Sybil and Edryn looked down at her. She saw their beauty like fire and shadow, hot and cold, storm and calm. They were breathtaking, and she wanted every inch of their elegant strength as her own. She cowered beneath them. She had always cowered beneath them, and that was what made them terrible and beautiful to her—the way they made her so small and deficient, a thirsty root, an un-bloomed flower, an unfinished song. This desire to be near them had become the most familiar thing in her life. She couldn’t imagine living without it.
Her bottom lip trembled. She hung her head. She didn’t know why she had walked into the garden and picked their flowers.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she whimpered, shivering from the warmth still drifting from Cassia’s body.
“The only one you’ve hurt is yourself,” Odele said with a huff.
Edryn stepped forward and Issina looked at the eyelet lace stitched to the hem of her dress. The holes seemed to wink at her, almost teasing as Edryn pushed the toe of her shoe into Cassia’s back.
“You really killed her, Mother.”
“Of course.”
“We won’t have any milk for cheese. We’ll have to buy another goat.”
“Not if you marry Braeden. Have you given him a final answer?”
Issina looked up at Edryn, who looked back at her, smugness on her face. “I have—we will marry right after the festival.”
For the rest of the day, she scrubbed the kitchen floor even though it was already clean. She mended holes in Sybil’s stockings, repaired a broken hinge in the stable, and did every other task Odele gave her. Blood seeped through the dirty cloths she had wrapped around her hands. Nothing had changed, except her heart felt emptier than before. When she was eight she had pondered running away. The countess was strong in her mind, her powders and fine clothes and how they made her long for a better, more beautiful life. But the moment she had packed her few belongings and headed into the forest, determined never to look back, she had known it was a mistake and ran back home. Her heart feared the unknown, the cold storms and approaching winter, the hunters she had heard about washed up on riverbanks, mangled by bears or wolves.
Those memories strong in her mind, she wondered if she could find the courage to try to leave again. For the moment, she knew she must wait. She passed by a small bush and made impossible plans to bury Cassia next to it. The goat’s body was still in the chicken yard since Odele had forbidden anyone to touch her. “I’ll move her into the stable before nightfall,” she had said. “She was too old to use for meat, so she’ll stay there until Thomas comes to get her tomorrow. He’s always looking for animal fat.”
Thomas was their closest neighbor, a candle maker who often helped with large chores Issina couldn’t handle herself. He had helped her fix a leak in the roof once. If it wasn’t for his kindness, she probably would have suffered many more beatings from Odele. Now he would use Cassia to make candles. Her heart sank.
She caught Sybil’s and Edryn’s whispers and nervous glances in her direction. They obviously distrusted her more now than they ever had. She doubted they would touch her anytime soon—as long as she could keep them out of her head.
Braeden came for supper. He sat at the table and laughed and smiled so heartily it filled the entire house like a warm summer breeze. Issina watched him through the crack in the kitchen doorway. She liked the way his chin dimpled, the way he held his fork and tapped the edge of it lightly on his plate as he talked. In the hallway, his dusty footprints followed hers from that morning. She thought of them as she turned away from the door and pulled the meat from a pot over the fire and set it on a large platter. It was so tender it fell off the bone, and the smell of it made her mouth water. She hoped Braeden would like it. He had specifically requested lamb, and Odele had spent more money than she should have buying it at the market.
Lifting the platter, she swallowed the lump in her throat and exited the kitchen. This was the first time Odele had allowed her to serve dinner while Braeden was present. Her heart beat fast. The platter slipped, but she caught it just as Braeden looked up and smiled. He probably had no idea who she was. Only a servant.
“That looks and smells divine,” he said as she set the platter in the center of the table. “Did you prepare it, my dear? Odele is such a fine cook, but she has apparently given herself the night off.”
His eyes fastened to her. She blinked and opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What could she possibly say to someone like him?
“Issina is an excellent cook, I’ll give her that,” Odele said with a huff as she threw her a nasty glare. “Go fetch the rest of our meal.”
“So, you’re Issina?” Braeden asked quietly. He glanced at her bandaged hands, and she backed away. “Edryn has told me about you.”
She moved her lips, but still nothing came out.
Edryn cleared her throat and touched his arm with a trembling hand. “I’m starving. Shall we eat?”
He nodded in Edryn’s direction, but didn’t take his eyes off Issina. “Yes, we’ll eat. It’s nice to meet you, Issina.”
“My pleasure,” she managed, and did a little curtsey before she hurried back to the kitchen, completely out of breath.
She went to bed that night with Braeden in her head. She wrapped her thoughts around his presence, aching to be near him, to feel his fingers in her hair, his lips on hers. He slipped into trees and light, fading until she silently wept at his disappearance and the other man appeared as before.
As she looked upon him, the same ache consumed her, the sensation of having lost something only he could give back to her. It was different than what she felt with Braeden, as if instead of wishing for a connection, it was already there waiting for her to act. Instinctively, she reached for him. He smiled gently and motioned her closer.
