Fated To Die: YA dark retelling (The Retelling Series Book 1)

by TARA GALLINA

  “Whatever you’re planning, don’t.” He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand covering his side.

  “I can’t just stay here and watch you die. I won’t. You left without me and now I need you to let me go so I can do whatever I can to keep you alive and with me.”

  “Preya,” he says in the saddest voice, anguish glistening in his silvery eyes. “It is done. It was worth it. This sacrifice means you can end the curse and live your life. You can return to the family you so adore, the family that needs you. Play with your sisters in the gardens, dance with them in the sun, and know I’ll be smiling down on you. You can change the lives of everyone in the village. You can save them all.” He takes my hand. “I have no regrets but one, giving you the ceremony of your dreams.”

  Moisture fills my eyes, but I refuse to cry. “If that is your last wish, then I will grant it for you.”

  “I can’t ask that of you. It would leave you without the possibility of a future husband.”

  “Only according to the Council. Besides, my heart is the kind that falls in love only once, and I have given it to you. It will belong to you forever.” I kiss his lips and guide him to lie down on the bed. “Rest while I make arrangements. I will return shortly.”

  His eyes close, but his hand snatches my wrist. “Preya?”

  “Shh.” I stroke his dark hair. “Rest. For me.”

  He draws in a breath, and it frightens me how quickly he falls asleep. His fingers slip from my wrist, and his hand flops onto the bed.

  Worry and outrage slam into me like the hoof of a horse. Had I thought I could control my emotions when it comes to him? If I don’t control myself, I’ll climb onto this bed and never leave his side, not even after his passing. I force myself from the room so I can prepare, but not for our wedding like I led Daceian to believe.

  Downstairs in the cottage, I stand before the plant on the shelf. “I wish to see the Washer Woman. Can you summon her for me? Daceian is not well. She should know.”

  As I speak, the leaves straighten and rise until they are like arrows pointing toward the sky. The door to the cottage swings open.

  “No leaf?”

  The plant remains frozen. Not knowing what else to do, I step outside. A red glow worms through the trees in the direction of the woods.

  I follow the crimson trail to the river, smelling minerals over wet rocks before seeing the water. With my head low and my eyes on the ground so I don’t peek at the Washer Woman, I stop at the edge of the river and wait.

  The red glow forms in the water as if diving in to alert the Hag I’m here. Silence falls over the woods and the air turns chilly. Waves form and lap at my satin slippers. I brace for the stench that follows, surprised when the rich earthy scents remain.

  “Why have you summoned me?” the Washer Woman asks, her voice hard with rage and as miserable as ever. The water ripples in my direction. She’s coming toward me.

  I swallow my fear. “Your son is dying.”

  “Impossible.”

  Gusts sweep across the river, turning the water to rapids.

  “It’s true,” I shout over the wind, my hair and dress lashing around me as I struggle to stay on my feet.

  “What did you do to him?” she roars.

  Me? Without thought, my gaze jumps up and I’m struck with horror. A halo of red shines over a body covered in glistening scales. Black tendrils whirl around her head like dancing flames. Her dress hangs in long shreds, the hem wriggling like snakes in the water. I tell myself to look away, but her eyes, silver orbs that pulse, hold my gaze. She opens her mouth, wider than should be possible. Rows of teeth circle what looks like an endless black pit down her throat.

  I slap a hand over my eyes and beg, “Forgive me. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to look. It was a mistake. I was caught off guard. I saw nothing. I swear. Nothing.”

  “Lies,” she snarls.

  A vacuum of wind sucks me forward into the river. Thunder booms, and light flashes behind my closed eyes. Slimy fingers curl around my arms, and sharp nails dig into my skin.

  I quiver and turn my face away. Instincts urge me to beg for my life, but I know from Daceian that doesn’t work, so I spout the truth, “I love your son. I want to save him. I came to you for help. He says there is no cure, but I refuse to believe that. You can save him. I know you can. Please, help me save him.”

  The wind and noise suddenly stop.

  “You love him?” Her voice is different, sweet sounding but muddled as if she’s speaking under water.

