Vynasha rubbed a hand against her belly as she thought of him tracing his thumb along her claws and understood what her brother wouldn’t say. “I won’t be anyone’s puppet, Ceddrych.”
“I know.”
She could see in his eyes then he truly did know. Maybe she had been quick to judge him harshly.
As if in answer, he continued, “The curse took me after I came into this valley. These people protected me. Half of them were refugees from their mad king. There are things in this valley that would happily take their heads. After the war I was tired of killing. The pack didn’t force me to join, but they asked if I wanted to be a guardian of this land, explained what was happening and why, and for a time it felt… right.”
“I understand.” She covered his hand with hers and with his confession, forgave him.
But you are one of them, whether you know it or not, she thought with some bitterness. Again the curse had stolen one of her family. Ceddrych considered himself apart from this village and Baalor’s pack. Vynasha wasn’t so sure he could leave them even if he wanted to.
Ceddrych hesitated a moment before gripping her hand with his. “I am sorry, Ashes. I wanted to protect you, too. I thought if I convinced the Council to let me speak with you, they could leave you alone.”
“But they will expect me to aid them. They will expect you to convince me,” she stated, harsher than she intended. Muscles in his hand twitched slightly with her words.
“They know the humans helped you reach the lost city.” Ceddrych averted his gaze. “I know you left Wyll with them. I haven’t told the village, because of Baalor’s bloody quest for revenge. But with you here, it might be enough of a distraction for him not to notice if I slip away to search for their camp.”
Wolfsbane had seemed quite vicious toward the Wolvs, though at the time, she hadn’t known the protectors also wore human skins. It had been easier to see them as terrifying monsters then, before she’d met her Beast.
“You should let me go,” she said. “I’ve been in these woods before, remember?” She wasn’t so sure the mountain man or his daughter would trust her Wolv brother with little Wyll. More than likely they would place a dagger in his chest.
He barked a laugh. “Maybe you could have, before you made friends with the Iceveins family. You’ve made yourself important now and Baalor won’t let you out of this village, trust me.” Ceddrych squeezed her hand once before releasing her to pull something from his mess of vellum parchment and books. He spread a fresh roll of stretched animal skin over the table, revealing carefully inked mountains, the Silver River and a vague impression of the castle.
“You made a map?” She couldn’t hide her wonder and faint smile as she saw he’d even marked their family’s ancestral ruins above the valley of Whistleande. Her finger stilled just over the last stronghold of the north lords, a reminder of Old Ced’s desperation to reclaim the honor of their family name.
“Always wanted to explore new lands, didn’t we? This may not be entirely accurate, of course. I only know maps from what I’ve seen in books and in my service with the southern army during the war.”
She looked up at him. “Why are you showing me this now?”
“I want you to have this, just in case something happens.”
“In case what happens?” Angry as she was with him before, Vynasha couldn’t help her fear. Despite his loyalties and secrets, she would always love him, always fight for him.
Ceddrych smiled and chucked her chin. “My fierce baby sister. How did I survive all these years without you?”
She batted his hand away. “I’m not a baby anymore, Ceddrych.”
His smile faltered and he tugged at one of her long curls. “Don’t let anyone else see this map while I’m away. Keep to the house tomorrow while I’m gone, aye?”
Unwashed locks of hair fell into his eyes as he rolled the skin up. She wondered when he’d last bathed, the last time he’d truly cared for himself. Since her arrival, he might not have had the chance, she observed.
Ceddrych returned the map to its resting place atop a crude bookshelf, the bark left on the outer surface of its frame. With his back to her, he lifted a finger. “Oh, and one more thing, could you maybe avoid tossing any more children while I’m gone?”
Vynasha rolled her eyes. “I’m not a barbarian.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder with a shadow of his usual mirth softening the gravity in his face, but he neither agreed or disagreed with her. “I will find Wyll and bring him home as soon as it’s safe.”
