by Amber Argyle
She glared at Denan to make up for her helplessness. “You leave her alone!”
“We never take one so young,” he said. “I told her to stay.”
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying to you,” he said.
She backed up. Her heart hammered in her chest. Sweat rolled down her temples. She wished she had a weapon, something to hurt him so he couldn’t threaten her or her sister ever again. “Touch her, and I’ll gut you.”
He held steady. “Take her home to your family. Say your goodbyes. Tonight, you will come with me.”
“Never!”
He watched her with a burning intensity. “How did you stop me last night?”
Magic. The word whispered through her. She squeezed her hand, waiting for the power to buzz up her arm. Nothing happened. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so eager to push the sliver out. “It’s gone. Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”
His gaze turned predatory. “So, you do realize.”
What does that mean? Larkin wondered.
He pulled his hood up, masking his face with shadow, and backed into the forest. Almost immediately, the dappled material made him hard to see.
“Don’t threaten me,” Larkin said, voice hoarse.
“I’m trying to help you. I cannot say the same for the company you keep.”
Then he was gone.
Larkin’s legs gave out from under her, and she collapsed in a trembling heap, holding her sister tight. Sela curled up, her face hidden in the crook of Larkin’s neck. “The trees sing, Larkin.”
If Larkin hadn’t been so wrapped up in herself, she would have known her sister was struggling with the call of the forest too. She smoothed Sela’s wild hair. “I know. They sing to me too. But we can resist, you and me. We’re stronger than the other girls.”
Sela lifted her wide green eyes, tears of longing lining the bottom lids. “I want to go.”
Larkin felt a trembling inside her, as if something had been wound to the point of breaking. “If you go into the forest, Sela, you’ll never see me or Mama or Nesha again. You’ll be lost to the beast.”
Sela started crying. Larkin was sorry for scaring her, but her little sister had to understand the risk, had to understand what she would lose.
“I won’t go,” she sobbed. “I stay with Mama.”
Footsteps pounded behind them. Bane had his bow in hand, arrow nocked, ax at his belt. His attention was fixed on the trees. “Was he here?”
Larkin nodded.
His lips thinned. “Get behind me. Head for the bridge.”
If Denan had wanted to take her—take them both—he could have already. The danger was past. But Larkin didn’t argue. She held her sister tight and hurried toward the bridge, calling for her mother and Nesha as she went.
Looking like a wild thing, Mama ran out of the willows, Nesha a dozen steps behind. “Sela, you know you’re supposed to stay by me!” She hauled Sela out of Larkin’s arms and squeezed her tight. Then she noticed Bane’s bow and ax and stuttered to a halt. “What—”
“It was the piper, Mama,” Larkin said.
Mama’s face went white, and she swayed on her feet. Nesha caught up and reached out to steady her. Tight-lipped, the five of them hurried across the bridge, Bane throwing concerned glances behind them every few steps. When they finally stepped inside the manor house, Larkin glanced around for any sign of the druids, relieved to find nothing.
“They’re staying with Rimoth,” Bane said, as if guessing her thoughts. He shut the door behind them and threw the bolt into place. “You’re moving into town for the time being.”
Mama slumped down on a chair. Sela sat sideways around her large belly. “And who would take us in?”
“You could stay here,” he said. “There are three spare rooms upstairs.”
Mama’s brows rose. “I’ve two daughters of marriageable age. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Bane’s gaze flicked to Nesha before he crouched down to Sela’s level. “Want to see if Red had her puppies yet?”
Sela stared at him woefully, her usual exuberance tamped down to embers.
“Nesha, take her out back,” Mama said. Nesha’s head was bowed, and she didn’t seem to hear them. “Nesha,” Mama said again. “Take Sela to the barn.”
Nesha dragged herself up from somewhere far away. She took Sela by the hand and limped toward the kitchen door. Her leg must have really pained her, for her face was screwed up as if she were about to cry.
When the back door closed, Bane faced Mama. “It would be proper if I were married to Larkin.”
