by Amber Argyle
Larkin saw the punch coming. She didn’t try to avoid it. She tensed as his fist connected with her stomach, doubling over as all the air rushed from her lungs. Her legs lost their strength, and she dropped to her knees. She gripped her middle, one hand braced against the mud oozing between her fingers. The pain hit her—a sharp curving blade that dug from her navel upward.
She tried to breathe, but her lungs had seized. A wave of nausea swamped her, and it was all she could to do ride it out. Finally, she choked down half a breath. She subtly shifted her head to look behind them, grateful to see Nesha slipping inside the hut to check on Sela.
“Worthless ingrates, the lot of you.” Her father kicked mud into Larkin’s face. She blinked away grit, her vision blurred and her eyes scratched. Her father stomped off, as he always did after he hit one of them. He’d spend the next few days drowning himself in beer or ale.
Mama knelt before Larkin and wiped the mud from her face. “Oh, Larkin, this is not the life I want for you. For any of us.”
Larkin pushed herself upright, the ache sharpening so she doubled over again. “Are you all right?”
Mama nodded.
“And the baby?”
“We’re fine.” Her mother sat back and stared after her retreating husband, but her expression wasn’t angry or hurt or lost. She looked resigned.
“You weren’t there when I woke up.” Larkin tried to stymie the hurt.
Her mother looked toward Hamel. “I went to try to save you.”
Moving carefully, Larkin shifted to sit on her haunches and winced as pain flared in her middle again. “Save me?”
Mama finally met her gaze. “From the forest and the crucible.”
“You convinced Lord Daydon to sacrifice the goat?”
“And to help me find you a husband.”
Larkin glanced toward the darkness that had swallowed up her father, twisting fear rising inside her. “Mama, I can’t.”
Mama leaned forward and rested her calloused palm against Larkin’s cheek. “You don’t have to have my marriage. I will find you a good husband.”
Larkin looked into the depths of her mother’s soft brown eyes—she may have gotten her father’s copper hair, but her eyes were all her mother’s. “All I’ve ever wanted was to be free.”
“None of us are ever free, Larkin, but we can choose the chains that bind us.”
Larkin’s protest died before reaching her lips. Freedom was an illusion of the naive. Larkin was many things, but not that. “Who would even have me after what Maisy has been saying?”
Mama looked away. “If everything works out, we’ll know in the morning.”
“Who is he?”
Mama’s expression clouded. “If he doesn’t work out, I’ll find someone else.”
The forest, the beast, Denan, the druids, and now marriage. Larkin let out a shaky breath to keep in the tears she refused to shed. “Mama, I’m scared.”
“Fear is the lot of women.” Her mother pushed to her feet. “Can you stand?”
Exhausted and chilled to the bone, Larkin let Mama help her up. She hunched over, one arm wrapped protectively over her stomach, as the two of them made their way slowly toward the house, fetching her clogs along the way.
Mama huffed. “There will be no more plowing until the rain lets up—the seeds will rot in the ground. Tomorrow, we’ll gather greens and catch some fish for supper.”
Larkin sagged in relief. She didn’t think she could stand another day hacking at the mud. “Father found all our money?” They’d buried it in the orchard this time.
“He always does.”
Before Larkin went into the house, she glanced toward the manor house. The candle in Bane’s window was lit. He would meet her in their usual place at first light.
Before dawn the next morning, Larkin slipped outside, thankful for the clear sky. She slipped across the bridge. The swollen river licked at the boards beneath her feet. Farther to the west, the embankment had been built up. Alorica’s father, Kenjin, had the money to pay for the extra labor. Larkin hurried east, skirting the clearing where the women did their washing and past the thick willows that lined the river.
Directly across from Bane’s manor, Larkin parted the willows, her feet sliding between tightly woven branches as she made her way inside. She stopped twice, once to untangle her hair and once more for her skirt, which tore, blast it all.
Finally, the willows thinned, and she came out on the other side. Here, the swollen river split into a stream that cut around a little island filled with more willows. It was secluded, blocked from all sides by the tangle of branches. Only Bane could see it, and then only because of his two-story house built on a hill. It was their special spot—the place where Bane had spent her twelfth summer teaching her to swim.
He hadn’t arrived yet, so Larkin knelt on the rocky bank, which was much higher than usual, and scooped cold water to scrub her cheeks. She checked the sliver in her palm. It was swollen and red—infected. Before, she’d felt a power pulse from it, but now there was only throbbing pain. Perhaps this sliver was the reason she could hear the forest’s music—perhaps having a piece of the forest inside her tied her to the trees.
Using the opposite thumbnail, she pushed at the sliver’s base and slid it toward the entry. The pain sharpened until the sliver shot out of her in a burst of pus and fluids. Relieved and oddly satisfied, Larkin washed the wound in the river, the cold alleviating the throbbing heat.
As it soaked, she stilled and listened for the forest’s song. Music and longing whispered for her to visit the forest. It was supposed to go away after the sliver was gone. Angry, she wrapped the wound to keep it clean.
