Abruptly, I straighten, blinking to clear my head, and jump to my feet.
Alaric frowns, looking up at me as he clears his throat. The moment—and whatever it could have held for us—is lost.
“It’s getting late. I think I’d like to rest now,” I say, breathless and off-balance as I try to make sense of my own heart.
“Yes, of course.” He rises and escorts me back to my room.
As we walk, the silence between us is awkward, and my heart is heavy with how it will all end.
Outside my door, Alaric bids me good night, and I slip into my bedroom, alone and bereft, longing for something I know I’ll never have.
As I undress, the tears come, running in silent tracks down my flushed cheeks. Desperately, I wish I could go back to yesterday. Before I knew Alaric’s story. Before I understood he’s just as much a victim of the curse as we all are. Before I stopped seeing him as a monster.
Sobbing into my pillow, I pray to the goddess that I’ll find a way to save my people without taking the life that threatens theirs.
Chapter 7
My dreams are fitful, starting innocently and then morphing into terrible nightmares full of gnashing teeth snapping at the people I love. I wake to a vision that grips me so hard, I am paralyzed to stop it. In it, the snow falls thicker than I’ve ever seen before. The villagers of Willowdale are buried beneath it, their houses completely barricaded by the drifts. Fires go out. People freeze.
I come out of it weeping for the dead and unable to shake the feeling that this vision is a premonition rather than a simple nightmare.
Instead of dressing, I hurry to the cabinet where I’ve stowed my herbs and pull them out, choosing a specific blend that will allow me to see what’s to come more clearly. These visions are often vague and challenging to interpret, but I have to try.
After grinding the herbs, I mix it into a cup of tea already hot and waiting at my bedside and then lean back on the bed, ready for the effects. The drink hits me hard and fast, pulling me under just as my bedroom door opens and Alaric walks in.
“Adara?” he calls, but I’m already too far inside myself to answer.
This time, I come out of it gasping, with Alaric shaking my shoulders. Worry lines his features as he calls my name repeatedly.
“Adara, can you hear me?”
“I’m here,” I say, winded and trying to get my bearings after such a disturbing scene.
“What happened? Are you sick? What can I do?”
His worry borders on desperation, but I shake my head, reassuring him. “I’m fine.”
I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him about what I saw and what I am. But when I meet his eyes and see the concern reflected in their black depths, I decide to go with the truth.
“I had a vision,” I tell him. “I wasn’t sure if it was a nightmare at first, so I made a potion that would help me understand.”
“And what did you see?”
“There’s a storm coming. A bad one. Worse than this kingdom has ever known. It will wipe out Willowdale.” I grip his arms, reliving the scene I just witnessed in the vision. “Everyone will die. We have to do something.”
Alaric sighs, releasing my arms and sitting on the edge of my bed so that we are eye to eye. His expression is unreadable now, and I wait to see if he believes my claims.
“I know you care about your people,” he begins, and while I’m relieved he’s not bringing up how I’ve managed to conjure a vision, I can’t help but point out his word choice.
“Our people,” I say stubbornly, and after a moment, he nods.
“Our people, yes. And if there was something I could do, I would do it, but if I go down there, it would still end in death. Please understand that by staying here, I am protecting them from myself.”
He’s right, of course. And even if he were to let me go, I am still not well enough to travel that distance and warn them. And if I could? Where would they go? The entire kingdom will be affected, and there's nowhere close enough they could possibly travel to.
But the vision weighs heavily, and I can’t bring myself to let it go so easily. There must be some other way.
I mull it over during my bath, but each idea I come up with is more useless than the next. The bordering kingdoms couldn't help even if they wanted to. Against the goddess of nature, we are all helpless.
I push these thoughts to the side temporarily, in hopes that not thinking of it will lead to more ideas than obsessing over it. A little trick Grandmother taught me.
So, I dress, and Alaric is waiting for me when I emerge. I smile, glad we aren't still cross with each other, that our temporary truce has been restored while we both ignore the inevitable destiny of this relationship.
I sit in my usual spot before the fire, but he stands, and he isn't holding a book.
My smile falters.
“If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to show you something,” he says. When I hesitate, he adds, “It’s not a graveyard this time, I promise.”
I can’t help but chuckle darkly at that as I stand to take his arm.
“You do know how to charm a girl.”
He smirks, then leads me through a section of the castle I recognize from our earlier walks but stops at a door I’ve never been through before. He takes out another key and turns the lock, cracking the door open just a bit. Given his last 'surprise', I'm prepared for almost anything, except this.
Warm air leaks out, with a scent I've never experienced.
I hesitate, looking up at him uncertainly.
“This was meant to be your Yule gift, but you went to bed before I could show you,” he says with a grin. "Go on. It's not dangerous."
I push the door wide and step into the room then stop, my jaw dropping at the scene before me.
The walls and ceiling are made of glass that reflects the sunlight, warming the room to a temperature that is already quite sweltering. Beyond where I stand, rows upon rows of soil beds fill the large rectangular space that spans at least the length of my village. Growing out of the beds are all manner of herbs, vegetables—and even fruit!