  “Yes. I love him very much. He is my light in the darkness. I can’t lose him when I’ve just found him.”

  Her fingers loosen on my arms. “What has happened?”

  I tell her everything I know about Mr. Dunn, the knife, the poison, the details from the book, and the herbs I used on Daceian.

  “He’s sick, so sick,” I add. “I left him in bed and fear he may be gone before my return.”

  “He will not pass before then,” she says, her tone soft and with a conviction that leaves no doubt.

  I exhale the air frozen in my lungs. “And you can save him?” I ask to be sure.

  “We can save him. There is a way. Ending the curse will absorb all the dark magic in the village, including the poison in Daceian’s blood, even Mr. Dunn, for he cannot live without his powers. It’s the moment you’ve been preparing for, and now you have the blade.”

  “Only a non-virgin can … do it. I read it in the book.”

  “Ah. Yes.” She sighs, and her fingers tighten on my arms but not to the point where she’s stabbing me with her nails. “He is clever, sending me only virgin maidens, so there is no threat to his curse. I should have known. I should have been wiser. It doesn’t matter now. You are here, Preya with the two different colored eyes, fated mate to my son, the true heir of Isca. You will marry him, consummate your marriage, then return to me, a non-virgin and sink the blade into my heart.”

  I shiver, not out of fear for myself, but for her. “I … I don’t want to, but I will if it will save him.”

  “Yes, you will. You will do what you have come to do and free us all.” Sadness leaks back into her voice, though her tone remains tender. “My life is dark and lonely. I long to be free of my sins, so I can join my sister and apologize for what I did to her and to everyone.”

  The Messenger girl who was enslaved under the river and lived a day muttered similar words. She had repeated the same thing until her death. Dark, lonely, free of sins. The Council thought she was talking about her experience, but she was speaking about the Washer Woman.

  A palm touches my cheek. I flinch, caught by surprise and by the softness of her hand. It feels human.

  “Look at me, Preya. See me for who I truly am and remember me this way for Daceian.”

  I hesitate, wanting to but fearful of the repercussions.

  “No harm can come to those I love,” she continues. “My heart is stronger than the curse. It has kept Daceian safe all his life, and it will do the same for you, his bride and therefore my daughter to be.”

  I inhale a steadying breath and slowly lift my gaze.

  Silvery blue eyes set in a beautiful face that is so similar to Daceian’s stare back at me. Glossy black hair falls to her waist, the locks curling at the ends. Her gown is plum and gold, the royal colors. She is more beautiful than the paintings, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, next to my mother.

  Her gaze flits about my face and hair, a smile turning her lips. “You are exquisite, a pale dream come to life. You are exceptionally strong, too. No wonder my son loves you so dearly. You will serve each other well.” She lowers her hand. “Make haste with the time I’ve given you. Do as I have said and return to me before the moon rises above the trees tomorrow. Come prepared to kill me.”

  I gulp and force a nod. “Will you fight me?”

  She gives a slow shake of her head, her eyes filled with a sorrow I may never forget.

  “I forgive you.” The words spill from
me. “I forgive you for everything.”

  It may mean nothing coming from me. I’m not one of the divine followers of the Blessed Ones. Only they can grant forgiveness of sins. Still, saying it feels right. Necessary.

  The wonder that shines on Princess Bretta’s face confirms my instincts. “Thank you,” she says, her smile turning sad. “Now go.”

  CHAPTER 20

  I rush through the door to Daceian’s room. He’s standing by the bed, looking crisp and clean as he pulls on his formal jacket.

  He glances at me with a surprise. “That didn’t take long.”

  “What didn’t?” I tense and remind myself he doesn’t know I saw his mother.

  “Your visit with your family. I assumed that’s what you meant when you left to make arrangements. Your eyes are clear and dry. Does that mean they’ll be joining us?”

  It dawns on me. The deep color of his skin is back, and his posture is straight with confidence versus pain. I walk to him and touch his warm cheek. “You’re better. How?”

