Heart of the Forest (Arwn's Gift Book 1)

by Christina Quinn

  “Thanks, Yorwrath,” Grwn grunted. “The smith moved last spring. I think the old place is still vacant. Talk to him. I have to go deal with the mess you made. Wait a few hours before you come to my house. It’s the one with pink flowers by the ealdorman’s home. Wave to Daddy’s friends, Morwenna.” She waved, and Grwn took off after his wife and son.

  “I feel like I should do the talking when we reach the smith.” Caoilfionn snickered as we continued down the road.

  * * * *

  Hours later, I had a home again. A two-story home, even. It was near the inn, and it would be easy to separate living space from treatment space. I could actually have a home and not a tiny room off to the side. Yorwrath paid for it, and when Caoilfionn reached for coin, he glared at him hard enough to make the unicorn pause.

  After the smith left counting his coin, Yorwrath closed the door and locked it behind him, leaving the three of us alone in the mostly empty space.

  “This is very nice. It reminds me of the shop my father had in the capital when I was a girl,” I said as I walked around. Surprisingly it wasn’t even musty.

  “I’ll see the carpenter about furniture. Something tells me Grwn’s wife isn’t going to want us to stay the night.” Caoilfionn unlocked the door and left. Again, Yorwrath locked it behind him, leaving the two of us alone.

  I went upstairs and looked at the rooms. It had a kitchen, and then three bedrooms. The layout was simple, and the empty space seemed cavernous and full of possibilities. Yorwrath climbed the stairs behind me and looked around, nodding.

  “It’s nicer than I thought,” Yorwrath said, making me jump. “If Aeon hadn’t been my father, I probably would have ended up here. I might have been like Grwn, had children a wife.” He leaned against the wall.

  “Is that regret I hear in your voice?” I left the bedroom and stood before him.

  “No. Possibility,” he smirked.

  “Possibility? Does this mean you’re going to stop calling me ‘Dy’ne’?”

  “Maybe. Would you want to be a kept woman?”

  “Would you keep your collection?”

  “Yes, but when I’m here, we could pretend. That’s what this place is after all”—he shook his head—“a pretty fairy story in the middle of a kingdom at war.” “Are you being sentimental?” I teased, and he grunted.

  “How is it that I both hate you and—” he stopped himself and shrugged. “I’ll stay until you’re situated. Besides, you’re still shit with a sword, and you need to learn to defend yourself, Dy’ne.”

  Over a week, we fell into a routine as my home and shop filled with furniture. At first, the three of us slept in front of the hearth in the kitchen. Then the beds came in, and we slept in the separate rooms. Mornings were spent with Caoilfionn and me foraging for herbs while Yorwrath hunted. After we returned from foraging Yorwrath would spar with me in my little yard in the back. The neighbors often glared at us as Yorwrath kept calling me ‘Dy’ne.’ It should have bothered me, but I knew it was something he couldn’t let himself not do in public. He had a reputation to maintain, even though without that bloodied bandanna no one knew he was a Redcap.

  * * * *

  The day of the harvest festival the carpenter came over with the last of my furniture and the sign. Caoilfionn carefully oversaw the placement of the shelves and cots. He seemed excited about the prospect of having such a mundane job. Part of me was happy to have something to take my mind off Aneurin. Other than that, I didn’t care one way or another about being a Cunning Woman again.

  Once the house was in order Caoilfionn started placing the herbs on the shelves in their tiny baskets. I couldn’t help but to recall the massive apothecary in the tower and then the macabre one that Baba Yaga had.

  “I got you a gift for tonight,” Caoilfionn said as he started hanging sage to dry from the rafters.

  “A gift?”

  “Mhm, when the linen came in I saw it and thought of you. Tonight’s an important night for you.”

  “Is it?”

  “Mhm,” he practically purred.

  “That’s all you’re going to give me, huh?” I asked, sighing. He paused and grinned at me in response before he went back to tying herbs to the long wood planks that spanned the room. I climbed the stairs. It was weird to see the kitchen with shelves, chairs and a table, and water droplets that led from the hearth to my door. In my room, I found the bathing tub full of steaming water and a parcel wrapped in linen on my bed. Pulling back the twine that held it together, I unfolded the cloth to find a garland of flowers and, underneath, a dress of soft wool that was the same color as my eyes.

  The water in the bath smelled heavily of roses and some other sweet spices I couldn’t put my finger on. Still, I eagerly stripped and sank into the warm water. I needed a good soak. I sank all the way down to the bottom and held my breath as that luxurious heat seeped into my skin. With a gasp, I broke from the water’s surface. Outside, the sound of children playing games filled the air with laughter. Yorwrath was out with Grwn and his son. They were teaching the boy to fight behind Hedda’s back. It was, surprisingly, Yorwrath’s idea.

  As I sat in the water, the pit of my stomach twisted, and I grabbed the copper sides. My brows knit with worry as in my mind I could see a rider on a large black horse at the head of a pack of white wolves the size of ponies, with red eyes and ruddy noses. Behind the rider there were others, but none seemed to make my stomach twist like the one at the head of the pack. Shaking my head, I jumped out of the bath and into the chilly air. I cupped some of the water in my hands and smelled it again: rosemary, lilac, rose and anise. I dumped the water back into the bath and combed out my hair. Needless to say, I wouldn’t be getting back into the water. The entire time I combed my hair I kept seeing that hunting party and hearing the thuds of their hoofbeats in my mind.

  After the bath, I was careful to inspect the garland and the dress. The garland was large dark roses and dahlias, woven with smaller burgundy flowers I didn’t recognize immediately. The flowers almost seemed black as I stared at them. Average flowers with nothing special slipped in. Still it was reminiscent of the garland that Baba Yaga had given me roughly a month before. I fingered the petals of one of the roses before I got dressed. The dress actually fit me, which was surprising—clearly Caoilfionn had stared at me more closely than he let on.

  Once I was dressed, I walked back down into the shop holding the garland. Caoilfionn had finished tying the herbs to dry and was busy mixing things in the mortar and pestle while glancing at one of the tomes in elvish that I couldn’t read.

  “Nice trick with the bath,” I grumbled as I as crossed the floor.

  “It wasn’t a trick. I am simply trying to…exercise the power in your blood like an atrophied limb.”

  “Warn me next time.”

  “Did something happen?” He set down the pestle and raised his gaze to mine.

  “No, I just feel…strange.”

  “It’s probably just a side effect of the herbs.” He muttered half to himself as he returned to mixing whatever he was mixing. “You look pretty,” he added as I snagged my cloak from a hook.

  “I look like a drowned rat.”

  “No, even with your hair wet you look lovely. There’s some linen by the tinctures you can use to dry your hair.” He gestured to a shelf that held a bunch of tiny vials and a folded length of linen.

  “Suuure.” I set the garland on a shelf and wrapped my hair in the towel. An hour later my hair was dry enough to leave. I set the garland on top of my head and pulled the cloak over my shoulders and carefully tied it.

  Outside, it was just barely warm enough for me to have the hood of my cloak down. The wind kicked up the heavy fabric and blew it hard around me as I walked down the neatly kept street realizing the truth of the words Yorwrath spoke to me weeks ago. This place was a fairy story in the middle of a land at war, a lie. With every step I took, I could feel the racing of those hoofbeats from that rider and feel that sour sensation. I could
see it all unraveling before my eyes, all of this happiness coming to a horrible end, and an altar to the Dawn erected where they were building the Wicker Man in the square. Taking a few breaths, I pursed my lips and continued on to Grwn’s home.

  Grwn was in the front yard with his daughter. She had placed her tiny pink garland on his large bald head. They were playing with her dolls in the flower garden. I couldn’t stop smiling at the sight of that huge mountain of an elf playing with a tiny pink doll. Beyond him, Yorwrath was leaning against the house smoking a pipe, while Hywel, Grwn’s son, practiced his swordplay with a stick.

  “So her ladyship has finally deigned to grace us with her presence.” Yorwrath gnarred as he emptied the pipe in the grass and stamped out the embers.

  “She’s a lady?” Morwenna perked up and looked at me. “Oh, she looks like a lady! The Lady of the Dark, Gwyn ap Nudd’s mistress.”