4
Music
Sometimes there were voices in the rain, singing. Issina had never been able to explain it. It could have been the wind or a wounded animal, or maybe it was an echo of every song Sybil and Edryn had sung through the years. Whatever it was, she had grown so used to it that she believed rain everywhere in the world sounded the same. It had long since blended into something familiar and normal, something she hadn’t thought about until now.
As she rose from her bed and quietly stepped into a wool dress and tattered cloak, she heard the singing louder than it had ever been before. She wondered if she was still dreaming when, for the first time, the man spoke to her in her mind.
Come to me in the forest. I’ll keep you warm. Safe...
She couldn’t ignore the urgency in her heart. Her thoughts beat like a drum. Rise, rise, dress, dress, down the stairs, down the stairs, out the door, out the door..
The singing was louder. It was like a million voices falling to the ground from the heavens, each raindrop a bright, clear note. The rain had not sounded like that the night Sybil had left her in the forest. She looked up at the black clouds and pulled her cloak close. Why was she out here? The rain was already stinging her face. She was insane for listening to voices, insane for heading down the path into the woods. Something was going to kill her and eat her, or perhaps she would freeze to death.
Then she remembered she couldn’t die. Either way, she was insane. She had purposefully driven her sisters and her mother to punish her. She had avoided eating food placed right in front of her. She had fallen for a man she could never have. An eternity would never fill the void in her heart left by Sybil’s words. Haven’t you seen the darkness in her mind?
She wandered down the path, so lost in her own thoughts that she reached the well before she realized she wasn’t cold. She wasn’t warm, either. Light surrounded her; faint, but bright enough to show her breath on the air—puffy clouds fading into the darkness. Her clothes were wet, her hair, her eyelashes, but she felt none of it. She kept walking. No roots tripped her, and after a while she was no longer on her familiar path, but another path lined with white, flat stones. They glowed as if bathed in moonlight, but
there was no moonlight. She thought of the gentle white light she had seen so many times from her window. Now she was in the midst of that light.
The rain kept coming stronger than ever, streaming in rivulets between the stones. The singing was louder than before, more beautiful than even Sybil’s and Edryn’s voices. It filled her with an emotion she didn’t understand, and she clutched her cloak closer.
Finally, the path led to a grove of trees, the same trees she had seen in her dreams, the same ones she envisioned when she touched the roots in the cellar. They gave off the same white light from their smooth trunks. Their heart-shaped leaves seemed to tinkle like glass in the rain. In front of her, dressed head-to-toe in rich greens and browns, stood the man from her dreams. Her heart pounded at the sight of him. She expected an ache to fill her chest, but warmth filled her instead.
“Hello, Issina.” He motioned her forward. “Are you hungry?”
A meal had been laid out on the ground beneath the wide branches of a tree with leaves grown so thick they held out the rain.
She noticed the meal looked similar to the meals she had eaten in the forest—the same dishes and utensils. Her heart sank a little to know that the food had not been any of her doing, conjured by unknown magic in her veins. With a nervous glance at the man, she followed his gesture to sit in front of the food. She began eating only because she didn’t know what else to do. Her mind was spinning too fast to focus on the fact that her stomach was empty and growling. The man’s presence was intoxicating. She felt as if an invisible thread stretched between him and her, trying to bind them together.
He sat across from her and folded his hands in his lap. For the first time, she noticed his ears. Delicate. Pointed.
“You’re an elf,” she stuttered through a mouthful of bread.
“You didn’t notice earlier?”
“No, I was distracted by everything else.” She glanced up at the tree and its delicate light.
“Not even in your mind when I came to you? You didn’t notice then?”
“No.” She swallowed the bread. “Am I dreaming now?”
He smiled, and she realized for the first time how much his face resembled Genevieve’s features, almost glasslike, with high cheekbones and skin so fair it gave off its own light like the trees.
She stopped eating.
“Genevieve is an elf.”
“Yes.”
“But she doesn’t have ears like yours.”
“Are you sure? She keeps them well hidden beneath her hair. She is also very skilled at fooling humans.”
“Why?” She leaned away from the food. “Why would you hide yourselves from us?”
The man smiled again. He wasn’t handsome in the same way as Braeden, but something about him made her heart speed at twice its normal rate. He was almost too beautiful to look upon.
“There is much I’d like to tell you, Issina, but I’m afraid the night is short and I only have a little while before I must help you get back home. If you’re no longer hungry, we can take a walk.”
“Who are you? Why are you doing this? Why have you given me food in the forest?”
He focused his gaze on her face, and for the first time she detected his attraction to her. She wanted to touch him as he moved a hand toward her, and then retreated.
“It saddens me to see how your family treats you,” he said. “I’ve watched you in the forest and kept my distance. I never wanted to frighten you, but as the years went by, I couldn’t stop myself from helping—from lifting your pain any way I could.”
Her cheeks grew warm and she looked away. Was that the ache she had felt? His desire to help her? “You’ve watched me for that long?” she whispered.
“It’s difficult not to notice such beauty.” He leaned down and offered her his hand. “Come, we need to do something about your hands.”
The white-cobbled path wound through the forest, never leading anywhere specific as she walked next to the elf. The rain ran in streams down his face and hers. She realized she didn’t even know his name, and asked him.
“You’re probably unable to pronounce my name,” he answered, smiling. “You may call me Oken.”