The sun peeked over the horizon, lighting the trace of smoky clouds on fire. Larkin hung her cloak on a branch, pulled the back of her skirt up between her legs, and tucked it into her belt. Naked up to her knees, she stepped in the shallows. Bending over, she let her hands trail in the water. By the time her feet started to cramp from the cold, the first slick scaled fish nibbled her fingers.
Quick as a sinking stone, she scooped it up and threw it on the bank, where it writhed, its firm lips gasping for water. Her family would have fresh meat for the first time in days. Bending back down, she waited again.
By the time one fish had grown to a small pile, Larkin’s legs were bright red and numb to her thighs. She staggered out of the water, surprised to find Bane watching her from the willows. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to her bare legs, lingering on her curves.
She sucked in a breath. Bane had never looked at her like that, and she had most definitely never noticed the way his fine shirt hung from the muscles of his chest or the way his lips pursed in thought.
“Did you hear anything after I left?” she asked breathlessly.
His expression closed off. “No, but I think they believed you—about the man you saw in the forest.”
Self-conscious, she collapsed on the huge slab of rock that dipped into the river. Hunched over, she rubbed the feeling back into her feet. “Only because I had proof.”
Bane squatted beside her and held out his cupped hands. “Guess.” When they were younger, he was always playing a game where he made her guess what he was holding.
“Please let it be something to eat.”
He opened his hands to reveal one of Venna’s soft rolls lathered with butter and jam. An involuntary moan left Larkin’s lips. “Tell me you brought more.”
“We can stop by the house for some on our way back.”
While Larkin savored every single bite, Bane rolled up his shirtsleeves and started gutting the fish—he knew how much she hated it.
He finished the last fish, chucked the guts into the river, and leaned forward to scour his hands with gravel. “The Black Druids are going to make a foray inside the forest.”
Larkin washed the stickiness from her hands. “The druids are the ones always telling us to stay out of the forest.”
He stripped a branch from th
e willow and strung the fish through it. “Rimoth nearly had an apoplectic fit, but Garrot and Hunter outrank him—by a lot.”
Larkin glanced upriver. She couldn’t see the forest, but in the morning stillness, she could feel it—a steady hum beneath her skin. “What does your father say?”
“Of course he’s against it. You know what happened when he tried to go after Caelia, but . . .” He trailed off.
“Well?”
Finished with the fish, he set them on the grassy bank and came back to sit beside her. “Larkin, I think the druids already knew there are men in the forest. I think they’ve known for a long time.”
Her mouth came open. “What?”
“My father was so adamant they leave the forest alone that he threatened to force them from the town. Garrot waited until my father was done threatening before he said, ‘What if we can get your daughter back?’”
Larkin’s eyes fluttered shut. Daydon would let the whole town burn for Caelia. Though Bane had only been thirteen when his sister was taken, he hated himself for not going after her. He turned overly bright eyes to her. “What if she’s still alive, Lark? What if the man you saw took her like he tried to take you?”
Larkin opened her mouth, closed it again, then she quit trying to find the perfect words and instead laid her head on the point of his shoulder, like she used to when they were younger. They sat in silence for a long time—long enough that the sky completely cleared and warm sunshine brushed the right side of Larkin’s face. It had been months since she’d truly felt warm, but Bane always made her feel safe.
“Larkin, there’s something else.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I— You see . . .” Bane was rarely flustered, and never around her. “Do you have freckles everywhere?” he blurted.
She cocked her head. “What kind of question is that?”
He looked away. “I just . . . I never thought about it before.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not everywhere.”
His brow was drawn in thought.
“What?” she prodded.
He looked at her, really looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Your hair changes color when the sunlight hits it—it gleams like burnished copper.”
Her chest felt lighter. “I thought it was ‘tabby-cat orange.’”
He tugged on a lock of her hair. “It’s been years since I teased you about that.” More like weeks.
She dared look into Bane’s eyes—dark and full of depth. The forest take her, she wanted to look at him like this forever. “Circles within circles,” she whispered.
His brow creased. “What?”
She reached out, smoothing his brow with her thumb, wishing she could rub away his sorrows and worries as easily. “Your eyes. Dark brown on the outside, yellow-brown on the inside.”
He didn’t look away. “You noticed?”
“Yes,” she said breathily.
“How long have you noticed?”
“How long have you noticed my hair?”
Her breath caught as his hand slid across her cheek, his gaze trained on her lips. He was going to kiss her. The realization cut through her like lightning. Her heart beat faster. She’d been aching for this kiss for months. She leaned toward him, silently willing him not to look away, thrilled when he didn’t. His lips pressed against hers, gently, and then he drew back.
She gave a low growl in frustration. All she got was a peck? She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled his mouth down to hers, and kissed him with all the pent-up need she’d been storing for months. Still he held back. Her frustration rising, she deepened the kiss, and her tongue brushed against his. Her arms went around him, coaxing him closer. The heat and solidness of him made her head swim. He finally responded, pulling her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist.
“Sela?” came a faint call from somewhere across the river—Mama’s voice. Larkin gasped and pushed back, her lips swollen and her chin raw. Bane looked at her with surprise.
Again, her traitorous gaze slid toward the unseen forest. She pinched her eyes shut and tried to calm her breathing. She rolled off him and tugged on her clogs. “I need to get home.”