Mama sagged in relief. “You’ve agreed to it, then.”
His studied Larkin. “If she consents.”
Larkin was stunned by an overwhelming rush of joy that terrified her. She loved Bane—she’d always loved him—but joy never lasted, and the only marriage she’d known was not one she wanted.
Bane came to her and enveloped her hands in his. “The forest would no longer be a threat. You would have a lovely home and all the food you could ever want. No more working yourself to the bone. No more cold winters shivering by a too-small fire. Your father could never hurt you again.”
“What about my family?” Larkin asked.
“I’ll make sure your father never lays another finger on them.”
Larkin looked to her mother, who gave a slight nod, and she heard Mama’s advice from the night before in her head, None of us are ever free, Larkin, but we can choose the chains that bind us.
Larkin took a deep breath, and on the exhalation, she said, “I will bind myself to you.”
Bane’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Well, don’t act quite so pleased about it. I am the most eligible bachelor in town, after all.”
She knew he was trying to tease a smile out of her, so she smiled. For him, she always smiled.
He reached down, held her tight, and whispered in her ear, “You know, if I asked Alorica to marry me, she’d have called for the druid already.”
Larkin snorted.
“That’s better,” he gloated. “Now, wait here. I’ll be right back.” He opened the door to the right of the hearth and stepped inside his father’s room. Larkin heard a low murmur of voices, one of them weak and faint. Daydon must have grown sicker in the night.
Larkin turned to her mother. “How did you get Daydon to agree?”
Mama leaned back in her chair, exhaustion plain on her features. She’d aged with this pregnancy, looking far older than her thirty-eight years. “I called in a favor—something that happened years ago. It wasn’t as hard as you might think. Daydon is a good man, deep beneath the politician.”
“What favor?”
“I promised never to tell.” Mama was better than anyone at keeping secrets. She pushed heavily to her feet. “I’ll be outside with the girls.”
Larkin tried to guess what favor Daydon owed that would be so powerful, when Bane slipped out of his father’s room, bringing with him the scent of cloves and cinnamon. He held something in his hand, his expression playful. “Guess.”
Trying not to smile, she rolled her eyes. “A sword?”
“You’re not even trying.”
“A sparrow’s egg?”
“Why would I have a sparrow’s egg in my father’s room?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He chuckled, obviously remembering the time he’d revealed the spotted brown egg by smashing it in her face. “That was years ago.” He prodded her with his arm. “Come on, guess.”
She groaned. “More rolls? I’m still hungry.”
He smiled and opened his hand, revealing a ring of gold vines entwined around a large ruby. Bane pushed it onto her ring finger. It fit as if made for her, though she knew it wasn’t.
She watched as it caught the light like a drop of blood. When she was a child, she had watched it flash on Bane’s mother’s hand in the light of a bonfire. And now his mother was dead. This was a dead woman’s ring, a dead woman’s life she w
as taking over. Larkin’s finger itched, and she fought the urge to rip the ring off.
Bane stared at her, his smile slowly slipping. “I’ve finally rendered her speechless.”
“Bane, I can’t wear this. It’s too fine. What if I break it? What if I lose it?” It was more than the ring she was worried about breaking. She’d never live up to being a lord’s wife.
He pulled her into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Larkin, everything is going to be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you—I swear it.”
Even now, Denan lurked out there in the trees, waiting for her. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the forest’s pull. For a moment, she almost considered telling Bane how strong that pull was. But soon, it wouldn’t matter. She’d be married, and the forest never took married girls.
Bane pulled back to look at her. “You don’t seem to realize how fun this is going to be. Let me show you.”
Before she could protest, his lips found hers, and something stretched awake inside her. She found herself rising to meet him. She relaxed and let the fear seep out of her. She explored the planes of his face—the high cheekbones and the stubble on his jaw, the high prominent brow bones and straight black hair. Bane stroked her neck and arms, his fingers leaving trails of warmth.