“Ceddrych…” Vynasha closed Soraya’s journal and hugged it to her chest. “I didn’t tell you about Wyll before because…”
“Because I’m a wolf now,” he said with loathing as he hunkered down on his pallet beside the fire and pulled a knife from his belt. Strange that a wolf should rely on such things. But she supposed, as she ran her tongue over pointed fangs, there were times when sharp teeth and claws were not enough.
Before the castle walls had glowed with some strange otherworldly lights. But out here in the frosted garden, the land was the pale amber and rose hues of a golden sunset. Snow fell peacefully rather than violently and she could hardly feel the bitter sting of cold. The brisk wind was refreshing rather, welcoming her home. Vynasha looked down to find the roses the Prince had given her, his gift of sunlight and something tangible to touch. Blood-red petals had been replaced by pure and glowing white. She bent down slowly to caress them and the feeling of soft velvet was euphoric in a way only her mother could have understood.
These were her roses, forged by the earth and cold and her blood. They were as much a part of her as she was them. Her roses needed tending. She pushed up her skirts for her dagger and frowned when she found nothing but silk and velvet pleats. Where was her dagger? She looked around for the tools Hvalla often tucked away for her when she was careless. But there was no stash, no wooden chest to protect their things from the elements, and Hvalla was nowhere to be found today.
Vynasha dug her fingers in the earth, but it was not as solid as it had been before. In fact, the world seemed to blur and contort shape, so the stone walls behind faded away and a dark silhouette stood vigil before a virgin sun. That was when she knew this wasn’t just any dream, but one of his dreams.
“Grendall?” she called, peering at the silhouette before her. He kept his back to her and she could not help but trace his frame with her eyes. Had it only been a night or two since she last saw him?
“You came back,” he whispered and the sound carried clear as if he spoke beside her.
She flinched at his empty words and returned her focus to the roses. She’d forgotten he did not want her here and the reasons she was furious with him.
Her roses needed tending. So she pruned them with her fingers until thorns pricked her skin and unveiled the violet-hued blood beneath her fingertips. She gasped in fear as the scent of majik filled her nose and jerked. Her fingertips grazed the white roses, and with wonder, she watched as her life essence gleamed on the blank surface like stars.
“Did you wear the amulet again? Foolish wench, why did you return after I ordered you not to?” Grendall interrupted, his voice stronger now. The sun imbued his skin with slowly burning light. “I told you not to invade my dreams, Vynasha.”
She shrugged. “My majik is wild without the amulet. Sorry, but I can’t afford to lose control right now.”
“What do you mean lose control? What happened? Are you in danger?” Power built behind his words, until his skin was almost too golden, too bright to look at directly.
“I’m fine,” she hissed and turned away. “Besides, it’s not as though I wanted to come,” she snarled and then sighed.
That is not the truth, but lies are easier, aren’t they?
“Yes, lies are always easier,” he answered her unspoken thought aloud, then stood before her. Instead of the familiar moonlit gray pallor, his skin shone like hot white coals, with the sun gleaming behind him. But his silvery
eyes were sad and angry still. “Lies are what have surrounded your entire life, Ashes, and you are still not ready for the truth. You choose to remain that weak little girl, afraid all the terrible things that have happened are somehow her fault.”
Vynasha moved to stand only to find her body frozen against the earth. She could not pull her knees from the earth and sat back with a huff. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“You will hear it, Ashes. You will know the true reason your father chose madness in his curse and why he dragged your brother to these wylderlands. You will know why your blood gives life and why it changes colors now.” His form seemed to shudder, to flicker in between sunlight and shadows as he slowly knelt down until their eyes were level.
“What if I don’t want to know the truth? What if I’m better off not knowing?”
His smile always looked more like a grimace on his stoic face, like he had not smiled in a hundred years. “Deep down, we both know you cannot mean that, Ashes.”
“So are you going to tell me?” She sucked in a breath when he leaned in close enough she could feel the heat coming off his golden skin.
“We are all going to die in the end, Vynasha. I would rather you die knowing who you are.”
“I know you and the other wyne think I’m some kind of miracle worker,” she murmured, “but I’m a mess. My majik is too wyild for me to keep it inside. It’s easier to wear your blasted amulet and keep it buried, safer.”
When his hand grazed her cheek, it was warm and gentle as spring sunlight. “Odym was wrong to tell you to embrace the curse. My Source kept you safe, but my power combined with yours is not a pleasant thing. I am sorry I did not warn you.”
She leaned into his hand, pressed her bloody fingers to his. “Yeah, it was wrong of you not to ask.” He pulled his hand away, troubled, and she snatched his hand with hers before he could escape. “However, our—connection—did protect me. So thank you.”
He grimaced and the light faded from his skin, from his eyes. “Do not ever thank me, Ashes. We have stolen so much from you…”
“Don’t,” she warned. Something in his words, in the majik pulsing between them, made her heart race in terror.
“We knew from the moment your father set foot in our borders he would send you to us. We could smell it on his blood, and the Prince could not resist taking him from you.”
“No, please don’t!” she choked as Old Ced’s broken body was suddenly lying on the path beside them, choking on his own blood, begging her to understand. She pressed her hands to her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
She lowered her hands and her father’s image was swallowed by an inky gray smoke rising from the ground.
Grendall opened his mouth to answer, even as an invisible weight fell between them, severing all feeling in her hands. The familiar gray pallor in his skin returned, only this time his skin blackened. The smoke took on a smell she never wanted to remember. Ashes burst from his charred face, stinging her skin.
She screamed as the same howling darkness from before swirled behind him where the sun had previously been.
Grendall reached for her as the abyss swallowed him whole.
The darkness turned to gray ashes that coated and scarred her skin, melting her flesh once more.
“VYNASHA!” A SHRILL voice called to her in the swirling blackness. Ashes from a shared nightmare burnt her arms and cheek and something metallic burned with frozen fire against her chest.
Someone was screaming, the hoarse, broken cry of a dying creature.
“Wake up! It’s just a dream!” The small voice beckoned her, teetering on the edge of her consciousness.
The white-hot pain almost kept her under, until a small hand clasped hers, providing a tangible link to the waking world.
As she opened her eyes, Vynasha discovered it was her throat creating the monstrous sound. Vynasha woke from Grendall’s dream, scratching at the night shift Grandmother had gifted her the day before. It was tattered where her claws had raked over the exposed glowing metal of her amulet. She jerked as something squeezed her free hand at the open side of the bed and met familiar eyes the shade of bluebells.
“Thea?” she gasped and the child’s eyes filled with fear as she looked down at their hands. With gentle severity, the girl lifted her arm up by their joined hands.
“You were dreaming…”
“It’s—not possible.” Vynasha sat up, shaking her hand free from the girl’s vice-like grip, and held her bare arms up in the pale candlelight. The pallor of her formerly smooth skin, healed by the curse that had made her beastly, was disfigured by fresh burns.
Seeing the burns made her recall the fire that had stolen her family and then Grendall’s dream, the way his skin charred black before releasing hot ash. She squeezed her eyes shut, blinking back tears, and grabbed the amulet in one hand, the edge of the bed with the other. Behind closed lids, Vynasha gathered her wits to take in scents other than newly scarred flesh. The smell of Ceddrych’s things, his fire and books were small comfort with Erythea and the stink of majik filled the air.
The girl was silent, but lifted careful fingers to press against Vynasha’s cheek.
Vynasha recoiled, instinctively gripping the girl’s small wrist with her hand, careful not to squeeze too hard, in spite of the wave of pain stabbing through her face. Vynasha blinked and stared into the girl’s bold eyes as her amulet flashed with violet light, briefly illuminating the room.