  “Careful, Grwn. Your little one might grow up to be a druid,” Yorwrath groused, pushing from the wall.

  “I’m early still. They don’t light the Wicker Man until sundown, right? I still don’t understand the concept.” Sighing, I stepped through the gate into the yard.

  “You look well,” Yorwrath murmured with a bit of a swallow.

  “Thank you.” I smoothed my dress as Hedda left the house wearing a warm orangey-red wool dress with heavily embroidered ribbon at her waist, hem, and neckline.

  “Gods, you look like something from a fairy story, Valentina,” Hedda said, as she looked me over before holding her hand out to Morwenna, who grabbed it almost instantly.

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “Avert your eyes, you cur. She’s far too pretty for you, Yorwrath,” Hedda added with a smirk, as Grwn stood and placed the orangey-pink garland on his daughter’s pale hair. “So did they tell you? They wore me down and talked me into allowing Grwn to buy Hywel a sword for his name day. Of all things! What need has he for a sword? The boy is only ten winters!” I grinned as Hedda continued her tirade. I knew better than to interrupt Hedda, or offer a dissenting opinion. The woman scared me; I think she even scared Yorwrath a little. I noticed he had stopped using the word “Dy’ne” around her and the kids.

  We attended the festivities together. We watched the horse races and archery competition. Both Hywel and Yorwrath were convinced that they could have done better than those who entered. Yorwrath participated in mock combat and won the champion’s purse—because no one fights like he does. I played dice, and by sunset lost more coin than I should have.

  The crier ran through the fields calling for everyone’s attention and announced that the Wicker Man was going to be lit soon. Yorwrath’s hand slipped around my waist as we headed back to the square. A druid in white dragged a man from the ealdorman’s cellar. He was screaming and crying that it was an accident. My brows furrowed as they stuffed a cloth gag into the man’s mouth. I had it explained to me before, but it was still somewhat hard to watch.

  They burned criminals in the Wicker Man to please Amathaon, the god of the harvest, so that he would keep Gwyn ap Nudd, the god of winter and the dead, away longer. Another man was dragged out. This one was silent. He glared at all of us who were gathered like he was imagining our deaths. Yorwrath’s hand was still on my side, tracing his fingers over my belt, as they tied the sacrifices into the massive straw man. Three more men and one woman were produced and tied to the effigy before the druid in white said some words in the elven tongue and lit the hay structure on fire. The people within screamed, but the screams were quickly drowned out by the lively playing of a band. I caught Caoilfionn watching the Wicker Man’s slow burn from the window of my shop. The look on his face was almost one of horror, and for a moment his glamour faltered. His gaze fell on me, and he quickly smiled.

  As the Wicker Man burned, people danced and ate around the massive pyre. Hedda and Grwn went home after the pyre had been lit; they walked hand in hand with their children trailing behind them. As someone who had almost ended up on a pyre, I felt a bit strange celebrating someone’s death by fire.

  “Something bothering you, Dy’ne?” Yorwrath grumbled, dropping his hand from my side.

  “I was almost put to death on midsummer’s eve, on a pyre.”

  “That was different. Those people deserved death. They committed real crimes. It wasn’t a theological difference. They raped and murdered, Dy’ne.”

  “So you deserve to be in there.” I nodded toward the still-burning pyre.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I honestly wasn’t expecting that from you.”

  “I know what I am, Dy’ne. I have no bizarre rationale for why I’m better than those who were just put to the fire. I’ve raped, I’ve murdered, I’ve stolen. I’m a Redcap. I’ve been convinced since Aeon made everyone take a turn on Zuljeta in front of me that we will outlive our usefulness and the druids will build a massive Wicker Man in the middle of Dryslwyn Tanllyd and burn us all.”

  “That’s the first time you’ve said her name since I’ve known you.” He shrugged at my words.

  “Want to play dice?”

  “No, I’ve already lost everything I can spare to lose.”

  “You haven’t lost everything, Dy’ne.”

  “What do you mean? I’m completely out of coin.”

  “You’re still in your dress.” He smirked.

  “Nice try.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” His smirk blossomed into a grin, and for a moment I saw the happy person he could have been. “I’m going to grab some spiced wine. Grwn went on all morning about the damn stuff. Do you want any?” I nodded, and he walked over to where the innkeeper was pouring wine for a copper. I hopped up onto a nearby table and sat with my legs dangling off of the edge as I watched the exchange between the two elves with a bit of a smile. The innkeeper wouldn’t let Yorwrath pay; apparently because he was the champion it was free. My gaze passed over the couples dancing and those seated at the tables, most of them were human or elf though there were a few humans and elves together.

  Yorwrath returned while I was staring at one couple in particular, an elf and a human. They were in a tight embrace as they danced to the music the band played. The elf kept whispering to the human girl, making her blush crimson and from time to time hide her face against his chest. I didn’t notice Yorwrath setting a cup of wine beside me as he sipped his. The sound of the wood hitting wood made me jump and turn my attention back to him. He looked so handsome by the firelight. Those amazing irises of his shone like polished gold as he stared down at me. The red-brown color they originally were was represented in a mere thread that looked like a trail of blood. It remained a reminder of what I had done—that I saved his life, and how I saved his life. I sipped the wine and instantly tasted the floral note of wormwood hidden among the cinnamon and clove. Fantastic, no wonder Grwn likes it. Wormwood intensified the effects of alcohol. The rumor among teenagers that it could make you hallucinate was complete rubbish. After a quick sip, I set the cup back down.

  “Don’t like it?”

  “It has wormwood in it. I wonder how many of these couples are going to be at the door tomorrow asking for fisher’s root tea?” My attention drifted over the couples dancing close. A few of the ones at the tables were making out hard, their kisses audible even over the loud lick of the flames.

  “Less than you think.” Yorwrath drained the cup. “Most are here because they want a family, Dy’ne. Even if their men or women only come round once or twice a year to bring them strawberries from the forests.” His gaze traveled over my face, “Are you going to finish that?” He gestured with his chin toward my cup, and I shook my head.

  “So they all live double lives?” I asked as Yorwrath started sipping from my cup. I took it from him and nursed it a little, while he drummed his fingers on the table to the sides of my hips.

  “Yes, I saw one of my lieutenants arrive this morning. Goatfucker plowing near pissed himself when he watched me leave your shop. This is someone who I know to be just as horri
ble as I am. Just last spring I watched him torch a guard’s farm with the children locked inside. He has sixteen half-elven children, six-fucking-teen. At first, I thought his home was a plowing orphanage or something, there were so many brats running around.” He shook his head.

  “Jealous?” I asked, raising a brow, as he took a large swallow from my wine cup.

  “The fuck would I be jealous, Dy’ne?”

  “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like to have someone to come home to in the winter?”

  My question made him still. The couples around us had disappeared except for one, who had decided the middle of the square was as good a place as any. The couple with the blushing human girl and the elf who had whispered to her all night were making love on a table only a handful of feet from us. Yorwrath finished the wine and set the empty cup down, and his eyes darted around. The innkeeper had left. Linen banners in orange and gold billowed in the wind, drawing my attention to the Wicker Man, who was now a smoldering ember skeleton. The hay had all burned away, leaving only the wooden scaffolding and the charred humanoid shapes in their midst.

  A chill settled into the air with the loss of the fire of the Wicker Man. And I pulled the hood of my cloak over the garland as the couple near us continued their horizontal dance and their moans filled the night air. I glanced at Yorwrath.

  “Well, Champion, I believe it’s time to head home.”

  “Too cold for you, Dy’ne?”

  “No, but it’s getting there.”

  “You could always let me warm you.”

  “No offense to near company, but exhibitionism was never quite my style.”

  “I don’t seem to recall you denying Aneurin in a decidedly more public display. Are you really saying that if I slid my hand under that skirt, I wouldn’t find you wet, hot, and oh so willing?” Those words spoken in that dark tone of his made my cheeks hot with blush and my throat parched beyond belief. I swallowed hard and sighed.

  “That was different. He was claiming me.” I raised my eyes to his.

  “The fire’s there, Dy’ne.” He nodded toward the smoldering Wicker Man.