“But I thought the villagers hated majik as much as you did?”
“True. I told you most of the people in this valley are of mixed blood. The curse has drawn many of our sisters and daughters to that blasted city because of their bloodlines. You are the first we know of to ever come back. After what you did, defeating the Prince’s beast… saving Thea… they are convinced you are meant to be here, to lead us as the prophecy said.”
“You want me to lead some revolt against the lost city?” Vynasha squeezed his hand, her claws grazing his flesh. He did not flinch, only met her grip with equal strength and a shadow of his former confidence in the tilt of his brow.
“I admit I was skeptical at first, too. I never put much faith in prophecies, but you know what waits for us past those gates.”
“The Council agreed on this?”
“We want you to stay here, live among us. You will always have a home…” His words trailed off as a strange look passed over his features, a flare of his nose, and then he sat up.
“But what about my brother?”
Baalor’s lip curled. “Wanderer has broken our laws and must face judgment.” He started to pull his hand away but she dug her claws in a fraction, enough to keep hold of him.
“Does it matter at this point? You said so yourself, you’ve focused on the wrong enemy for too long.”
Baalor bristled. “I cannot simply overrule laws that were written before I was born, Vynasha. I am not a prince or a king. Council keeps the law in place so people like me don’t have too much power.”
“But they listen to you, right?” She waited for his terse nod before she added, “Well, you can tell them my brother and I go together, whatever the punishment may be.”
“Absolutely not! They will make me kill you, don’t you see? There can only be one punishment for Wanderer’s betrayal.”
Vynasha released him and sank back into her pillow, turned away as she said, “Unless you find another way, it will be my punishment, too. Didn’t I take your daughter into harm’s way, leave the protection of the village? You could say the attack was my fault, because I wasn’t here to stop it.”
She flinched at the painful memory of the frightened beast, her relief and fear as Vynasha peered into her mind. For one mad moment, she considered telling Baalor the rest, about her shared dream space and Grendall. Words on the tip of her tongue were stilled when Baalor shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, pressing his thigh to hers through the covers, his hand taking possession of hers in earnest.
“If I find another way, will you stay with me?”
Vynasha looked up and saw much more than she expected, a need that she was familiar with. It had been so long since she’d truly felt at home anywhere—and this place, this cabin with its lost girl, loving grandmother and lonely father… Stay with me, he said, and she knew he was asking for himself and not the village this time.
“Let my brother live and I will,” she replied with a tilt of her head. “Was this what Erythea wanted you to ask me?”
The need in Baalor’s eyes magnified tenfold, igniting a spark in her belly, a clawing want that took her breath away, and then he smiled at her, with faintly pointed teeth akin to hers.
“Let me save your brother’s life, and then perhaps I will tell you.”
GRANDMOTHER’S MEDICINE ALLOWED her body and mind to rest in dreamless sleep, so when Vynasha woke the next morning, it wasn’t in terror or pain. Erythea’s laughter echoed from downstairs and Grandmother’s soon followed in a jolly cackle. Sounds of innocence, so devoid of all the ugliness of the past days, brought a smile to her face.
Not everything in life is tainted with evil.
Proof of goodness was downstairs, and wherever Wyll was waiting. Pushing aside her worry, she chose to focus on getting out of bed first.
No one was keeping vigil in the nearby chair, thankfully. She took her time climbing from beneath the covers, stretching muscles stiffened from injury and deathly sleep. She pressed her bare feet to the cold floorboards and allowed herself a moment to simply be.
Grendall’s amulet brushed against her chest, a nasty reminder of the true prince who had deceived her. Again she could feel him closing around her, kissing her lips after spilling the ugly truth, his mind trapping her as he’d once trapped her body. With a shiver, she pulled the chain free from her neck, leaving Soraya’s key in place, careful to avoid healing burns and gouges leftover from Ceddrych’s and the beast’s claws. Getting the necklace past her hair was a tedious matter and she briefly contemplated taking the Prince… Grolthox’s… dagger and hacking her long locks off. But then the chain was free, the gem turning warm and pulsing with pale violet light in her trembling hands.