Erythea’s gaze was drawn to the amulet, her lips parted at the display of majik. “You truly are a witch, aren’t you?”
It was a dream, the logical portion of her mind insisted. Majik wouldn’t be this cruel, or would it? Her grip on the amulet tightened as she struggled with the impulse to rip it from her neck.
“You started screaming in your sleep,” the girl said. “I couldn’t wake you, but then your skin started burning by itself…”
Vynasha hated the awe in the girl’s voice. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the door. Siam and Rian weren’t watching very closely… Wanderer left much earlier. He left you a note on the table. Something about waiting for his signal.”
A different fear took her with the girl’s words. “You could get in a lot of trouble, Erythea,” she said with a shake of her head. The sharp movement made her hiss and she curved inward. Where was that beastly strength she had clung to so much of late?
After a pause, “Maybe you were dreaming, but those burns were caused by majik. Grandmother has the herbs we can use to heal them.” Erythea stood and held a hand out to her.
Vynasha hesitated, barely lifted her head, each passing moment increasingly difficult. “I shouldn’t leave the cabin again.”
Erythea huffed with an impatient sigh. “Wanderer wouldn’t want you to suffer, would he? Come on, you’ll be safe with us, I promise.”
Vynasha took the girl’s hand but pulled, making her turn to meet her eye as she said, “Your father is afraid of majik.”
“No, he isn’t,” Thea replied as she helped her stand. “I’ll cover you with that fur cloak. Maybe the others won’t notice the stench.” The girl left her to fetch the cloak.
Vynasha hobbled to the table on stiff legs and lifted her brother’s letter, following the familiar scratch of handwriting. Once, her brother’s letters had given her hope where there was only despair, a lifeline in the endless winters after the fire had destroyed what was left of their family. She had read those letters aloud to little Wyll by sooty firesides, shared Ceddrych’s infectious light. Now his words made her wary, a little sad about the powers that bent to control their lives.
“There!” Erythea announced as she threw the cloak over Vynasha’s shoulders, eliciting a strangled cry. The girl winced with a whispered, “Sorry,” as she pulled the tie together in front and secured it. “Are you ready?”
Vynasha pulled her claws from where she dug into the table and looked at Ceddrych’s note one last time. “We have to return before nightfa
ll.”
Curious eyes watched from the safety of their houses, yet none of the villagers spoke to the witch or the little girl as they took a hidden path through the forest. Bypassing the village streets seemed a wiser course of action after Ceddrych had specifically asked her to stay out of trouble. Vynasha knew he would learn of this, but she hoped to keep the reasons hidden long as possible. How could she explain the fresh scars to him without telling him of the amulet and Grendall’s dreams, of the vows and majik she used?
“Get her inside, quickly,” Grandmother urged them upon opening the front door.
Vynasha shivered as a blanket of wild majik pressed her the moment she crossed the threshold. Thea did her best to remove Vynasha’s cloak, though the rub of furs and cloth on the skin of her back and neck made Vynasha whimper.
Grandmother half-carried, half-dragged her up the stairs and into a bedroom bereft of fresh scents. “Light that candle, there.” Thea rushed to do her bidding, casting the room in a brighter glow. “And bring up my kit, child, make haste.”
Erythea raced out the room in a blur of white furs.
Grandmother closed the door behind her and then turned to appraise her gravely. “Are the burns beneath your clothes?”
“Please don’t.” Vynasha clutched her thin shift with one hand, and the amulet about her neck with the other. “I don’t want you to see me.”
“Do you believe us so weak that we have never tended burns or scars? Girl, I have patched up more bites and knife wounds than I care to recall.” Her dry delivery was what convinced Vynasha to strip down. The old woman’s deft hands aided her when the movement became too painful. The chill of the morning, even in the shelter of these thick walls, caused another shiver to lace her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut when Grandmother lightly grazed the burns on her back.
Scarred Beauty Page 10
