by TARA GALLINA
I cover his tan hand with mine, wishing I could take away his hurt. To me, Daceian is a victim. To him, his mother is.
“Have you always been seventeen or were you a baby when you were born?”
Understanding reflects in his eyes. “I was a baby, but I never grew older than seventeen. My mother believes the curse wants me to remain the same age as the Messengers.”
“How did she raise you? If she was under the river most of the year who cared for your needs as you grew from a baby to who you are now?”
He spreads his arms and gazes around. “The cottage cared for me in the same way I care for you. I lived here, in my room.” He nods to the ceiling. “My mother couldn’t visit me, but she could speak to me through the cottage. She could sing, and read, and teach me. Mostly, she apologized for not giving me a prince’s life, the life she felt I deserved, and for me not knowing my father. He was one of her guards. She cared for him, even promised him the title of Captain of the Guards once she was Queen. But she never loved him. She said she didn’t know what love was until she had me. By then, it was too late.”
“I’m so sorry.” I lower my head to his chest in a hug. “For both of you.”
A tear slips down my cheek, jolting me from my sadness. I sit up again and wipe away the shameful evidence. How can I feel sorry for the creature that stole my mother’s life?
You know why, a voice says in the back of my mind. She may be the reason for the curse, but she didn’t choose to steal your mother any more than she chose for her son to be raised the way he was.
Such a complicated situation.
I shake my head and climb from the bed. “Are there other books with riddles? Other poems? Maybe in that book in the castle. We looked at only a few pages.”
Daceian stands. “I’ve spent one hundred years searching for other poems, other ways. This is it. You are it.”
I step back, overcome by the pressure and fear of taking a life, her life. I wasn’t sure if I could kill her before. Now, knowing what I do about her and feeling something for her other than hate, I’m sure I’ll fail. My heart pounds, and my lungs squeeze. I can’t breathe.
In need of fresh air, I race from the bedroom and exit the cottage. The plant doesn’t squawk, though I think I moved too fast for him to respond. Outside, I inhale gulps of moist air, liking how it cools my dry throat. Fog shrouds the woods, leaving only glimpses of black tree trunks and leaf-covered branches.
Daceian stops at the open door and looks at the plant. “Everything is fine.”
Joining me out on the mossy ground where I stand, he stops behind me and runs his hands up and down my arms. His caring and kindness make the situation even harder.
“I’m not The One,” I murmur. “I can’t be.”
“You are.” His tone is soft. “Even if it weren’t for your eyes, I know you are. I knew when we first met that you were different. I feel it inside me, like you are a part of me. You must feel it, too.” He rounds to the front of me and cups my cheeks, lifting my face.
I don’t meet his gaze, like doing so will acknowledge what I know to be true. Deep down, I do feel the connection to him, to the woods, quite possibly to her and the curse. At a young age, I remember being drawn to the river and woods as if they called to me. Even after learning about the curse, I couldn’t fear them. I tried to keep myself from them to be safe, but I always found my way back. Perhaps, my fate was sealed long ago, and I’ve been preparing for this day my whole life, preparing for Daceian and the new future we are to create for Isca.
“Will you not look upon me now that you can so freely?” He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip.
I shiver in a good way and lift my gaze to take in his face. Even if he’d been disfigured, my feelings for him would be the same. His manners and temperament complement mine. If I’m honest, he won me over the day he took me to the wisteria and changed their colors.
“You’re right.” I stare into his silvery eyes. “Even if I don’t want you to be. But how am I to kill your mother? What am I even to use? The poem says a blade. Am I to wield a sword? Where would we get one? There are none in the village, except for the few the guards have. Are we to steal those, too?”
“There are extra swords in the castle. The Council keeps them in the dungeons, though. I’ve never heard of a sword made of graphite. According to the poem, the blade must be made of this mineral.” He stares over my head in thoughtful silence. “Perhaps, the handle is made of graphite, or the steel of the blade has graphite in it, even though it would be rare and unnecessary.”
I place soft fingers on his wrists, his hands still cupping my cheeks. “How do you know so much about the Council and the castle?”
“My studies.” His silvery gaze finds mine. “Mother taught me all she knew, and what she didn’t know I learned from books and archives.”
A thought occurs to me. “Could my butterfly brooch be made of graphite? The metal is always shiny and it’s strong. I doubt the pin could inflict harm on anyone, but it could be the source of the graphite.”
Am I offering my mother’s brooch to be made into a weapon?
“Can I see it?” He lowers his hands from my cheeks and lays out his palm.
Hesitant, I retrieve the heirloom from the pocket of my dress and place it in his hand. He studies the brooch closely, as a pit forms in my stomach.
“It is a unique blend of silver,” he says, “though I don’t think it’s graphite. It could have magical elements. Did your mother have this brooch when she was claimed as one of the Fated?”
“No. She gave it to me right before it happened.” I gasp and feel the blood drain from my face. “Would it have saved her, if she’d had it with her?”
“I do not know. It didn’t save you from being chosen as the Messenger. Nevertheless, you should keep it with you always.” With a gentle sweep to my cheek, he smiles and returns the brooch to my hand.
“I will.” I slide it into my pocket. “Now what do we do?”
He draws in a deep breath and glances toward the river. “I think we should ask my mother for the answers we seek.”
On instinct, I step back. “No. I can’t go see her. She could punish or enslave me. Both would kill me!”
He takes my hands. “I would never let that happen.”
“How would you protect me against her? I thought she was stronger than you?” How would he protect himself, too? If he got hurt in the process, I’d never forgive myself. I also don’t want him fighting with his mother because of me, especially while we’re planning her demise. The distress of this ordeal is greater than I could have imagined.
“I don’t know if she is stronger. I’ve never tried to overpower her, but I know you will be safe. She knows you’re The One, and she knows how much I care for you. She wants this to end the same as I do. Trust me to know what I’m doing and to keep you safe.” His eyes glisten with hope.
I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s not the one I don’t trust.
“All right. I’ll go with you, but first I need to see my family.”
He blinks wide. “What? Why?”
“I need to…” Emotions clog my throat. I swallow them down. “I need to say goodbye in case we don’t make it out of this.”
Daceian’s lips turn down like I’ve broken his heart. I might as well have said I don’t believe him to his face.
I push onto my toes and kiss his cheek. “Trust me to do what I need to do and to come back so we can do what we must.” That’s what we agreed upon—kindness and respect.
He stares at the woods over my shoulder. “I can’t protect you out there.”
“You could come with me.” I touch his hand.
He frowns. “I can’t during the day, only at night.”
I don’t want to leave him or cause him pain. “Will you get in trouble if I go?”
“No,” he says, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.
“You don’t sound certain.”
He blinks and looks at me as
he straightens his spine with a resolve I don’t understand. “I am certain. I will be fine. Go now, while she sleeps.”
I nod, rise onto my toes to kiss his cheek again, and then race away.
CHAPTER 16
My legs carry me swiftly home. The journey seems easier than the last time. Perhaps my excitement has something to do with it. I stop at the end of the trees that line the driveway before crossing into the open.
A breeze caresses my skin and flutters my skirt. It blows from the west, carrying the scent of roses from Mother’s favorite garden. I lift my nose in that direction and inhale. The fragrance used to surround my mother, making itself known with her every step.
Movement near the overgrown rose bush steals my gaze.
I race across the grass toward the garden. When I’m close, I wave my hand in the air and call out, “Father. I’m here.”
Surprise lights his sad face when he turns to see me. I tackle him with a hug, his tall, strong form remaining steady with the impact.
“Is it you?” He holds me tight. “Is it really you?”
“Yes.” Tears pool in my eyes. I lean back to find his eyes glistening, too.
“Are you free? Have you come back to us for good?”
I release him and lower my gaze. “Not yet.” Maybe not ever. “I came to talk to you.”
Confusion shows on his face. “Did you visit before this time? I thought I saw you, but I wasn’t sure. The girls said you came, but—”
I grasp his arms the way Daceian often does to me. “Yes, but I don’t have much time, and I need to talk you about the curse.”
“What about it? Are you in danger?”
Silly question, Father.
I glance around to make sure we’re alone. Other than the swaying bushes and trees, nothing stirs. Still, I lower my voice and lean in close. “I found a way to end it. Maybe. Possibly. But it in involves killing the Washer Woman. I am to slay her, and I don’t know if I can do it.”
Father’s hand covers his mouth, his eyes alert in a way I haven’t seen it in years. He takes my arm, causing my hands to lower to my side. “Yes, Preya. You must do it. Think of your sisters. Think of their future. If you have been granted this task, you must see it through.”
I didn’t expect him to jump on board, not so quickly. Does he not care for my well-being anymore?
“I’m scared. I’ve never taken a life. I don’t know that I have it in me.”
He holds my gaze. “You are stronger than anyone I have ever known, even your mother, bless her beautiful soul.” He lets out a sad sigh.
“Mother is fine,” I say. “She’s in a better place than we can imagine. She’s at peace.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“No, but I know she is. I’ve learned so much about the curse and those who are Fated to Die. They are all at peace, Father. It’s not as tragic as we believed it to be. It helps in some ways. It’s nothing we thought, even if sometimes it is.”
Father straightens and touches my forehead. “You’re not making sense, Preya. Are you ill?”
“I’m fine, Father.” I manage a small smile. “And I know what I am saying. I have a friend, more than a friend. The son of the Washer Woman. No one knows of him except for the Messengers, and they never lived long enough to speak about him.”
The thought of Daceian warms my insides and fills me with quiet strength. It’s unexpected and reassuring.
“Oh, Father, I think I love him.”
White paints my father’s face. He steps back and bumps into the rose bush, not even acknowledging the prickly thorns. “That’s madness speaking. You cannot love the spawn of the Hag. Have you been claimed by a spell?”
“No. It’s nothing like that.” I move closer, and he steps to the side, as if he’s afraid. Hurt pours through me. “Father? You have no reason to fear me.”
He glances toward the manor at the sound of giggles in the distance. “You are not my daughter. You are bespelled. You will leave here at once and not return until you are healed.”
Tears gather in my eyes. “Father, please. There is nothing wrong with me. I swear to you. What I speak of is true. You must believe me.”
I reach for him.
He backs away, horror etched on his face. “If you speak the truth, you will end this curse and bring my Preya back to me.”
My chin trembles with a pain I haven’t felt since losing Mother.
Again, Father glances toward the twins’ soft giggles. “Leave before they see what you’ve become.” He points to the woods across the fields and beyond the village. “Go,” he bellows.
I stumble backward, reeling with hurt and shock. Tears stream down my face.
Father turns away and heads toward the manor and the sound of the twins.
How can he dismiss me so easily? I’m still his daughter. I haven’t even been gone for that long. Is this another reaction of the curse. No. It couldn’t reach this far. Could it?
Father doesn’t glance back before disappearing into the house.
My heart feels shredded.
I run away, tears sliding across my cheeks with the force of the wind on my face.
Sobs wrench from me almost taking me down.
Daceian. I need Daceian.
I follow the wall surrounding the village to the bridge near the woods and cross the river below. A moment later I’m running through the trees, inhaling the moist forest air.
The cottage appears in the distance. I made it back. I don’t know how, but I did.
I wrench open the cottage door and freeze. Daceian lies on the wood floors, writhing in pain.
I fall to my knees, confusion and fear for him filling me. Gently, I touch his forehead. “What has happened to you?”
“The hot springs,” he murmurs through shudders.
Recognition hits me. He’s suffering the way I had before when I broke the rules.
In a panicked rush, I help him to his feet. With his arm and most of his weight on my shoulders, I struggle to guide him out the door. “Which way?”
“The path,” he mumbles, barely audible. His knees give out, and I strain to keep him upright.
An orange glow appears, winding through nearby trees. I hurry to it, wracked with guilt for leaving, knowing I am somehow the cause of his suffering.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt.”
He whispers something I can’t comprehend. I remember the pain of fire down my spine, but I don’t recall suffering for this long.
My legs feel slow and heavy, my muscles straining against his weight. We reach the hot spring. I almost drop him in, desperate to end his agony. As slowly as I can, I ease us into the water until he’s covered to the neck. I keep my arms around him, holding him close while I sit on a submerged rock. His shudders lessen until finally they stop.
Thank the Blessed Ones.
“Did I do this, Daceian? Did my leaving hurt you?” I stroke hair from his face and kiss his forehead, unsure if the moisture on my cheeks is from splashes or more tears. “I am so very sorry. Please forgive me.”
His eyes open, the silvery blue glimmer like the moon on the water. “I did it. Not you.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you harm yourself?”
“When you left, I took the punishment for what you did.”
“No.” It’s a faint sob. “How? Why?”
He swallows, still too weak to sit up. “Every time you break a rule, I channel the punishment to me, so you don’t suffer. I didn’t know it was even possible until you, and once I figured it out, I couldn’t bear for you to feel this kind of pain again.”
I squeeze him to me, recalling the many times I’ve broken the rules, far too many.
“I thought my leaving was permitted and no more rules were broken. I didn’t know there were still consequences. You should have told me. I never would have left.” I press my forehead to his and speak through tears. “I’ll never do anything to cause you suffering again. I promise. Plea
se forgive me.”
I press my lips to his eyebrows, his temples, and cheeks, showering him with wet kisses, apologizing over and over again. Soon his arms are around me, and his lips are on mine, kissing and learning my mouth.
He sits up and with a strength he didn’t have a moment ago, cradles me in his arms. “Preya. My sweet Preya,” he whispers in between kisses. “I’ve waited so long for this, for you.”
Heat stirs within me and it has nothing to do with the hot water lapping around us. I cup his cheeks, and together we deepen the kiss, exploring each other. My breath quickens, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet forest. Sensations dance over and under my skin, spreading throughout my body. I cling to his arms, feeling his biceps flex under my hands and move closer, wanting to be molded to him, to be one.
I love this unique male. How could I not? He gives me hope for a future, a chance at happiness, and a life I never thought possible for myself.
Daceian’s lips trail to my chin and my neck in a path that continues downward. A sigh escapes me, and my head falls back, my long hair heavy with water. He kisses the top of my breast where it swells above my soaked dress.
“Daceian?” I murmur with something important to say, though I’m struggling to remember what. It’s there in the back of my mind, poking me like a sharp piece of hay.
I gasp and shove away to the far side of the spring. “We can’t,” I utter, trying to catch my breath.
His eyes are dazed yet wild, his lips red and swollen. “We can.”
“We’re not yet married.” The proper thing to do is wait until we are wed, but the way he’s looking at me and the way I felt when he was kissing me, has me regretting bringing it up.
“We are fated mates, Preya. Marriage is but a ceremony with words. It does nothing to connect us. We are already connected, have been since the day of the curse.” Determination and desire deepen in his voice, but he doesn’t pursue me.
I don’t deny that it feels like he’s mine through a bond stronger than any of the natural realm.
Still, the traditions of the village and our people are hard to let go. Now, I’m thankful to have refused Espen. He didn’t deserve any part of me, and had I mated with him, I wouldn’t have met Daceian.