Grandmother’s warning returned to her as a whisper. Never allow anyone in this village to see it or your life is forfeit.
“I don’t care if my majik is unmanageable,” she whispered to the stone. If the amulet was keeping her connected to Grendall then she never wanted to touch it again. At the rate she had been dancing with death it might be safer among her other possessions.
She found her sack at the foot of the bed and the frame to guide her first halting steps and was relieved to see the familiar contents undisturbed within. The pouch stank of majik as she pulled it free and dropped the amulet inside.
“Good riddance,” she spat as she tied the pouch with perhaps unnecessary vehemence. She closed her eyes after setting the sack aside and waited for majik to illuminate her skin with violet light, for the thick oily substance to drip from her fingertips and stain the room.
Last time she’d attempted to take off the amulet, she couldn’t be certain whether the splotches of majik on her brother’s cottage floor were real. Lingering majik from Erythea’s mother had made her see roses crawling over the walls of the Iceveins home, so it was possible the amulet had played tricks with her mind. Grandmother had warned her the talisman was bonded to her somehow. But what if it was a trick? What if she could learn control without using Grendall’s gift as a crutch?
Vynasha opened her eyes and sighed in relief to find no splotches of excess majik staining the wood. Until she looked back at her clawed hands pulsing with faint iridescence, a paler shade of violet. At least it wasn’t the deeper purple of her blood, or the shade her skin took when danger lurked and she burst with a pounding thrum of energy. While not desirable and certainly obvious, she was surprised to find she didn’t mind the gleam.
Grandmother had laid out fresh clothes on top of the trunk and as Vynasha changed, she prayed she wouldn’t ruin yet another heirloom. Her claws were a challenge to manage and she wished she had enough control over the curse to retract them at will. Maybe, if she actually tried to master the change and wild majik instead of fighting herself constantly…
“Should have just let me wear Ceddrych’s tatty hand-me-downs,” she murmured.
After a few accidental clumsy pricks of her claws and whispered curses, Vynasha began the slow approach to the stairs.
No sound escaped the other bedrooms and a flicker of her old curiosity piqued at the back of her mind. Instead of taking a peek inside the other rooms, she took hold of the wooden wall hugging one side of the stair and tried to calm her shaking limbs.
Before she’d brought Wyll to the Wylder Mountains, Vynasha had wielded strength from necessity. Even when they’d had little to eat, her will to keep Wyll alive, to survive the long winters, had given her a wiry strength. So even though she was scarred from the fire and her lungs never could seem to find enough air, she’d made do. Living in the castle had made her fatter, weaker, until the curse took her, until Grendall’s majik infested her and transformed her. She clenched her fist and released her grip on the wall halfway down the stair. With a slow, calming breath, she forced her legs to work without tripping the rest of the way down. Her muscles screamed in protest as she took slow steps to meet the others.
Ceddrych had his back to her and the sight of her brother seized her heart.
Plea
se let him be spared, she offered in silent prayer to whoever might be listening. She’d meant what she told him before, about burying family. Foolish as it was to bargain their lives with Baalor, she knew the pack master wouldn’t let her die.
Have faith, little sparrow, Wynyth always said.
“Hands to yourself, Wanderer.” Grandmother swatted Ceddrych as he reached past her to taste her newest concoction and Erythea giggled.
Vynasha shook her head at the relaxed picture they made. Somehow, the sight of her brother so at home in the Iceveins family home was not as odd as it should have been. Perhaps somewhere between saving Erythea and her recovery, they’d come to accept each other. She hesitated before the warm scene, unwilling to interrupt and a little nervous of her brother’s reaction to her dimly glowing skin. While she didn’t expect him to drop to all fours snarling like last time, she knew Ceddrych still hated majik.
Erythea discovered Vynasha first, as she came to stand before the table. “Good morning!” The girl bounced on the balls of her feet before rushing to wrap small arms about Vynasha’s waist. “Grandmother made us all help her with preparing breakfast. We even have honey, because she says we never got to celebrate, right, Grandmother?”
