He notes their fear, and he doesn’t flinch from it. He meets it unrelentingly with a hard, cold stare. The scars on his browand jaw and throat seem to glow, crimson and raised. And every now and then, so swift it couldalmostbe a flicker of lamplight, shadows shift beneath his skin. Threads of darkness unfurl then soften back to faint, blurred marks. The monster, the boy, the monster.
I take hold of his hand. He tenses, but after a breath, his fingers weave through mine. I run my thumb across his gloved palm.
He leans down to murmur to me, his voice low. “Do you think to hold my hand and show them all they shouldn’t be afraid of me?”
“Maybe.” I rise up on tiptoe, so I can murmur back. “Maybe I just want to be the girl who held the hand of a monster.”
He gives me a faint smile. He takes a torch and sets it to the altar candles. It springs alight with the sharp scent of pine. Then he moves out into the square. He doesn’t let go of my hand, so I follow him.
Everyone draws back as we come toward them, the crowd parting into halves. Rowan strides down the path left at the center. His cloak is a spill of ink, his gaze is remote, almost otherworldly. I walk beside him, the skirts of my gemstone dress rustling around me. I feel like a faerie creature from one of my books.Violet in the woods.A tangle of whispers follows us, a sound that’s half fear, half wonder.
Once we’ve reached the fire, there’s a moment of stillness before everyone begins to move, until they’ve formed a single line that spirals around the granite stones. Rowan holds out historch to me. I feel the heat of the flames as he lights the bundle of pine in my hand. I turn to Arien, who smiles at me as his torch comes alight.
One by one, torch by torch, the firelight spreads. We move forward to set our torches into the pile of branches and leaves. The fire is slow at first, all smoke and acrid, new-burned greenery, then the wind catches it. Sparks weave up hungrily through the bonfire, until it shimmers and dances against the sunset sky.
The silence draws out, longer and longer, broken only by a scatter of whispers. This is the part of the bonfire where we sing the litany. In Greymere, the keeper would lead the chant. But tonight, of course, it will be Rowan. He looks back to the altar, and I feel his hand flinch. His fingers tighten against mine.
I remember what he told me, at the Midsummer observance.I don’t like to sing when people can hear me.And now there is a whole village ready to listen.
I lean over and whisper, “Should we do a blood sacrifice instead of the chant?”
He glares at me, but before he can speak, I start to sing. There’s a puzzled mutter in the crowd, and no one joins in. An embarrassed heat prickles me, because I’m used to my voice being woven into the sound of others. Alone, it rings out off-key, a note stuck somewhere between head and chest. But as I finish the first stanza, a voice beside me picks up the chant. Arien. Then Clover, then Florence.
For a breath, it’s just the four of us who sing. And I’m backin the garden, at the altar beneath the jacaranda tree. When I put my hands in the earth. When I let go of my magic and my truth, and light sparked through the ground. At the memory, a stillness comes over me. The crescent at my palm throbs. I picture a full moon. My magic kindled from a faint spark to a blaze as large as the Summersend fire. Light and heat and power.
More voices join the chant. The melody is discordant at first. But voice by voice, word by word, the litany weaves together like threads made into stitches. Soon the air is alight with song. The fire is on my cheeks, and petals wreathe my hair.
When my thoughts turn back to the night our cottage burned, I don’t try to push them down. Instead, I let myself remember my parents. The garden my father made with his alchemy. The firelight across our hearth. My mother’s voice, low and lulling, as she sang to Arien. How it felt to fall asleep beneath my patchwork quilt to the sound of my father’s stories.
My family is smoke and ash, and their souls sleep far in the world Below, but these memories inside me are vivid. They will never be gone.
I think of the magic that turns the world. I think of everyone I love, home and safe, once the Corruption is mended.
As the litany ends, the line breaks apart, and the crowd drifts out into the square. Arien catches hold of my hand and pulls me toward the table of sweets. I turn to look for Rowan, but he’s already gone back to the shadows beside the altar. Clover slips her arm around my waist. Thea is beside her, and she eyes me warily, as though she can’t decide if she wants to movecloser or run away. “You’re… different, from when I saw you in Greymere.”
“Different?” I brush my hand over my skirts and laugh. “I have nicer clothes now, I guess.”
Clover shakes her head at the both of us. She looks at Thea and hesitates, then holds out her hand. “Come on, let’s go before your father sees us and starts worrying you’ll be Rowan’s next victim.”
Thea takes Clover’s hand and goes with her, wide eyed. Arien and I follow, laughing. The night passes in a rush of sugar and firelight, beneath a sky filled with handfuls of stars. Bonfire smoke laces the air, turns the world to a haze.
I’m tired and breathless, and everything feels like a dream. I find myself alone in the crowd. Clover and Thea sit together near one of the cottages, a platter of marzipan cakes between them. Arien is curled up beside Florence, his head on her shoulder and his eyes half-closed. I go back to the altar, where Rowan stands against the trees. He steps into the light when he sees me approach. Wordlessly, he takes my hand and leads me away from the crowd.
We walk past the fire and out of the square, into the orchard that encircles the village. We follow the rows for a long while, then finally stop in a space between two tall apple trees. We let go of each other’s hands and move apart. Rowan is still wrapped in his cloak, with the hood drawn down over his hair.
He picks a strand of leaves and starts to twist it through his fingers. “Thank you for singing instead of me.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“I always wonder if it would be better for me to stay away.” He gives the leaves a final twist then lets the strand drop. “I don’t care that they whisper about me, or think I’m a monster. Really, it’s better for them to fear me.”
“Yes. It would be a shame to let anyone gettooclose. A terrible danger.”
“Is this advice on being kind to strangers from the prickliest creature I know?” He arches a brow at me. “Perhaps you can skip the jokes about blood sacrifices next time.”
“You have to admit it was a little funny.”
He smiles faintly, then looks down as his expression turns serious again. “The least I can do is try to be a half-decent lord in my father’s name. Even if they hate me or fear me. If I give up, then it feels like he died for nothing. A waste.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know if that makes sense.”
