by Piper Rayne
I could detect it now like it was billowing smoke from a burning fire—an intruder from the village, the scent of the woven wool of a hooded cape, the dried manure on boots, the grease of recently roasted mutton still on the person’s breath.
Gawen, no longer distracted by the virtues of smooching my collarbone, clenched his jaw. “You’re right.” He seized my hand in his, dragging me away from the tree. “Come on. We can’t let anything happen to the tree.”
As we scampered, Gawen cursed himself for leaving his bow and arrows at home. “That birch tree is our greatest priority,” he explained. “If it dies or is injured in any way, the enchantment will weaken and the Fair Forest will be vulnerable to destruction.”
All the periphery spells, he told me, all the rounds he took around the forest, all the magic he knew, all of it was in service of this one tree, the silver birch—the very tree which Mortas bound me to when he left me as an offering.
The birch held the enchantment. The enchantment kept the whole forest in balance, in harmony, alive.
By the time we reached that section of the forest, the sun had set behind the horizon. Purple and pink light streaked across the sky, and all around the trees became silhouettes of themselves. An owl hooted in the near distance, and the forest whispered to me that the wolves were nearby, yellow eyes watching my every move, but Gawen would not allow them to hurt me. He would not allow them to come anywhere near me, and so I swallowed down my fear, imagining that it would be me someday who could speak to the creatures, growls in my throat, the way Gawen did that first day I met him.
We slowed as we came near that same old place where the Fairfront elders had bound me to the birch tree. It was only a few days ago that they had decided to use me as the sacrifice to save the village from famine, but I had changed since then.
I was no longer a virgin, for one thing, thanks to Gawen. A sacrifice on my part that I was completely willing to give.
But the trip into the forest had also awakened something deep within me, something which I now understood had always been dormant, waiting until I crossed into these trees. I was also more powerful, more aware of the sheer strength I had. If I had wanted to stay in Fairfront and argue with Mortas, I could have. If I had wanted to remove him from the position he had, I could have. I could have challenged his influence and freed so many villagers from his manipulations, but I had been sent on to bigger and better things.
More important things.
Protecting the forest was now my charge, even if I was still learning how to do so—and Gawen and I, together, would not let anything harm it.
“Shh,” Gawen suddenly whispered, his finger to his lips, his profile lit up with the last gasp of sunlight. “Our intruder.” He pointed to the clearing near the birch tree, where a hooded figure knelt at the banks of the stream.
The figure muttered something beneath its breath, and the hairs on the back of my neck told me it was a spell.
Then out came a dagger, and the figure opened its palm, slicing from middle finger down to its wrist, just as Gawen had done to his own hand.
A coppery tang hit my nose as the spell fused with the blood. I squinted from our hiding place in the bushes near the birch, then gasped.
I recognized that hand.
Age spots and wrinkles.
A hand pale from years spent dodging farm work in our village.
A thick gold ring, inlaid with rubies.
Mortas.
The very man who sent me to my death.
A stick broke, somewhere in the trees near us, and Mortas lifted his head, searching around him in suspicion. Yes, it was him; I would know that sneer anywhere.
I tugged on Gawen’s tunic, panic rising in my throat, but when Gawen looked at me, his face had relaxed into a relieved smile.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “it’s not an intruder.” Pushing his hair back from his eyes, he straightened. “I didn’t think I’d see him again; he hasn’t been back through the periphery in almost twenty years.”
My stomach tied itself in knots as the realization dawned on me. “Who do you think this is?” I asked for clarification, though I knew the answer before Gawen gave it.
“My old master,” Gawen said, lacing his fingers in mine.
His master.
The one who had placed him in the forest all those years ago. The one who had trained him in his spellwork, the one who had instructed him on the fine points of keeping the Fair Forest thriving.
It was Mortas.
My head spun. There was something more at work here, some deep, twisted puzzle that I had yet to piece together.
“Come on.” Gawen kissed my temple, gently squeezing my hand in reassurance. “I want him to meet the new protector of the forest.” And with determination in his footfall and an optimistic grin, Gawen stepped out from behind the trees, pulling me along.
Chapter Fourteen
Gawen
Mortas—my old master.
I couldn’t believe it. After all these years, he was here. I thought perhaps he’d died. He had looked ancient when I was a boy, so it seemed impossible that he was anything less than a hundred years old, but Mortas looked surprisingly spry. Somehow the years had turned back, the clock reversing so he looked closer to middle-age than old—how?
I marveled at the spellwork that must have been required to create youthfulness as I stepped out of the bushes, but Rosaline’s hand held me firm, pulling me back.
“Rosaline?” I said, studying her with puzzlement. “What’s wrong? Come, I want you to meet my old master.”
“Gawen, no.” Rosaline’s eyes were wide with fear and suspicion, her teeth clenched. “That’s Mortas—one of the village elders.”
My mind spun as I tried to piece together what she was telling me. “You know Mortas?”
Had Mortas been hiding in Fairfront for all these years? It seemed odd, but then again, I was the one who had been charged with protecting the forest, not Mortas. Mortas was free to live his own life, wasn’t he? He had set me up with the spells required, he had made sure I had a home and a way to get food and the ability to fend off predators, and then he was free—free to live in the village, free to farm, free to become one of the mystics that Rosaline had been so wary of.