Vynasha returned the girl’s embrace and looked up to meet Ilya’s affectionate smile. “Thank you.”
The old woman inclined her head. “Your brother has the manners of a wolf. Has he always been like this, witch girl?”
Vynasha shrugged and if she leaned slightly on Erythea’s shoulder, none of them seemed to notice. “Our mother tried to civilize him. I’m afraid it never quite took.” She stiffened against her brother’s scrutiny.
“Fine sister you are.” His tone was light in contrast to the fleeting darkness in his face. “Ilya, I’ll prove I can be a gentleman, just watch and see.”
“Now that would be something, a wolf with manners! There has not been a true gentleman in this village since my mate departed this world.”
Erythea rushed to help set the table as she sighed. “Grandfather was so romantic, wasn’t he?”
“Oh, indeed, little love, if only the Crafter made more like him.”
Vynasha bit her lip as she sank to the ground and Erythea dropped beside her to whisper in her ear. “You do know you’re glowing?” The girl sat back with a quirk to her lips.
“You know we can hear you, little love,” Grandmother interrupted. “Wolv ears, dearie. Now, Wanderer, do speak the truth, has your sister always glowed in the mornings?”
Vynasha studied the fine grooves in the table and clutched the edge with her claws.
“Afraid not, Ilya,” Ceddrych replied. “But before I brought her to the village it had been many years since I saw her last. Fairly certain I wasn’t changing skins when we were children either, was I, Ashes?”
“No,” was her soft reply. Vynasha dared meet his steady gaze and found no judgment this time. The scars from their fight would linger, but she found enough in him then to give hope they could heal in the future.
If the Council gives us a future.
They ate together in heavy silence not even Erythea and Grandmother’s light banter could lessen. Wonderful as it was to pretend otherwise, Vynasha’s skin did glow with majik, Erythea had died and been brought back to life and their lives were in the hands of vengeful skin-changers.
The door burst open with a brisk snowy wind, calling their attention to Baalor’s hunched shoulders and tangled hair. Vynasha sat up in her seat and watched him stomp the snow from his boots at the entrance, then shake the snow from his shoulders and silver hair. No extra layers covered the tunic on his chest and she briefly wondered how he managed the cold. Then his sharp gaze swept over the cottage and locked with hers, the same moment Erythea pressed closer against her side. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming at him for appearing so collected and calm.
Across from them Ceddrych kept his focus on Baalor as the pack master took a seat at the head end of the table. He set to wolfing down his breakfast and not even Grandmother dared interrupt. Vynasha didn’t realize she was squeezing Thea’s hand until the girl hissed and she released her with a whispered apology. “Sorry.”
Baalor glanced up at her and then to the others, lip twitching as he took a swig of mead and said, “You’re all very quiet this morning.”
Grandmother rapped her fist on the tabletop. “Enough of your teasing, boy! Tell us what those long-winded fools decided.”
A grim edge turned his smirk into a grimace as he looked to Ceddrych. His voice rumbled, filling the room with his malice. “You are the first wandering rogue to come to our valley in over a century. When you would not explain your reasons for coming, or give us your true name, I knew you couldn’t be trusted. My instincts were proven right.” He paused and set his mug on the table. “If it were up to me, you would have been dead the moment I was told of your betrayal.”
Vynasha hissed a breath and Baalor’s focus shifted to her, softened.
“However,” he continued, “I know you were meant to come here, because you were meant to bring her to us. You should know your sister is the only reason you are sitting at my table with your head on your shoulders now.” A ghost of a smile lightened the weight in his demeanor.
“You did it!” Vynasha held a glowing hand over her mouth to contain her smile as a great weight lifted from her chest.
It was with a shake of his head and wonder that Baalor replied, “The Council saw your reasoning.”
Grandmother slapped the table and rocked back as she crowed. “Not such a gaggle of pig-brained old fools, after all!”