“Well, I suppose you should find the druid to marry you,” Mama said.
Larkin startled and tried to jump back, but Bane held her fast. “Won’t you be staying, Pennice?”
Her mother stood in the entrance to the kitchen, Sela’s little hand in hers. She shook her head. “Nesha took off. I need to find her.”
Larkin desperately wished her mother would stay with them. None of the rituals leading up to the wedding were pleasant. Her mother turned to go.
“Mama, what’s wrong with Nesha?” Larkin asked. “She’s not acting like herself.”
Her mother paused. “It’s been a long day for all of us, Larkin.” Her gaze caught on the ring. “It would be better to leave that safely here until the wedding day.” Mama and Sela walked out the front door.
Larkin’s jaw tightened. If Papa saw the ring, he would try to sell it. Without a word, she slipped it off and pressed it into Bane’s hand. “Keep it safe for me.”
He looked at the ring. “Can’t you wear it, just for today?”
Bane didn’t know how bad her father was, didn’t know how often he stole Mama’s earnings. He didn’t know how broken Larkin was, how bad her family life was. She wanted him to keep that image of her—the one who made him laugh, the one he protected.
“It’s only for a few days,” she reassured him.
Larkin kissed him to make him forget his reluctance. The kitchen door opening made them break apart. Venna studied them with wide eyes.
“Venna, have you met my future wife?” Bane wrapped his arm around Larkin’s shoulders.
Venna smiled. “Oh, how wonderful. I’ll make a cake to celebrate!” She hurried back into the kitchen. Larkin would see a lot more of Venna after the wedding, which meant more rolls and jam. Her mouth watered at the thought.
Bane kissed Larkin’s temple and then stepped back into his father’s room. When he came out again, the ring was nowhere to be seen. “Come on. I spotted Rimoth while I was looking for Sela. Let’s get him to settle this.”
They found the druid at the Curse Tree, tying curses the townspeople had paid him to put up. Larkin’s gaze skittered from the forest to Rimoth, not sure which she should be warier of.
“Druid Rimoth,” Bane said as they approached. “We have come to request you marry us. Tonight.”
Rimoth looked down his nose at them. “Marry you? I will do no such thing!”
“It is your duty to the people of this town,” Bane growled.
“My duty is to know the forest’s will,” Rimoth shouted, spit flying. “The same forest that she”—he pointed an accusing finger at Larkin—“blasphemed when she escaped!”
Bane advanced, his hands balled into fists. “Are you threatening her?”
Rimoth looked Bane up and down in disgust. “You privileged boy, thinking you can dictate to a druid.”
“I can—”
“What is the meaning of this?” Garrot emerged from the forest. Trailing behind him, Hunter looked at Larkin with pity. She gaped at them. They’d been inside the forest and come out again as if it were nothing, as if it were something they did every day.
Rimoth looked like he was choking. “This foolish boy wishes to marry the girl. But as I have said before, the child is a blasphemer.”
Larkin dared him to deny her.
“You wish to marry him?” Garrot asked.
Larkin nodded.
Garrot and Hunter exchanged a look.
“Then prove you are worthy to remain in Hamel,” Garrot said. “Face the crucible.”
“That hasn’t been done in decades!” Bane cried.
All the warmth drained out of Larkin, leaving her sick and cold. “Are you mad? No girl ever comes back from that.”
Rimoth’s dead eyes latched onto her. A smile crept up the corners of his mouth. “Ah, yes. Then we shall know once and for all if the forest claims her as its own.”
“You can’t do this!” Bane protested.
Hunter frowned. “It’s already done.”
Garrot smacked his gloves on his hand and tipped back the brim of his hat. “If you want to marry the girl, she faces the crucible.”
Bane shook his head. “There’s a simple solution that will save her from the forest forever—let her marry me tonight. You can’t deny us that.”
“I can to save ourselves the forest’s retribution.” Garrot motioned to Hunter, who came toward Larkin.
Larkin’s hands rose, wrapping protectively over her stomach as she backed away. “No. No, no, no, no.”
