Fated To Die: YA dark retelling (The Retelling Series Book 1)

by TARA GALLINA

  Daceian’s boots are visible when I approach the front door. “You look lovely,” he says.

  I touch my hair, aware of how messy it is and wonder if he’s teasing me. But Daceian doesn’t tease.

  “I forgot to pull it back.” The strands hang loosely around my face. I’m certain the curls at my waist have frizzy ends.

  “I like it,” he says, a soft smile in his voice.

  “Is this allowed, us leaving?” My muscles twitch.

  “We won’t be long.” Now his tone is deep and direct, so different from a moment ago. He takes my hand and opens the door.

  “We don’t have to go for a walk,” I say. “I’m fine with staying here.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you. I was telling Amus, so he doesn’t worry or act out while we’re gone. He can be quite loud.”

  “Who?” Is there another person with us? Should I be concerned?

  “The plant,” Daceian answers.

  We step outside. Soft grass cushions my feet and a cool breeze caresses my skin. The day feels picnic-perfect. I want to take in the surrounding woods. Instead, I focus on my slippers as Daceian leads me to a narrow trail.

  “The plant has a name?” This is bizarre, but then so is everything about this situation.

  “I gave it to him. He’s the closest thing to a pet I’ve ever had, no matter how annoying he can be.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “He annoys you, too?”

  “Only when he lets out that obnoxious squawk. Since it’s his job, it might be unfair of me to hold it against him.”

  “What do you mean, ‘his job’?”

  “Rousing my mother’s attention. It’s why I first made friends with him. I trained him to report only to me. It’s worked for years, but I still get nervous, knowing he can alert her.”

  I stop. “We should go back. I don’t want you to get in trouble—or me.”

  He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “We won’t. There are things I want to say that should not be spoken in his presence. It’s why I suggested the walk. That and I wanted to show you something, which reminds me you don’t have to avert your eyes. We’re outside. You may look where you please.” The smile returns to his voice.

  I lift my head. His misty hand clutches mine, the outline of his dark form cloaked in fog like a rain cloud. I wish I could see his face, to know the curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes. I suspect he has both features, though I also suspect they are deformed, hence his need to keep them hidden.

  “You choose to look at me when there is a beautiful forest around you,” he says. “It is quite lovely in the daytime. I would think you’d want to see it with all the darkness around you lately.”

  An unfamiliar and incredibly delightful feeling stirs inside me. I smile at his hazy face and then glance around. Sunlight filters through the tall trees, glinting off the different shades of green like gold. The breeze sets everything a flutter, like the wings of a butterfly. Birds chirp from somewhere to my left, and twigs snap to my right. Is it a bunny, a squirrel?

  The forest is most lovely during the day. I feel I’ve been away from it for too long. Was it just the other day I had been taken? It seems much longer.

  “Thank you,” I sigh, so grateful for this.

  “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen the best part.” Daceian and I walk farther down the trail. At some point, he moved ahead of me by a few steps.

  I use the opportunity to study him.

  Sunlight filters through the trees and shines directly on his form. It makes the mist hugging his body near transparent. His shoulders aren’t too wide, just enough so that his torso tapers into a trim waist, creating a nice V shape. His legs seem strong and in proportion with his body. Nothing appears deformed or unusual. Perhaps, his skin is abnormal. The back of his head is dark with about half of his neck visible. Either he’s wearing a bulky hat, or his hair is black and slightly grown out.

  “What was it you wanted to tell me?” I ask, assuming we’re far enough away from the cottage for anyone, even a plant, to hear us. Maybe he’s going to tell me why he hides himself from me.

  “Have you read more of the book?” He brushes a low branch out of the way.

  “Not since the other day. Why?”

  He glances back at me. The fog shifts with his head, leaving a trail. “The book has answers to questions you’ve yet to ask.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “I am not permitted to say. When you learn information from the book, you can ask me about it. I can’t open the dialogue to you.”

  So, he follows rules, too. Interesting. “How would that have worked if I were still bound to the rule of not speaking unless directly spoken to?”

  “It wouldn’t have. It’s taken me decades to learn what I can and can’t get away with, even longer to try them for fear of retribution.”

  I’m about to say from your mother but change it to, “From the curse?”

  He stops and looks at me. “You’re finally understanding.”

  “Not as much as I’d like to.” I catch up to him, hoping to glimpse his features through the mist. Other than a blurry outline of his head, I can’t see much.

  He doesn’t turn away. Is he studying me the same way I’m examining him? Heat crawls across my cheeks.

  A bird swoops low, close enough to touch my hair. I flinch and watch as it soars toward the sky. It’s small with bright yellow feathers, Mother’s favorite color. Most of her dresses and skirts were of that shade, bright and cheery like her personality.

  Sorrow grips my heart with icy claws. How are Calyssa, Carys, and Father handling my absence? Are they angry with me? Does Father hate me? When we lost Mother, Father drowned his sorrows in jugs of ale. It took the kitchen maid and me weeks to sober him. Is he back to that, and if so, how are the twins holding up? Surely, they blame me. I didn’t get to explain what happened. I didn’t even say goodbye.