She nodded. “Oken—that’s a lovely name.” She didn’t know what else to say. She wanted to say his name over and over, but feared he would think her strange.
The bread she had just eaten sat pleasantly in her stomach as the singing hummed around them. He turned off the path and led her to a small clearing. Purple and yellow flowers grew in clusters, emitting soft lights the same colors as their petals.
He motioned for her to sit on a rock beneath another tree, which offered shelter from the rain. When she was seated, he walked across the clearing and bent down to the earth. The air smelled of wet soil and fragrant blooms. For the first time, she realized how much the atmosphere reminded her of her sisters’ garden.
“Your hands must hurt,” he said when he returned with a fistful of blooms and stems and roots dripping with rain. For a moment he looked like a drenched suitor about to hand her a sad-looking bouquet. She smiled and then looked down at her bandaged hands.
“Yes, but I’m used to it. Odele likes to use the switch to punish me.”
His expression flitted between frustration and sadness. “I want to make the pain go away,” he said, sitting next to her. He pulled a small knife from a pocket in his shirt and began slicing the roots into tiny shreds. They curled and coiled on his knee, and when there was a small pile of them, he crushed some yellow and purple petals between his fingers until moisture dripped from them onto the roots. A delicious smell drifted from the concoction. A stone bowl seemed to materialize from the ground. He dumped the shaved roots into it and set it in his lap.
“Remove the bandages, please,” he said, then lifted his eyes. The same soft gaze as before rested on her face. “I can help, if you wish.”
She lifted her hands to him. With gentle, steady fingers, he unwrapped the rain-drenched bandages. Her wounds were fresh and moist, but no longer bleeding. They were long and pink and puffy, open to expose tender flesh. He studied them, sliding his fingers over hers.
“I’m sorry you’ve been so mistreated,” he whispered. “I will do what I can, but you need to focus your emotions on something positive.” He lifted the bowl and blew softly on the roots. The air seemed to vibrate around them. His glow intensified. Finally, he lifted some of the roots between his fingers and lightly rubbed them into her wounds. As they miraculously dissolved into her skin, her vision spiraled into the same trees and music and light as when she touched the roots in her cellar. She figured that was something positive, and focused on it with all her might. She leaned forward as warmth filled her body.
“Open your eyes, Issina.”
He released her hands. When she looked down at them, her wounds still remained, but they were closed. She felt no more pain.
“I didn’t realize how they throbbed before,” she said, lifting them, touching them, her thoughts centered on him. She yearned to do something for him in return. “Thank you. How can I repay you for this? How can I—”
“No, you must not think that way. I did this without any thought of repayment.” He set the bowl on the ground and took one of her hands, bringing it close enough to his mouth to brush his perfect lips against her fingertips. “Let me know if they hurt again.”
She closed her eyes at his touch, torn between pulling away from him and wishing for more. His closeness seemed inappropriate, but everything inside her told her it wasn’t. He gently lowered her hand to her lap and let go.
“Now,” he said, clearing his throat, “we need to talk about your goat.”
“My goat? Why? She’s dead.” She lowered her eyes to his suede boots and the brown shell buttons trailing up the sides.
“She may have some life in her yet.”
“Some life left? She’s clearly dead, trust me.”
“I know.” He leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. He peered up at her, his
rich brown eyes crowned with thick lashes. He seemed young, like herself, but the speckled light in his eyes spoke of wisdom and age far beyond anything she had seen before. She expected to tremble in his presence, suddenly having become aware of elves and their magic, but nothing about her situation surprised her. Her previous visions of Oken seemed to have prepared her for this moment. She realized she had been craving it.
“You’re surrounded by elves,” he said. “We have lived around you your entire life. These forests are our home—our only home.”
“But we’ve never seen you before—except for Genevieve, but nobody knows she is an elf.”
“We decided long ago to keep ourselves hidden. We’ve lived here longer than your kind has existed, but it’s risky to reveal ourselves to you.”
“What about the high growers in other lands? Are they elves?”
“Yes. There are few of us living among you in the open.” He lowered his hands from his chin and looked at them in his lap. The glow in his skin seemed to ebb, as did the glow from the flowers and the trees.
He cleared his throat again. “One of our kind used to visit the outer lands looking for his perfect match, a human he could bring here to bond with him. Humans are special.” He looked up at her. “Elves may be magical, but we don’t have the capacity to learn and change as your kind does. Humans are able to wield magic, but remain mortal. They progress while we remain static. We’ve tried many times to find perfect human matches. With humans, we are complete, but all of us can’t live among you. There are too many differences... complications.”
Her heart fluttered as the connection between them grew stronger, yet she kept floating away from it. She realized what she had been feeling all those times she ate his meals in the forest, all those times she saw him in her dreams. It had been him, their connection. “What do you mean you’re complete with a human?”
He thought for a moment. “I don’t mean a mate, as your kind would say. It’s more than that—a permanent bond. But it’s rare for humans to wish to remain with us. We don’t force anything on others. Everything must be a choice, just as you wouldn’t be here with me if you didn’t wish it.”
Bonded: Three Fairy Tales, One Bond Page 18