  He tugs on the cuffs of his white shirt so they peek out from his jacket sleeves. “The herbs I suppose.”

  Or his mother.

  Time to come clean. “I didn’t see my family. My father was quite upset the last time I visited. I don’t think a surprise wedding will change his feelings. He doesn’t understand. I don’t blame him. He doesn’t know what I know, but that’s not important right now.”

  I take his hand in both of mine. His olive skin next to my pale shade reminds me of Mount Loras, where the snow-covered top meets the rocky slopes.

  In a whisper, I confess, “I spoke with your mother and found a way to save you.”

  He glances at the door and then at me with a long perusal of my body, lingering on the damp hem of my dress.

  “I’m not hurt.” I touch his chest. “She was … she was kind to me. She loves you, and she is so deeply sorry for what she has become and what she has done. She’s so sad, Daceian.”

  “My mother wants nothing more than to end this, but I can’t believe you went to her without me.” He pulls me close in a tight hug, his chin resting on top of my head. “It was risky. Brave, but incredibly risky. Promise me you’ll never do it again.” He kisses my hair.

  I tilt my head back and stare at his face. “She won’t hurt me. She can’t. We’re to be family. She said she loves me, and she can’t hurt those whom she loves. But we need to marry now and.…” I swallow the nerves suddenly clogging my throat. “We need to consummate the marriage, so I can return as a non-virgin and … you know.” It still doesn’t feel right to say, kill his mother.

  The silver in his eyes brightens, but the blue color seems to dull as if the two colors reflect his emotions. Excitement and sadness.

  “We have some time,” I tell him, in case he wants to say goodbye. “Until the moon rises tomorrow.”

  He nods, his gaze casting to the side with that thoughtful expression. “You should rest. We have much to do before then.”

  “I couldn’t sleep if I tried.” I run a finger over the black button on his shirt. “I’ve too much on my mind and no idea how to go through with it. My plan is to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving until it’s all done.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. We have the entire day tomorrow.” His lips press into my forehead. “Let me handle everything while you take some time to rest.”

  I pull away. “What if you fall ill again? Who will care for you and help you, if I’m sleeping?”

  “My love, I am fine. Better than fine.” He brushes my cheek and hair. “I am to marry the most beautiful girl in all the land, one who deserves to feel refreshed and happy on her wedding day. I know it won’t be the ceremony of your dreams, but I’d like to arrange certain things on your behalf as a gift to my bride-to-be. Will you allow me the pleasure, and yourself the rest?”

  How can I deny him this wish when he looks so determined and hopeful? Exhaustion weighs on me. I lean my forehead against Daceian’s chest.

  “It has been a long day,” I admit. “I suppose a little rest can’t hurt.” By rest, I mean lie on my bed with my eyes open. The last time I dozed off—a shudder runs through me at the memory of all that has happened in such a short time.

  Daceian says, “I’ll have the cottage draw you a bath and a new dress.”

  My gaze snaps up. “A new dress? I don’t want a new one. I love this gown and wish to wear it when we wed.”

  “Very well.” His features soften with a pleased grin. “I will have this one restored to new for you. In return, you need only to rest your mind until morning. When the sun rises, I will come for you and we will wed under the wisteria painted in your favorite colors. How does that sound?” His fingers play with mine before entwining our hands together.

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  ***

  I wake with a startle and shoot upright on the bed. Sweat beads on my forehead and my heart pounds the way it does after a bad dream. I can’t believe I fell asleep. That wasn’t the plan. I came downstairs to my room in the cottage to rest, not sleep.

  The room is too dark for it to be morning. Daceian must still be out preparing for our wedding.

  The urge to see him has me swinging my legs over the side of the bed. A dark pit forms in my stomach the moment my feet touch the ground. No! Not again!

  I race to the plant. It’s on the floor, the pot broken, its leaves brown. Had it squawked and tried to wake me?

  On my knees, I gather the dry dirt and plant then replace it in a salvaged piece of the pot. The door creaks open as if it wasn’t closed all the way.

  I jump back, ready to fight if I must. “Who’s there?”