“Perhaps.” Baalor returned his focus to Ceddrych. “I still don’t like you, Wanderer, and your little alliance didn’t win you favors with the elders.”
Ceddrych’s brow furrowed. “Have they chosen a punishment?”
“Banishment. I will escort you beyond the boundaries of our village and if you cross them without our permission again…”
“Death,” Ceddrych confirmed.
“Your sister will remain here with us,” Baalor added.
“No!” Vynasha splayed her hands over the table, dug her claws in. That familiar invisible pressure thrummed loudly in her ears again. “No, this was not part of our agreement!”
“Vynasha, your skin.” Erythea took hold of her wrist.
She looked down and stared as her arm turned a darker shade of violet and pushed away from the table with unsteady hands. “I’m sorry… I’m in control,” she whispered.
“You won’t lose control,” the girl repeated.
Vynasha needed to believe her words. She opened her eyes, unaware she had closed them, to find the others watching her with wary patience.
Ceddrych spoke first, gently. “It is a fair judgment, Ashes. You would be safer here.”
And he will protect Wyll.
Vynasha clutched at her chest, at the space where the amulet once rested. Erythea prevented her claws from ripping through the fabric over her heart, wrapped small fingers over her hand. Vynasha released a sigh as she allowed the girl to lower their hands to the table and turned to Baalor. While the others had been nervous to the point she could taste their fear in the air, he was different.
“You have to do better,” she said, short of begging. “I can’t watch my brother leave. I thought he was dead before he found me.”
I can’t bury anyone else.
“You asked me to find another way and this is it,” Baalor replied with finality, with the authority he seemed born to. Yet there was regret in his emerald eyes, in spite of the pack master’s distrust and hatred for Ceddrych. Baalor’s regret was what Vynasha clung to in turn, his silent way of telling her he’d tried.
There are worse things.
The powerful thrumming faded at the stray thought and Vynasha looked down to find Erythea’s fingers glowing faintly blue, threaded with her violet fingers.
You won’t lose control.
Vynasha met Ceddrych’s gaze again, felt an urge to say
more, to tell them about Wyll. Maybe if they understood? “How long do we have?”
Ceddrych’s brow lifted, as though sensing the words at the tip of her tongue.
“Soon as your brother gathers his things,” Baalor replied.
Vynasha faced him fully then and with her free hand, seized his long fingers. Willing touch still didn’t come easily. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “There is more we haven’t told you…”
“Don’t, Ashes.”
She ignored Ceddrych’s plea, keeping her focus on Baalor’s sharp emerald gaze. “Our nephew, Wyll, he’s with Wolfsbane’s daughter.”
Baalor’s lips curled back at the name, nose flaring as he tried to pull away from her, but Vynasha held fast.
“Wait, please listen! My nephew was dying, has been dying for years. There was a fire that burned our home and it scarred me, but it almost killed Wyll. He was so young, but it’s because he was so small I was able to carry him out in time. The rest of our family didn’t—I couldn’t save them.”
For a moment the muscles in his hand twitched, but then he turned his palm beneath hers with a slightly parted mouth. “You don’t have to do this.”
Vynasha smiled. “But I do. I should have. I brought Wyll here because I was determined to find a cure or maybe old majik. No one believes in it beyond these mountains, you know, at least they didn’t in Whistleande. I didn’t have anything left to believe in and I had to try. So I carried him here and Wolfsbane found us, saved us from freezing to death. He promised to look after my nephew and helped guide me to the lost city.”
“Witless fool!” Grandmother interrupted. “What monster would willingly guide a child to such an evil place?”
Vynasha kept hold of Baalor, afraid to look away and lose her nerve. “I was desperate and foolish. As you can see, I paid the price, but Wyll is innocent in all of this. And now that Thea is alive…”
Baalor flinched as if he too recalled the same horrible memory of the girl’s lifeless body in their arms. He reached over the table corner for her hand and spoke, as though to himself. “If you healed Thea, you could try again.”
Scarred Beauty Page 16