  “What’s the matter?” Daceian asks.

  “Nothing.” I lower my head.

  This is why I don’t like to think about them. It’s too painful.

  He places a misty hand under my chin and lifts my face. “You don’t need to keep your feelings from showing.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.” I turn away.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a girl cry. I have experience in comforting maidens.”

  My head swings back to him. “You comforted them?” A dark, angry feeling stirs deep in my stomach? I don’t like it.

  A tiny chuckle escapes him.

  I glare. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m surprised.” A smile is evident in his voice. “I’m always surprised by you, Preya, who is stronger than anyone I’ve ever met and doesn’t need comforting when she’s sad.”

  He means it as a compliment, but instead of lifting my spirits, it has the opposite effect. For the first time, I feel wrong for the way I protect my emotions.

  “You are like your mother in that way,” he says, tone soft and reassuring.

  My breath catches in my throat. “How would you know?”

  “I was there when she was chosen. I always accompany the Messenger.”

  It’s as if the world disappears. My heart pounds in my ears, and a few moments pass before I find my voice.

  “You saw her?” I gape in shock. “All this time I could have asked you what happened, if she was scared, if she felt pain, why she was chosen?” I step back. “You should have told me when we first met.”

  “That would not have been a good first day for you. The first day is hard, the second day even harder. I wasn’t sure what to make of you, either.” He lifts his face to the sky and murmurs, “The girl with eyes of the grass and sky will end the curse before she dies.”

  “That’s an odd rhyme,” I say. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s a riddle I learned long ago.” He picks up a fat leaf, green with yellow veins, and twirls it in his fingers. “I thought it was about your mother, and I
thought it died with her. I’d glimpsed her eyes only a moment before she touched her clothing. I would have saved her if I could have, despite the consequences, whatever they would have been. I would have done it to be free. So we could all be free.” He pauses. “I thought it was over. But then you were chosen as Messenger, and I realized you could be the girl in the riddle.”

  Ending the curse—now that I hear it might be possible—must be my focus so I can get back to my family.

  But for me to do that, I need to know one thing about the death of my mother. Hopefully, it will pacify my aching heart. For now, anyway.

  “Is she at peace? My mother. After they go, are they all at peace?”

  He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s searching for the right answer, or perhaps, he doesn’t know. Please let him know.

  Finally, with a confident nod, he says, “I believe they are at peace.”

  I smile, and my eyes fill with tears. Even though his answer isn’t the yes, they’re in a better place I hoped for, it’s enough. Daceian may be many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. If he believes those who have been Fated to Die are at peace, then I will, too.

  “Thank you.” I let out a shaky breath, the pain in my heart easing a tiny bit. Then I do what I do best, tuck the emotions away and focus on what is important. “Tell me about the riddle. Is there more to it?”

  He shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “What about the book in the cottage? Could it have information?”

  “I don’t know. I’m forbidden to read it. I leave it for the maidens, hoping they’ll come across something of importance, but I’ve never been able to talk to one of them like I do you. They feared me, blamed me, or wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “Sounds familiar,” I murmur, reminded of how the kids in the village always treated me. I give his hand with the leaf a squeeze. “Now you have me. We’ll figure this out. Together. All right?”

  He sighs with a hint of awe. “You really are something.”

  I can’t stop my lips from turning up. “We should head back and get started.”

  “But we’re here.” He uses the leaf to point out white bushels of wisteria, cascading toward the ground. One of the branches curves, creating a shadowed archway. “It won’t take long,” he adds. Quiet excitement hums in his voice. “I really want you to see it. I’ve never been able to share it with anyone.”

  It’d be cruel to deny him this, and I suppose I am a little curious.

  “Show me then,” I say.

  Daceian straightens to his full height, and I imagine a huge smile is on his face. We pass under the arched branch and step into a small clearing. Wisteria trees surround the area, perfuming the air with their sweet scent. White flowery vines wrap around the trunks of the trees, and the ground is covered with a thick layer of floral shrubbery. My slippers sink into soft flowerbeds as we move to stand in the center of the small meadow.

  Daceian stops and faces me. Excitement radiates from him. I can feel it charging the air. “What is your favorite color?”

  Ever since Mother died, I’ve answered that question with yellow, but the color I love more than any other belongs to the plumerias that grow in the gardens at the manor.

  “Bright pink,” I tell him, eager to see what he does.

  “Close your eyes.”

  I scan the green and white scenery one last time and then do as he says.

  “Now open them.”

  The leaves, the vines, the thick shrubbery on the ground are all pink, bright glorious pink. The color is everywhere, except for some green leaves sprinkled throughout and what little bark you can see.

  Beaming, I twirl and take it all in. “How did you do this?”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it!”

  “Pick another color.” His breath is as heightened as mine.

  Thinking of the girls, I blurt, “Lavender. Do I have to close my eyes again?”

  “No. Just the first time so it would be amazing.”