Bane swallowed. “Larkin, that was . . .” She quirked an eyebrow in warning—if he started teasing her now, she’d throttle him. He cleared his throat. “That was pretty amazing for your first kiss.”
She picked up the line of fish, taking care to whack him in the back of the head with a tail in a way she could claim was an accident, and headed out of the willows. “It wasn’t my first.” She’d had a lot of kisses—but none like that one.
Bane howled like she’d actually hurt him and hurried to catch up with her. “It was. I know pretty much everything about you.” She threatened him with another fish. He held up his hands in mock surrender, but there was a darkness in his eyes. “Who? Does he have prettier eyes than me?”
She pivoted and walked away from him. “I’ll never tell.” She and Horgen had always met in secret—before he became an idiot. “And yes.” But even blue-and-gold eyes weren’t nearly as appealing when the owner of them told his friends she’d rolled around in the hay with him. She’d thought she loved Horgen once, but really, she just loved being touched in a way that didn’t hurt. But she never slept with him. She’d attended enough births to know that was not something she wanted to deal with anytime soon.
“I’m scandalized!” Bane caught up to her and playfully poked her bruised stomach.
She gasped in pain, doubling over.
A myriad of emotions played across Bane’s face—surprise, confusion, and finally, understanding. “He hit you.” His jaw tightened, and he started past her. “I’ll have him in the stocks.”
No, Bane didn’t know everything about her. He didn’t know how often her father hit her or how often she went hungry because he drank away every penny her mother earned or this overpowering, wicked longing she had for the forest.
Larkin caught up and snatched his hand. “The stocks only makes it worse.”
Bane spun to face her. “Worse? I thought it stopped years ago.”
She folded her arms, refusing to answer.
“Larkin, so help me—”
“It never stopped.”
“Does he beat your mother? What about Nesha or Sela?”
Larkin shuffled her feet. “Not if I can help it.”
“How bad is your stomach?”
She’d never been able to stand having Bane angry with her. “I’ve had worse.”
Bane closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, whatever indecision had been lingering around him was gone, replaced by surety. “You’re to be married.”
The thought of marriage made her tense, dreading a heavy weight on her back. Her mother said she’d talked to Daydon about marrying her off. Bane must have overheard. Is that why he’d kissed her—because after this she’d belong to someone else? “To whom?”
He grinned. “Me, of course.”
Her mouth came open. “You?”
“My pretty eyes are starting to feel insulted.”
“What about Alorica?” The girl had been set on Bane since they were ten years old—around the same time she decided to hate Larkin.
Bane reached out and tapped her nose. “Now, don’t get jealous.” She gave him a flat look, and he laughed, holding out his hands in disbelief. “Alorica wants my money and my title, not me.”
“But your father would approve of Alorica.” Not Larkin—the poor girl with a papa who had a reputation for hitting his women.
“He’s the one who suggested it, last night after you left.”
Larkin was truly stunned. That explained the way Bane had been watching her, the strange questions he’d asked. “Is that what you want, Bane?”
He turned serious. “I’ll always take care of you, Larkin.”
“That’s not the same as wanting to marry me.”
In answer, his hands cradled her face. Their mouths met, his lips working gently over hers. He
r arms came around his strong back. She could get used to this, touching and being touched by him.
A strangled sound broke them apart. Nesha stood on the path a half dozen paces down. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Silent, gasping sobs shook her shoulders.
“Nesha?” Larkin pushed away from Bane. “What’s wrong?”
“Sela’s missing,” Nesha shouted.
“Sela’s missing?” Larkin echoed.
Arms wrapped tight around herself, Nesha backed away. “It’s your fault. If you’d watched her closer the other day, she wouldn’t have tried anything today.” Her sister dashed tears off her cheek, pivoted on her good heel, and hustled back the way she’d come.
Bane scrambled after her. “Nesha, wait, please.”
She jerked away from of his touch. “Go look for my sister.” When he hesitated, she shoved him. “Go!”
He hesitated a moment more, then ran ahead, quickly reaching the bridge.
Larkin easily overtook Nesha. “Where did you last see her?”
Nesha wiped her face. “By the river, where we do the washing.”
Larkin’s eyes shifted again to the dark line of green. If the forest was calling for her, why not her little sister?
Larkin pounded over the bridge to her family’s land. She heard Mama, somewhere down by the river, frantically calling Sela’s name. Larkin’s stride faltered. What if her sister had fallen in the engorged river and been swept downstream? She pushed the thought aside. She knew, deep in her gut, her sister had gone to the forest.
Larkin stuck to the troughs of the fields, her hair flying behind her. She crested the rise. Her sister stood before the same tree where she and Larkin had gone in before. Sela leaned forward, shifting her weight to take that last step.
Just out of reach and partially hidden in the shadows, Denan lounged against a tree.
“Sela, no!” Larkin cried. Her sister whipped around. The trees shifted behind her as if to snatch her. Larkin reached her sister a dozen steps later, grabbing her up in her shaking arms, eyes pinned on Denan. She focused like she had before and tried to call up the magic around them. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing.