The Glass Casket

by Templeman, Mccormick

  Rowan shook her head, her heart beating beyond her control. “Please, you flatter me, but I don’t want to be showered in jewels.”

  “Tell me this, then,” he said, suddenly still, his expression intent. “Would you like to become the most famous woman in the history of the land?”

  “What do you mean?” Rowan asked, confused.

  “What if I told you I could guarantee that someday you would serve as first-ever female vicoreille?”

  Rowan nearly laughed out loud at the idea. Not only was the position of the vicoreille always a man’s post, but it was not something that could be offered, and Rowan knew this. Whatever the duke might say to flatter her, she knew now that they were empty words, for if he thought she would believe he had the power to appoint her vicoreille, then he thought her a fool.

  Rowan stepped away from him, disappointed. It was clear now that he was not the man she’d supposed. He was handsome and rich, but reckless and deceitful. He was too much cake mixed with too much ale, and standing there looking into his dark green eyes, she felt that she might be ill.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, turning and quickly filling her basket. “But I have to go now. I’ll be late. I’m to take these scones over to Tom.”

  Finally the duke moved away from her and folded his arms in front of his chest. “That sounds absolutely fascinating,” he said, his tone no longer kind. “What a thrilling life you have ahead of you.”

  Without looking at him, she grabbed the basket and hurried from the room. In the front hall, her hands shook as she fumbled with her cloak. It was only once she was outside and the cold air was smooth against her cheek that she felt she could truly breathe again, and as soon as she was out of sight of the house, she stopped and leaned against a tree to steady herself.

  Her head seemed to spin as she tried to piece it all together. This was the second marriage proposal she’d received in the space of a fortnight, both of which came from men who did not love her. None of it made any sense. Clearly the duke wanted something from her, but to what end? Could it simply be her skill with the Midway translations? It couldn’t be that, for the writings of the ancient Midway peoples were not considered especially important—the city people saw their legends as backward and their fallen civilization, a failure. No, there was something else that she wasn’t seeing, and that worried her.

  Rowan started along the path again, watching as the snow gathered on her deerskin gloves. It would be good to see Tom. He had been strange lately, it was true—haunted—and he may not love her as she loved him, but he was her friend, and being with him always made her feel grounded and safe.

  When she reached the tavern, it was empty inside, but she heard sounds coming from the kitchen.

  “Hello?” Rowan called.

  “Out in a moment,” Elsbet replied.

  “I’ll just go up and see Tom,” Rowan said as she passed through.

  She bounded up the stairs and burst into Tom’s room, but she was surprised to find Jude, not Tom, within. “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Jude reclined on his brother’s bed, barely looking in her direction. “You say that, but you’re not.”

  “Excuse me?” she asked. She had been so in need of Tom—of his gentle reassurance—that she wasn’t sure she could handle Jude at all.

  “You’re excused,” he said, looking up at her now. “You didn’t come to see me, I presume.”

  “You presume?” she echoed, annoyance already building in her. “Yes, Jude. After all these years, I wasn’t suddenly consumed with a burning desire to come over here and see you. I think we’re all astonished that that hasn’t happened yet.”

  He bit his lip and looked out the window. “Touché, Rowan. Touché.”

  She looked to the bedside table, where her flowers languished, the life having drained from them, and a wave of sadness overtook her. Tom was supposed to be tending the blessing wreath for their wedding day. She tried to look away before Jude could notice she’d seen, but she was too late. She was always too late for Jude.

  “I’d better be going,” she said. “Tell Tom I dropped by.”

  Jude shook his head. “I will, but he won’t hear me.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Please,” he laughed. “You haven’t noticed the change in him? You of all people should be able to see that there’s something going on. There’s something happening to him.”

  She put a hand on her hip as much to steady herself as to appear defiant. Whatever concerns she might have about Tom, she didn’t want to reveal them to his brother. “Jude,” she said. “I know you enjoy baiting me, watching me squirm, but I don’t enjoy it, all right? To be honest, I don’t enjoy anything about you. I think you are a blight on the face of humanity, and I want you to leave me alone.”

  He smiled and nodded. “I just think you should know.”

  “Jude, I don’t want to play games with you. If you have something to tell me, just say it. Whatever it is, just say it.”

  She watched him closely, waiting for him to speak, and all at once he seemed different, almost desperate, as if he was trying to decide between two impossible choices. He furrowed his brow, then looked at her with eyes that seemed suddenly fragile, suddenly afraid.

  “He didn’t … he didn’t come home last night. I was hoping to catch him as soon as he got in, but he still isn’t here.”

  Rowan took a step back, her head swimming. “What?”

  Jude looked at his boots. “He hasn’t been sleeping here.”

  “No,” she said. “No. I mean, that’s not funny, Jude.”

  “I’m not joking,” he said quietly. “He’s gone all night every night, and sometimes part of the day. I don’t know where he goes. And when he does bother to show up, he’s not himself. He’s angry. He’s different.”

  “That can’t be,” she said, trying to sound reasonable, trying not to break down. “You’re lying.”

  His dark eyes bored into her. “I’m not lying to you. I’m many things, but I’m not a liar.”

  Rowan tried to think of something to say. She even opened her mouth, but her jaw started to tremble, and she found herself at a loss. Finally, she said, “I’m sure Tom has a rational explanation for it.”

  He nodded. “You’re probably right.”

  “Don’t agree with me if you don’t mean it,” she said, her voice ascending an octave, starting to warble. She was in danger of losing control of some aspect of herself, but she wasn’t sure what it would be.

  Jude shrugged, and Rowan felt rage burn within her. Maybe she could delay worrying about Tom, where he’d been, if she could focus her energy on hating Jude. Without thinking, she pushed at his shoulders, ground her fists into him, but he didn’t move—his body was set firm against her blows as she came down hard against him with her hapless fists.

  “What is wrong with you?” she screamed. “Does it make you happy? Hurting people? Does it make you happy?”

  He didn’t say a word, and this made the fury within her—fury she didn’t even know that she had—rise to the surface, and she found herself beating against him with increasing force, as if she were a battering ram trying to break him, and with each blow, the tension within her seemed to ease, as if she were scratching an itch.

  “I hate you!” she screamed, swatting at his face, and with the full force of her body, she slammed herself into him, and this time she met no obstacle, only receptive flesh as he softened his chest to her, and she tumbled forward, forcing him down onto the bed, finding herself suddenly on top of him, pressing into him, his lips a breath away from hers, and the room went silent as he gazed up at her. She could hear her own heartbeat and feel his chest seem to tremble beneath her. She knew she ought to move, to pull herself off him, and run from the room, but she didn’t. She stayed where she was, staring down at him, at his softly parted lips, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her, lifting her gently with each inhalation. And suddenly he see
med terribly weak lying there, vulnerable even. Anger mixing with heartache, she looked into his eyes, and she knew he was telling her the truth.

  “Rowan?” he said, his voice much more calm and measured than she’d anticipated.

  “Yes?” she answered back.

  He looked at her with soft eyes, his face steady and relaxed.

  “Rowan, I don’t want to be rude, but would you mind getting off me?”

  “Yeah,” she said, lifting herself up to stand. “Yeah, sure. I …”

  He propped himself up to rest on his elbows, and he watched her.

  She began to pace, adjusting her sleeves, pulling them down on her arms. “You say you have no idea where he goes?”

  Jude shook his head.

  “When does he leave?” she asked.

  Jude shrugged. “I’m not going to inform on my brother.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” she snapped. “The damage has already been done. Tell me when he leaves.”

  He sighed. “If he comes home at all, he’ll leave again just after nightfall. He goes down the back way and out into the woods.”

  Rowan nodded and then started for the door.

  “Don’t do it,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, stretched with emotion.

  “Don’t do what?” she said, turning to find him sitting up and staring at her, seemingly devoid of emotion.

  “Whatever you’re going to do,” he said. “Whatever you’re going to do, don’t do it.”

  “Why not?” she said defiantly.

  “Because I don’t want to see you get hurt,” he said, holding her gaze.

  Glaring at him, unable to understand what she felt in her heart, she backed out of the room, and with great purpose, she stormed down the stairs and out of the inn.

  13. THE STAR

  THE HOUSE WAS quiet that night when Rowan stole out of bed and crept down the stairs. She knew that going outside the village barrier at the witching hour was inviting disaster, but she had to know what was going on with Tom. He wasn’t just her betrothed; he was her best friend, and he was in some kind of trouble. She was sure of it. After choosing a black cloak from the closet, she retrieved a dagger from her father’s study and slipped it inside her boot. She was fairly certain that a dagger would do little to protect her against whatever walked the woods, but the cold steel flush against her calf reassured her.

  She made her way through the village, stealing past the illuminated windows at the front of the tavern, and rounding the back of the inn, hiding herself among the shadows. A twig snapping caught her off guard, and she twisted her head to peer into the darkness behind her, but there was nothing more. No movement, no sound. She kept her eyes trained on the back door of the tavern, and when it swung open, her heart lurched, but it wasn’t Tom. Old Petey Barnes came flying out the door and, falling to his knees, vomited straight into the snow. Rowan wrinkled her nose, gagging when a breeze caught the odor and sent it in her direction. Burping and wiping his mouth, the man nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied, and then tossed some snow over the mess. He picked himself up and wobbled back to the inn, opening the door and shutting himself inside.

  Rowan shook her head. Tom wasn’t coming. Jude had been lying. There was no way Tom was sneaking out into the forest in the dead of night. Tom was a good boy. Tom was the boy everybody trusted. Moreover, he was her best friend, and he would never hurt her. She knew that. So why had she doubted him? She wanted to cry, thinking about herself reduced to spying, standing out in the snow trying to catch the person she loved most in the world. She fought back her emotions, but they seemed to take root in her legs, weakening them, and before she knew it, she was shaking. She sat on the cold ground and pressed her knees to her chest to still them. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against a tree.

  When she heard the door creak, her eyes flew open and she saw Tom shutting it behind him. He looked around, then headed off into the woods. She pressed a hand to her heart, and then she pulled herself up, trying to be as quiet as she could, and watched as he disappeared between the trees. On tiptoes she started after him. He wore white gloves, the fool, and as he moved, moonlight illuminated the fabric. She stole through the trees as silently as she could as he trudged ahead, seemingly oblivious to her and the rest of his surroundings. There was a weightiness to the way he walked that didn’t seem like him, and at the same time he wore a generally frantic air, fidgeting with his hands and moving his neck in strange, uncomfortable-looking directions. To Rowan, he looked like an alcoholic forced to abstain, his body slowly rebelling against his mind.

  Then there was a noise, a crack, and Tom froze. Rowan, not twenty yards behind him, did the same. And then Tom did something so odd, Rowan could barely believe her eyes. He turned suddenly in her direction and pinned himself against a tree, eyes shut tight to the world. In the moonlight, she could see that his face was pale, his features pulled taut with what looked like terror.

  And then she heard it. A low rumble and then a sweeping sound, as if something large was moving through the forest, tearing down everything in its path. And yet the forest around her was still, as if the sound was not attached to anything, as if it were no more corporeal than a sigh. But then the noise intensified, as if it was overlaid with another, otherworldly sound like the rasping breath of a thousand dogs. Fear shot through her, laced with a kind of horrific intoxication. Involuntarily, she spun around and flattened her back against a tree, just as she had seen Tom do. She tried to bite back her scream as the wall of sound approached, but the fear began to tear at her chest. She shut her eyes as the moment of safety slipped away from her, pushing her farther back against the tree, and then it was all around her, but not just where she was. She could hear it yards away, where she knew Tom stood also like a trapped and helpless child. And she could hear it even farther than that, sweeping against the ground, pushing aside the very air that surrounded her, breathing in chattering shrieks like a legion of demons moving in tandem.

  In her mind, she spoke to herself as a mother might to a child, telling herself that everything would be okay—that soon it would pass, and life, the world, would go back to normal. But even as she tried to speak these words within the confines of her mind, the noise, the movement, seemed to drown it out, as if the thing, whatever it was, was capable of pushing through the spaces in her brain, her body, her self, moving through her being as easily as it moved through the trees.

  There was a crack and a gust of wind as something whipped through the air, and then the noise, the heaviness to the air, vanished, as if it had charged off somewhere very far away.

  Rowan stood there another moment, her back pressed against the tree, her eyes still closed. She knew it was gone, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She realized that her entire body was shaking, as if trying to release itself from the bondage of her fear. Her breath coming in shuddering spasms, she turned her head to see if Tom was all right.

  He was backing away from the tree slowly, staring into the darkness. He closed his eyes a moment as if in prayer and made the sign of the Goddess. Rowan peered out into the woods, trying to see what Tom saw, but found nothing. And then, as if receiving the signal he awaited, Tom turned and sprang in the opposite direction, darting into the trees faster than Rowan had ever seen him move. Pulling herself up, she lurched after him, then launched into a full sprint. She pushed herself as hard as she could go, but she couldn’t keep up with Tom, and she cursed as he disappeared into the trees.

  Her lungs were stretched beyond capacity, and the stabbing pain forced her to choke on the cold winter air. Up ahead, she could just make out the white of Tom’s gloves as he seemed to heave himself over something, a fallen tree probably, and, knowing she was about to lose him, she pushed herself even harder, her legs shaking beneath her, and then her foot caught on a tree root, her ankle twisted, and she cried out as the pain shot through her leg, burning. Shifting her weight, she tried to keep herself from putting too much pressure on her ankle. She threw
her body in the opposite direction, and suddenly the ground slid out from under her. She was on the side of an embankment, and losing her balance, she slipped in the snow and tumbled down a steep slope. For a second she had the sensation that she was falling off a cliff, falling a great distance into an abyss that awaited her below, but soon she hit solid ground, her shoulder taking the brunt of her weight.

  Again she cried out in pain, and then she heard something like the howl of a monstrous creature and felt movement behind her. She tried to pull herself up, to turn to reach for her dagger, but something was upon her, the warmth of a body, a familiar scent and a hand over her mouth. The body pressed on top of her, crushing her into the snow, the hand silencing her cries. And then she felt lips against her ear.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, and terror swept through her. “It’s coming back. If it knows we’re here, it will kill us.”

  Jude’s voice. Jude’s scent. Her body relaxed, and then she heard it again. Over their strained breathing, she heard it coming, sweeping through the forest on thousands of legs crackling like fire. Jude’s arm was around her, his body, she now realized, covering hers in an attempt to shield her, his face pressed into her hair. She could feel the sweetness of his breath sliding down her neck, violently hot at her ear, only to cool by the time it reached her clavicle, and for the first time in her life, she truly believed she was about to die, only to be discovered lying in the snow, frozen solid, the boy she despised most in the world pressed against her. And for some reason, she thought about her mother. She rarely allowed herself the luxury, but now she thought that she smelled her, could remember her smell, and without meaning to, she began crying silent tears that flowed forth, pooling in the snow.

  The sound came closer, moving, scrambling, scraping, until it seemed to sweep through the whole of her body, poisoning it. And then, as quickly as it came, it receded, moving back into the darkness, back into the trees, and slowly Rowan exhaled. She could feel Jude’s breath, coming in quick bursts now, feel his heartbeat racing.