But then why was there such hostility in Rosaline’s eyes? “Gawen,” she whispered, crouching in the bushes as if we were in the presence of a wolf.
“He’s the one who sent me here. Into the forest. He’s the one who told everyone a famine was coming, and he’s the one who had me tied to the tree to die.”
No… Again my head whirled, trying to piece together all of these individual chunks of information. I couldn’t make sense of it, and instinctively I decided to ask the person who, as a child, I would ask whenever I needed answers.
“Come,” I told her, reaching for her soft hands again. “Let’s ask Mortas. He’ll be able to explain it to us.” But once again, she dug her feet into the dirt, opting to stay in the bushes, stay hidden. And so I let go of her, my eyebrows scrunching down with annoyance.
Fine. Let her hide here in the leaves like a rabbit, but I was going to talk to my old master and plead for guidance.
“Mortas,” I said, coming toward him with my arms spread. He jumped at first, as if he was expecting an attack, but he softened when he saw it was only me.
“Gawen.” He enveloped me in a stiff hug, and I found myself bowing my head. Even after all these years, I couldn’t shake the feelings of fealty that I’d once given this man. He’d plucked me from an orphanage, brought me into the Fair Forest, taught me how to conduct my spells, but there was something unfamiliar about his demeanor, something that made a chill of fear run down my spine.
It was his eyes, I decided, after inspecting his face for a moment. While the rest of him looked almost … manufactured with youth, wrinkles smoothed by magic, flesh made taut, his eyes carried his years with him. They were yellow with age, and they darted back and forth at the woods around us,
as if he feared who might find us here.
Strange, I thought—we were the masters of the forest, him and me. As long as we were here, nothing could hurt us.
Us, and Rosaline.
The very thought of her name made me light up with enthusiasm. I straightened and told my old master, “Mortas, I have the most excellent news. I’ve found her.”
Mortas blinked, waiting.
“The one who is meant to protect the forest.” I could hardly contain my glee as I gestured to the bushes where Rosaline was still concealed behind the leaves. “Wait until you feel the power radiating from her; she will do it, my master. She will keep the forest alive and thriving for many years…” I trailed off, my voice silencing itself as Rosaline rose from the bushes, a menace on her face.
“Mortas,” she said evenly, her eyes burning. “I should have known you were tangled up in something like this.”
I glanced back at my old master, hoping he was not offended by Rosaline’s accusations, whatever they meant. But Mortas was baring his teeth like a creature hungry for a throat to tear out. “And I should have known a clever bitch like you would figure out a way to ruin everything.”
My blood boiled. “Hey, now,” I said, turning toward Mortas with my arms raised. No one talked to my Rosaline this way—no one.
“Gawen, look out!” Rosaline shouted, and everything that happened next was a fast-paced blur.
Mortas said a strange word, something that snapped off the end of his tongue like he was spitting out a thorn.
He clapped his hands.
“You should have let those wolves tear her apart,” he snarled at me, and my heart plunged into my stomach. My old master, saying such cruel things about my only love… How could this be?
What tangled web was this now, and how could I begin to figure out where the pieces went?
A swirl of dust and fog churned around Mortas, and Rosaline pressed past me, reaching for the old man.
But he was gone.
Vanished in thin air.
All that was left was the sound of panicking birdsong and the flapping of wings.
The forest was still, but it felt different—empty now, and like the soil itself had turned to ash.
I was worried, though I couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly. With Rosaline here, I didn’t need to be concerned with the health of the forest. She would keep it safe; she would learn the magic she needed to keep it alive.
But before I could ask her if she too felt that sense of unease, that crawling dread, I doubled over.
My middle, seized with pain, as if I were made of stone.
Rosaline flew to my side, her eyes frantic. “Gawen?” she called, and held my head before it hit the dirt. “Tell me what it is, Gawen, please. What did he do to you?”
But I couldn’t answer. My throat was clenched, my brain on fire.
I rolled around on the ground, every muscle of mine tingling, and then I could feel it.
Stiff hairs, pushing up and out of my flesh, a coat of fur on my body.
My teeth, growing into long, hungry fangs.
All of my limbs, thickening, stretching, growing—my form shifting.
I was no longer man.
I was beast.
The Beast of the Fair Forest.
And when I looked up at Rosaline, I did not see the love of my life, the rosy-cheeked, virgin maiden that had been gifted to me, the protector of the woods, the most magical being I’d ever known.
I looked at Rosaline, and a voice within me made its demands with a growl.
Rip. Kill. Eat.
Chapter Fifteen
Rosaline
He said it.
Some word, jagged and harsh—from the moment it left Mortas’ mouth, I was certain it was a spell. My heart pounded, my skin flushed with righteous anger.
Mortas—I couldn’t believe he was here.
But I’d know him anywhere.
I’d been in the forest for only a week, and I felt like I had undergone a score of changes. I’d learned that magic was real, I’d learned that I was somehow tied to the fate of the forest, and it to me—that I was capable of casting spells and reading bones, if only I would learn how.