  He lifts his arms to the side. The fog swirling his body turns lavender. Then he snaps out his arms as if to release the color into the air. In a blink, everything is lavender.

  I giggle, smile, and come so close to shedding a tear. “This is my twin sister’s favorite color.” It makes me miss them even more.

  “What are their names?” Daceian asks.

  “Calyssa and Carys.” I smile, wanting to talk about them and share how special they are to me. “Calyssa is headstrong and too curious for her own good, while Carys is as soft as a summer breeze but loyal to her sister to the point that she’d follow her anywhere. They have so much of my mother in them, like they each took half of her personality.”

  “You loved your mother dearly?” he asks as if this puzzles him.

  “Of course, I did.” I shrug. “Don’t you love your mother in some way?”

  He draws in a deep breath, and the color fades from the trees, returning to white and green. “We should go.”

  Worried I upset him, I don’t dispute his need to leave, even though I want to stay here longer.

  The trip back to the cottage seems shorter than it did on our way to the wisteria garden. The sun stays hidden behind clouds the entire way. The straw cottage roof comes into view first. The yellow color stands out against all the greenery. The wood framing of the exterior looks as gloomy as it did on my first day here. Does that mean it’s changed back to dingy? I didn’t pay it much attention when he left earlier, but the inside was gleaming. I hope it’s still that way.

  Daceian stops at the door, mist swirling his tall form. “This is where I leave you.”

  “What? Why?” I blurt, only then realizing how dramatic I sound. “I mean, why are you leaving now? We just got back, and I thought we could read the book together, or rather, I could read it to you.”

  “It’s easier if I leave here. I’m cloaked, so you don’t have to keep your head down,” he explains with a lift of his shoulders.

  “Is it because of what I said about your mother?” I’m convinced this has something to do with his sudden desire to part ways. “I meant no harm by it, no judgment. She’s your mother,” I say with compassion. “You must have some emotional connection to her, whether you want to or not.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me. If only I knew what he looked like.

  “Daceian?” I reach for his face. Will he let me touch his features?

  He catches my wrist, his grip soft yet firm. “Read. Rest. If death chooses another victim, I’ll come for you at sunset.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I force my feet to stay in place when he walks away. He follows the big tree to the left like he’s headed for the back of the cottage.

  “Thank you for today!” I call out before he vanishes from my sight. “It was kind of you to share that with me.”

  Again, he pauses but only long enough to say, “You’re welcome.”

  Then he’s gone.

  The woods are quiet and dim like the sun has set, even though it hasn’t. In the summer, an orange glow always appears before it does. Part of me wants to explore the area and see if I can find where Daceian goes. Does he visit his mother? What does she do during the day? Hang out by the river, or return under the water until dusk? Perhaps these are the questions Daceian referred to and the answers are in the book.

  When I turn to enter the cottage, the door is open. Fear flashes through me but fades when I notice the inside is light and cozy. The cottage is happy with me again. Why? Because I’m calm, because I want to go inside, because I was kind to Daceian and thanked him?

  It’s all such a mystery.

  “Thank you,” I tell the cottage as I climb the step and cross the threshold.

  Everything inside appears clean and new. A fire crackles beneath the stone hearth. Even though it’s summer, the warmth is nice, not too hot.

  On the tab
le, a glass of juice, a cup of tea, bread, and a bowl of soup wait for me. My nose tells me it’s chicken soup, and my stomach rumbles.

  Something shimmers on the other side of the room. The gold etching of the book ripples as if calling to me. I bring it to the table, so I can read while I eat.

  When my stomach has had more than enough of the delicious food, I move to the chair by the fireplace and nestle into the soft cushions. The lights dim slightly, making the room even cozier.

  I set the book on my lap and continue reading. So far, I haven’t found anything new, only the same information about Bretta and her jealousy for Queen Alys. Even as a child, Bretta acted spitefully toward her older sister.

  The next page shows a portrait of them. The original hangs in the castle hall. I saw it from a distance long ago when Mother and I were in town.

  It must have been hard for her, being royalty and looking so different from everyone. Maybe that added to her bitterness toward her sister.

  My mouth opens wide with a yawn. I rub my eyes. How long have I been reading? Outside the window, it looks black. Night has fallen.

  Daceian never came for me. No one will die this evening. I should be relieved, but tomorrow is a new day with the chance of another victim, and I’ve yet to find anything in this tome that can help.

  I let out a frustrated groan and slam the book closed.

  The lights flicker and turn off, leaving me in the dark.

  “Sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean it. I’m frustrated, and I shouldn’t have done that. Please forgive me.”

  The cottage remains dark. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. I could apologize again, beg for forgiveness, but it wouldn’t be genuine, and I’m certain the cottage would know.

  The truth is, I’m tired, homesick, and desperate to see my family. And now I can’t even read more because this overly sensitive cottage is angry with me.

  A chill spreads through the room now that the fire no longer burns. I shiver and draw my legs close, huddling in the corner of the chair. It no longer feels soft and cushy. The cottage must have turned back to its rotted self. Will I ever be enough to please it? Is that even possible?