I inhale the scent of dirt and onion and lavender and more fresh foods than I can name.
Alaric grabs my hand, tugging me forward.
“Come. See.”
I let him lead me down the first row, awed by the variety of foods. Radishes, carrots, and peppers are followed by dill, basil, and mint. After that, I spot potatoes and cucumbers.
“There’s so much here,” I say, turning a corner to wander down the next row. “And it’s warm. Hot, actually.”
I laugh, overcome with the feel of such warmth on my skin. A heat I never thought I’d feel in a kingdom of nothing but winter.
“It’s a greenhouse,” he explains. “I use the sun’s warmth and magnify it with the glass coverings. This way, I can grow food year-round without worrying about frozen soil.”
“It’s a miracle,” I tell him. And then something dawns on me, something that has never made sense until now. "It was you all along, wasn't it?" I ask.
"What was me?" He looks confused.
"Every season, when a trader came through town, they always carried fresh produce. Too fresh. It never made sense. How could they travel that far and keep the food from spoiling? They of course had jarred fruit spreads and vegetables and the like. But fresh? That came from you, didn't it?"
He looks away in embarrassment. "I always gave what I could. It's not enough, I know that, but…"
I reach for his hands and hold them in mine, tears burning my eyes. "That fresh food saved us many times. It was more than a kind gesture. It got us through some very hard times and allowed us to celebrate Yule and the Festival of Lights with treats we never could have made otherwise."
I wait until his gaze latches onto mine to continue. "Alaric, you are not a monster. You have a heart of kindness."
He is very still for a moment, then takes a deep breath and turns away from me, dropping my hands to gesture to a
n herb garden labeled with a few less common herbs I recognize from my Grimoire. Osha, dragon’s breath, catnip. It's clear he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, so I don't push.
“Why are you showing me these?” I ask, heart racing now.
“I thought you could use them. For the herbal remedies you make for yourself. From the recipes in your book.”
His voice is quiet, and one look at his face and I realize he knows what I am.
“Alaric,” I begin.
“It’s all right,” he assures me.
“I should have told you. Especially after you told me it was a witch who cursed you.”
“I’m not angry with you.”
And true to his words, his expression is open and honest and trusting. The guilt pierces me then, and I know I cannot keep living this lie.
“You say that now but . . . I have to tell you something. I didn’t come here to be your sacrifice.”
“You came here to kill me,” he says, shocking me again.
“You knew that too?”
“You left your pack open the day you first woke here,” he admits. “Your book—”
“You read my Grimoire?”
“I tried, though I didn’t understand much of it,” he admits, smiling ruefully, and I shake my head. “But your plans for me, that part was clear.”
Our smiles slip away, and I face him, my emotions churning.
“I can’t do it,” I tell him, the words no more than a whisper, but they are a storm raging in my soul, their truth too deep to deny.
His eyes are so dark now. Black with hunger, and even now I can see him fighting it. For me.
“Can’t you feed from me without killing me?”
“No. Once I begin feeding, I cannot stop until my thirst has quenched. I've tried,” he says, and hope is crushed by the reality of the choice we both must make.
My eyes well over with tears.
“All my life, I was told stories of your evil deeds. You were painted as a beast. A demon sent to destroy the innocent." I pause, studying his face, his beautiful, intelligent, haunting face. "And then my parents died because of your madness, and it was so easy to hate you. It was easy to accept my mission here. But now . . ." I shrug helplessly. "Nothing is easy. And you were right, no one is defined by a single action. You wanted my forgiveness for all the hurt and pain you’ve caused, and you have it. I forgive you, Alaric. I forgive you for everything."
He sucks in a breath, but doesn’t speak, just stares at me disbelieving.
"But you should know," I say through thick emotion, "that I've given you so much more than just my forgiveness." I lose myself in his dark eyes as I take a deep breath and steady myself for what I'm about to say. "I love you, Alaric. I’m in love with you. And I don't want to face this life without you ever again. So please, help me find a way to break this curse without killing you, because that would kill me.”
Alaric reaches for me, pulling me close, and I know that when he tries to kiss me again, I’ll let him. If he tries to drink from me, I’ll let him do that too. Even if it means my death. Even if it means failing my mission, I cannot bring myself to kill the man I have given my heart to.
“I love you too, Adara. More than you can know. You’ve saved me. In so many ways. And I can’t repay that, not even if I live forever.” Pain contorts his features. “But I cannot change what I am. I don’t know any other way.”
Desperate to ease his pain, and mine too, I stretch onto my toes, intent on comforting him with a kiss. But he pulls back, his eyes darker than ever before. When he opens his mouth, his canines are elongated, sharp and pointed as his gaze switches from my mouth to my throat.
I still, watching and waiting to see if he’ll give in to his beast and feed on me here and now.
Finally, he blinks, and his hands fall away from my shoulders. He shakes himself as if coming to his senses and a second later, he vanishes, his exit so quick, I only see the swaying of the leaves and vines in his wake.