  Outside, the wind howls, and the door swings back and forth.

  “Daceian?” I creep forward. The woods are dark, a silver fog weaving through the trees. Nothing stirs. Even the usual sounds of crickets and frogs and other night dwellers are absent. The hairs on my arms and neck bristle with a foreboding sensation. Without thought, I race to the oak tree in the back of the cottage.

  At the bottom step to Daceian’s room, I stop. Had the wind just whispered my name? I glance over my shoulder to the trees behind me. My pulse jumps with the sudden urge to run in that direction. Do I trust my gut? My gaze swings to the top of the fat oak. What if I end up locked in Daceian’s room again?

  I turn for the trees—for the river. Retracing my earlier steps, I hustle over spongy ground and fallen tree limbs. The mineral scent of the river meets my nose and my legs move faster. I break from the woods onto the bank of the river. Moonlight reflects on the rippling water, washing the mud, rocks, trees, and shrubs in silver. Movement to the right catches my eye.

  Several feet away, Daceian stands across from a young man, their heavy breathing and ragged appearances suggesting they’re amidst a fight. Black hair hangs in disarray around Daceian’s face. His shirt is untucked and torn—no sliced!

  Horror jolts through me as I search for the knife. He doesn’t have it.

  My gaze jumps to the young man. He swipes a hand across his slick forehead, his pants and shirt a rumpled mess.

  Who is he and how is he here?

  It takes my brain a moment to connect the dots. It’s the head Councilman, Mr. Dunn. When I had watched Daceian fight him through the images on his bedroom wall, his face kept shifting between young and old. Now, he seems entirely transformed to his younger self.

  Mr. Dunn turns my way, flashing the knife in his hand. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  I barely keep myself from stumbling backward. “Did he hurt you?” I ask, Daceian, frantically scanning his clothing for blood.

  “Fool. He’s dying already,” Mr. Dunn laughs, dark and cold like a frigid winter night. He peers at the river. “Now that we’re all here, it’s time for the guest of honor. Hag, rise from the murky depths of which you dwell and watch as I finish off your son and take your only chance of freedom.” He casts me an evil smirk. “Don’t be shy, Preya. Come closer
and stand by your mate so that I can slay you both at once.”

  The river churns like a storm in the ocean, the waves building higher and higher until the Washer Woman bursts from the center, soaked and glowing red. Dark tendrils hang past her waist, dripping with what looks like blood. White hands with long black nails shoot out at Mr. Dunn. Frigid air blasts my skin, stinging like shards of ice. I fall. Daceian does too, but Mr. Dunn flies backward and slams into the ground with a loud thud.

  “How dare you threaten my son and his bride!” the Washer Woman roars, her voice rumbling like an avalanche of snow. “Need I remind you of our arrangement?”

  Mr. Dunn coughs and pushes up on shaky legs. “You dare to use your magic on me, magic you wouldn’t have if not for me? I created you, Hag! Perhaps you’re the one who needs reminding of your place.” He spits blood, raises the knife, and moves toward her, toward us.

  He still has it? I thought for sure it would have been knocked from his grasp when he fell.

  Mr. Dunn lurches toward Daceian, who’s still on the ground, struggling to get up.

  I scramble to my feet, preparing to jump on the man’s back.

  Behind me, a wave crashes, the sound jolting me with force. Water slams into my calves and thighs, rising higher until I’m can no longer feel the ground beneath my feet.

  I thrash my arms and legs to keep my head above water. The river swirls around me like a whirlpool threatening to drag me under.

  Across the surface, I search for Daceian.

  “Preya,” he calls out, swimming toward me.

  Too late, the vortex draws me under. Water rushes in my nose, burning the inside. My lungs tighten around the small amount of air left in them. The current carries me deeper or maybe sideways. I can’t see anything under the murky depths. My body bumps into something solid but too smooth to be a jagged rock. Hands grasp my arms and lift me upward.

  I break through the surface and gulp much-needed air.

  “I’ve got you,” Daceian says, clutching me to his strong body.

  I sigh and let him hold me for a moment as I work to catch my breath.