And I’d fallen in love.
I’d entered the forest a virgin sacrifice, and now… Giving my body to Gawen had only made me stronger. Our bond now was forged iron-strong since we had given ourselves to each other freely. I was his first, and he was mine, and there was nothing that could tear us apart now.
Especially not the sniveling, sneering old man who stood before us.
Mortas, however, looked surprisingly unchanged. It was as if he was preserved through some unnatural way, each day peeling off him as soon as it had ended.
Same despise in his eyes as he glared at me, same face that, I could have sworn, was lined with wrinkles last time I saw him but was now pulled taut—same golden ring, inlaid with rubies, worn on his pinky.
“You should have let those wolves tear her apart,” Mortas said, directing this to Gawen, but his eyes were on me as the words came out of his mouth.
Rage boiled in my chest. I opened my lips to respond, to tell him that whatever he was plotting, he would never get away with it; I was onto him.
But then the whole forest seemed to flutter and quiver with me. Leaves trembling on their stems, wind whistling through the long green grass, trees groaning as their trunks stretched and grew, the ground itself ready to swallow Mortas up; if only I knew how to command it to do so.
And perhaps I would have searched for my own magic word to say if Gawen hadn’t suddenly doubled over, a low moan coming out of his mouth.
Gawen.
My love.
The man to whom I’d pledged my life—I’d given him my body, heart, and soul, and to hear him cry out in anguish made my soul cringe in sympathy.
I couldn’t get to him fast enough; I would have sprouted wings if it meant I moved faster. He clung to his middle, that cry of pain issuing from his lips, and then several things happened at once.
Gawen fell to his knees, then crumbled down into the leaves, writhing, clawing at his stomach and face. The sound he made … I would never forget it. It sent chills up and down my arms, and my chest panged every time it echoed in my ears.
“Gawen,” I said, running my hand along his hair, that gorgeously long hair that made him look like a wild man. I would have given anything to make him well again. I didn’t know what plagued him, but I would have given my left leg to see him healthy and strengthened—his beard neatly trimmed along his chin and cheeks, his muscles rounded and chiseled, his pillow lips slightly parted as he stared at me in absolute adoration.
“Rosaline, get back!” Gawen managed to choke out, and I was horrified at his command. Get back, why? What was happening?
I would never leave his side, but he’d ordered me to move. What did I do now?
“Bitch,” Mortas hissed at me once more, and in a whirl of fog and light, he vanished—first just a silhouette, pressed against the backdrop of the forest, and then gone.
Mortas—the very name made my teeth grit and my blood boil. He was the one who had sent me to the forest to be sacrificed, a virgin offering to the Beast. He was the one who had been filling the villagers’ heads with fears of famine. He had been controlling Fairfront for years, rolling the bones, reading prophecies that would situate him in a position of power. I had no doubt he was truly a mystic, a man of magic, but Mortas had been using his magic for ill gain.
All these years, I’d been suspicious of him—my father had fallen under Mortas’ spells, along with the rest of the village elders. But now I had proof that he was just as sinister as I’d always thought he was.
And he had been the one who trained Gawen. That was still mind-boggling, to think that my Gawen, as a young child, had been brought up by Mortas, selected and placed in this forest. Mortas had taught him magic. Mortas had positioned him as a guardian of the Fair Forest, helped him set up the wards, and told him to protect th
e forest at all costs. But why?
How did this all piece together?
I didn’t have time to puzzle it out now.
Mortas was gone, and Gawen was bent in half, holding his middle as if he had been sliced through the stomach.
And whatever energy had been flowing through the forest suddenly vanished too, just like something had sucked the life out of the trees. The leaves turned ashy; the air grew thin and cold. The very soil felt dry, crumbling, and all birdsong ended.
I was alone with Gawen once again, but whatever Mortas had done to him, it was only beginning.
“My love,” I whispered, my heart pounding as I crouched beside Gawen’s figure. He’d stopped the worst of his writhing, but a noise still issued from the back of his throat. I placed both my hands on his face, trying to center him, and his eyelids fluttered, open and closed, open and closed.
“Gawen, tell me what it is.” I spoke his name reverently, as if it was a spell itself—I wanted to ground him, tether him to this world, to himself as the pain wrecked him from the inside. Perhaps if he had something to hold on to, his own name…
But suddenly he arched his back, and his eyes flew open.
They were shining, golden, until a dark center in the middle expanded and took over the whole eye. Then they were bleak and hungry,but still they shone like minerals.
Gawen pushed himself up onto all fours, and I could see on his hands—fur, growing from his skin. It coated his neck and cheeks, and my stomach twisted.
His limbs seemed to stretch, his muscles thickening, and from this angle I could see his teeth, fangs lengthening.
A shiver went down my spine. This was not the same Gawen who had accompanied me to check the wards, or who had made me delicious stew in his hut, or who had ravished my body and made me feel more pleasure than I ever thought humanly possible.
This was the Beast of the Fair Forest.
He glanced back at me suddenly, as if he’d picked up my scent.