Chapter 8
Alaric doesn’t return, and I know deep in my soul that our time together is nearing its end. The next time he returns to me will be our last moments together. Twice, I pick up the vial spelled with the poison that will kill him, but each time, I put it down again, unable to bring myself to hurt him. If he kills me, my blood will sustain him enough to keep him from hurting others. At least for another year. And even though the next sacrifice’s blood is on my hands, I don’t know how to put aside my feelings for a man who is nothing like the monster I expected when I came.
Alaric may have been entitled and arrogant once, but now, he’s kind and compassionate and feels deeply for the lives he’s forced to take. He’s a man living with guilt over the wrongs he’s done, and still he does everything he can to keep from taking more than he absolutely has to.
Even drinking from a yearly sacrifice is a mercy to the rest of the village.
I know it’s not something Grandmother will ever understand, but I can’t change my heart. And he can’t change his curse.
For hours, I pore over the pages of my Grimoire, trying to come up with a third solution, some way to break the curse without any more lives lost. But there’s nothing in my magical training about sparing his life. Every bit of training and studying I’ve done is to perfect the art of killing the man I love.
Eventually, I toss the Grimoire aside and move to the chair by the window. Alaric’s chair. Reading now is a lost cause, so I don’t bother with the book he left on the table. Instead, I stare out the window into the falling snow.
It’s been coming down for hours, hard enough to make visibility beyond the castle grounds impossible. My thoughts drift inevitably to Willowdale and then to the vision I had this morning.
The storm shows no signs of letting up. If anything, it’s only getting worse out there, and I wonder if this is the storm from my premonition.
If so, Alaric is right. It’s safer for them if he remains here. But I am desperate to help them in some way. We didn’t fight for years against a frozen land and cursed prince only to freeze to death in a wintery grave.
“Spirits, if you can hear me, now’s the time to make yourselves known,” I say to the room.
The only answer is the crackling of the fire as an invisible hand stokes the flames.
“Mom, Dad, if you’re here, I need a miracle.”
When there’s still no answer, I sigh.
After that, I lose myself in the view from the window, watching it until my lids grow heavy and the blurry landscape lulls me to sleep.
I wake in utter darkness, the only light offered by the moon reflecting off the snow outside the window. The silvery glow illuminates the shadows around me and I sit up, trying to figure out why the fire in my room has gone cold.
I hug my arms around myself for warmth, my breath puffing out in short bursts in the chilled air.
Maybe the spirits have finally abandoned me too.
I move to stand, intent on igniting the fire myself, when a shape shifts in the darkness.
Someone else is here.
I go still, perched on the edge of my chair, my heartbeat a loud thudding in my own ears.
Alaric’s outline is one I would know anywhere, so attuned to him have I become. Normally his presence would bring the greatest comfort, but now, tonight, it only adds to my fear. All of my intuitive senses are telling me something terrible is about to happen. Something that will destroy me.
This is it then.
This is how it ends.
He moves, lifting an arm, and I watch as he tips his head back, his form nothing more than a silhouette in the dark room.
I wait, but he doesn’t move toward me, and confusion overtakes my terror as the attack I was expecting never comes.
“Alaric?”
I stand as he lowers his arm.
Something hits the floor with a thunk and rolls away toward the fireplace.
I take a step forward, moving closer to him, and the fire catches and roars t
o life again. I blink at the sudden illumination, adjusting my eyes. When I see Alaric, his face is pale and his eyes are once again the silver that I remember seeing when we first met.
“Adara.” His lips curve into a contented smile, and his relief is unmistakable. Nothing of his hunger remains.
Dread curls in my stomach, and I scan the floor for the item he dropped. There. In the corner by the rug is the vial of blood I brought to kill him. The cap is gone, and the vial lies empty, drained of its contents.
I look up at him sharply, panic rising.
“Alaric?”
My voice catches, and fear propels me.
I close the distance between us, grabbing his collar roughly in my hands.
“What have you done?” I demand.
His silver eyes are glassy and unfocused now. Beneath my hard grip, I can feel him already weakening.
“I found another way,” he says, crumpling before I can catch him.
He falls to the floor, and I drop to my knees beside him, smoothing the raven hair that has fallen into his eyes.
“You don’t understand. That vial was poison. It will kill you,” I tell him, crying now.
“I know. I wanted . . . to end it. To spare you. And it worked. Your magic really is stronger than the one who cursed me. Don’t you see? You were meant to break the curse all along.”
“No, it can’t end like this.” I choke on the words, my tears falling freely onto his shirt, leaving wet droplets on the fabric.
I clutch at his collar again, and he brings his hand up to cover my own. His skin is still ice cold, but there’s a listlessness in his movements that wasn't there before.
The poison is working.
“Alaric, please don’t leave me,” I beg, my voice breaking with a sorrow so deep I fear I will drown in it.
“Maybe the gods will have mercy, and let my spirit linger here too,” he says. His cough is rough and heartbreaking. “The castle is yours. As is the garden. Go to your people. Share the food and healing herbs. Restore the kingdom.”
“No, I can’t do that without you.” I look around frantically for my herbs, my Grimoire. Maybe there's a counter to this poison, but he grips my hands before I can leave him to look.
The Winter Witch Page 5