot let the Maharal be charged unfairly. I have already failed him once.”

Malka pressed the shard deeper, and Nimrah’s flesh split open, red soaking into the clay. “Why would you think we’d make a deal with you?”

The golem’s eyes were set on her, sharp and dark, like thorns on the most poisonous berry plant. Even the touch of her gaze could irritate skin. “Perhaps if you remove that shard from my neck, I can tell you how we both get what we want. You want your mother’s freedom, don’t you?”

Against her better judgment, Malka lowered the shard, and the roots wrapped around Amnon slithered as they receded.

Nimrah wiped the speck of red from her neck. She slipped her blood-covered finger between her lips and sucked. When Nimrah caught her staring, Malka jolted her chin to the ceiling, and the floor, her cheeks hot.

“I’ll go back to your village. Give myself up to that Ozmini priest to save your Imma…

” Her neck was already welting a fresh dot of blood.

“ If, and only if, you help me rescue the Maharal from his unfair imprisonment. To start, by using Kefesh to unroot me from the Great Oak and bind me to one of you instead.”

Malka reared back. “You think we’d use Kefesh?”

“I think you’d do anything to save your Imma.

Besides, you’d need to perform Kefesh either way—to get me to your village or Valón.

I am tied here otherwise, remember? But there is only one option in which I will go to your village willingly.

” Nimrah spread her arm wide above the ground, and roots began to crawl like spiders across the floor.

Malka shivered as they scurried across her feet.

“And trust me, you don’t want to find out just how unwilling I can be. ”

Malka gnawed on her lip, resisting the urge to kick at the roots. Nimrah’s threat had hit its target. She was right, and Malka hated her for it. Hated her for being the source of her problem, and the solution.

Amnon still wheezed beside her from Nimrah’s attack.

Malka took her necklace in her fist.

Nimrah crossed her arms, jaw tightening. “Do we have a deal or not?”

We were fools, Amnon, to think we could best any monster in this forest. This was what she had said, hopeless and disparaged.

Now, a chance. Now, a way to achieve the impossible.

It didn’t feel real. Did she have any clue what freeing the Maharal would entail, if she were even capable of what Nimrah would ask of her?

No. But Nimrah was right about Malka’s commitment to the promises she had made to her family.

“What exactly would it be like to be rooted with you?”

Amnon began to object, but Malka held up her free hand. She could not lose herself to fear now.

“I don’t know,” Nimrah responded mildly, as if she did not take Malka’s curiosity as any indication of the answer she would give.

“With Kefesh, the commands never result in clear answers. You ask the earth to bend for you and it interprets that as it wishes. I have never been rooted with someone like this. But it would bond us in some way—physically, mentally.”

“And you will sever that bond after?”

“There will be no need for it once I am dead,” Nimrah said plainly. “Will there?”

Malka studied her. She spoke so plainly of her own death, as if it were nothing but another measured task. Like Amnon spoke of descaling a fish, or Imma of stripping herbs for medicine. “How can we trust your word that you will come back with us? You are fond of omitting truths.”

“Do you have another choice?” Nimrah drawled. “Besides, I can’t exactly escape if I am rooted to one of you.”

Amnon shook his head. “Malka, this is Kefesh we’re talking about.”

“But the stakes are different now,” Nimrah said, the corner of her mouth upturned as she eyed Malka. “Aren’t they?”

She was hot under Nimrah’s knowing look, her breathing fast and heartbeat untethered. Unconsciously, her choice had been made, and her body knew it. Even if her mind refused it still.

Perhaps she did not hide her thoughts well, for Amnon stood abruptly. “I need to speak with Malka. Alone. ”

Nimrah huffed, running a hand through her hair. For a moment, Malka thought she would deny him, punish him for demanding anything of her. But she relented, throwing her hands up.

“Fine,” she said. “Just know, if you forgo my offer, you’re on your own. Unless, of course, your friend here decides to try that again.” She pointed to Abba’s dagger on the floor. “Then the woods will be the least of your problems.”

With a sweep of her cloak, she stormed out of the hut again, wood rattling as the door slammed behind her.

Malka and Amnon did not speak for many minutes after she left. Malka shook despite her attempt to keep her resolve. Amnon dropped to his knees in front of her, resting his head on her lap. Malka threaded a hand through his hair. It was gritty with dried blood and dirt.

“We could find a way to kill her,” he said, voice muffled by her skirts. “Catch her off guard or something, I don’t know. We don’t have to agree to this.”

Malka shook her head. “Didn’t you just see what she was capable of? The way she almost killed you…”

“Of course, I did, Malka.” She felt the pulse of his uneven breaths. “You truly think this is the best option?”

Malka sighed. “I think this is our only option. I didn’t even think I would survive one night in Mavetéh. It is a miracle we are both still alive.” Her voice dropped low, words catching in her throat. “Imma does not have much time.”

“Making a deal with the Rayga, Malka… I don’t know.”

“I understand. And using Kefesh? Just the idea of it makes my stomach turn. But I’m worried we’re out of chances. Maybe this is the only way we could actually save Imma. The only way we can have a chance at the life we once knew.”

Amnon stared up at her, his long eyelashes accentuated by his low angle. “If this is it, then I will be the one to use Kefesh. I’ll be rooted to her. I don’t mind taking that burden from you.”

She untensed her shoulders, ignoring the twinge in her chest.

He cradled Malka’s hand in his. “But if we agree to this… will you consider it? After everything?”

“Consider what?” she asked, but she already knew.

Longing softened his eyes, his mouth parting where his lips bowed. “Marrying me.”

Malka tried to draw back her hand, but Amnon held her tight, like a lifeline.

He sweated, even against the chill of her hand.

His sharp nose was shadowed by the firelight, his jaw and cheekbones highlighted and warmed.

His curly hair tickled his forehead and complemented his eyes.

Even now, bruised and afraid, he was beautiful.

But Malka didn’t know if she could love him the way he desired to be loved.

If she could be happy being married to someone yet.

But it was her duty as eldest daughter, and if she did have to marry, she supposed she would want it to be him.

The man who followed her into Mavetéh with his chin held high.

“I’ll consider it.”