“It’ll go easier if you don’t fight,” Hunter said gently.
Bane stepped in front of her. “You won’t touch her.”
“This backward town has no sense of the druids’ power,” Garrot said. “You would be wise not to resist us, boy.”
Bane lunged for Hunter, arm cocked back. Hunter ducked the blow and punched Bane in the stomach. When Bane doubled over, Garrot’s fist came down on his temple. Bane crumbled in a motionless heap.
“Bane!” Larkin knelt beside him and turned him over. His eyes were closed. She held her fingers under his nose, relieved at the reassuring puff. She looked up to find Garrot standing over her, his damp hair sticking to his mouth. “Why are you doing this?” she cried.
His gaze bored into hers. “The forest makes beasts of us all,” he whispered. “Hunter, take her home and make sure she stays there. We’ll come for her tonight.”
“And do not think to run,” Rimoth added gleefully. “There’s nowhere you can go we cannot find you.”
Hunter bent down, taking hold of her arm. When she tried to jerk free, he hauled her up. “This is a kindness,” Hunter said. “A chance to spend some time with your family before the forest takes you. Most girls don’t get that.”
She kicked at his crotch. He twisted to deflect the blow, and his hand latched around her throat, squeezing. Darkness circled from the outside of her vision, and her knees went weak.
Hunter forced her hands behind her back and tied them. “Ready to come quietly?”
Larkin coughed and gasped, eyes watering. As Hunter led her away, she heard Garrot’s voice behind her. “Rimoth, take the boy back to the house and see he’s tied up. I will not have him interfering.”
They came for Larkin at twilight, when the line between day and night blurred into something foreign and fleeting. The hut door swung open. A dozen men stood cloaked against the rain and their dark purpose. In the light of their torches, she could make out Garrot, Rimoth, Hunter, Horace, Horgen, and Kenjin, Alorica’s father.
Larkin didn’t understand Horgen and his smug expression. “What have I ever done to you?” she murmured to all of them, but especially him.
“What’s the meanin
g of this?” Papa said, his words slurred. He’d slept through Larkin trying to escape through their window and Hunter forcing her back inside.
Mama shoved Sela into Nesha’s arms, who went as far from the door as she could get and crouched down to make them a smaller target. Mama stood before Larkin, one hand holding Larkin’s wrist so tight the bones threatened to break. “You’re not taking my daughter.”
Garrot ducked as he stepped into their hut. He took in the bedding on the floor around the fire, their one cook pot, the tools they used to till the land propped up beside the door. “I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.”
Larkin looked at the men’s faces—all of whom she knew. She wasn’t surprised Alorica’s father was among them, his fine clothing flashing with color in the torchlight. Word must have reached him that Bane asked to marry her.
Papa pointed sloppily in Kenjin’s direction. “My daughter’s no more a traitor than yours was, Kenjin.”
“Atara made her sacrifice,” Kenjin replied. “Now it’s your daughter’s turn.”
“You can’t do this! It’s wrong,” Mama cried.
Hunter stepped around Garrot. “Step aside, woman. We don’t want to risk harming the unborn.”
“Harben, do something,” Mama pleaded.
Papa pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “You can’t have the one who plows my fields. Take the cripple.”
“The Forbidden Forest does not take the maimed,” Rimoth sneered as he too stepped inside.
Larkin met her sister’s eyes. This was how it had always been, Larkin and Nesha protecting their family from their father and starvation. All those years of counting on each other, of being each other’s strength—it stretched between them like a rope that could never be broken. And then Nesha’s gaze shuttered, and she turned away.
How could she turn away?
“Take her,” Garrot said.
Larkin whipped back around. Men surged into the hut, filling it so Larkin had nowhere to go. Sela sobbed. Mama shouted. Papa threw wide punches. Rimoth and Garrot wrenched Larkin away, gripping her arms while Hunter firmly tied them. They hauled her into the pounding rain without her cloak or shoes.