I take a step toward him, my hands clenched at my sides. I’m afraid, but I can’t let Arien face this alone. “He’s my brother. Where he goes, I go.”
He doesn’t move, but stays so still that I could almost believe him another shadow.
Here I am with my work-roughened hands and my dress soaked with well water. With nothing to offer and nothing to endear me. For a moment I wonder if I should be softer while I ask him for this. But there’s nothing soft about me—not the bluntness of my voice, not my hands that are still curled into fists.
I move forward. The monster turns his face away from me, the sharp edge of his mouth cut into a tight scowl. He wants to take Arien away, and he won’t even look at me. I grab holdof his cloak where it falls across his shoulder, knot the fabric around my fist and give it a hard pull.
“You ash-damnedcreature! I won’t let you do this!”
“Violeta!” Mother steps forward, her cheeks bright with fury. Arien pushes past, knocking the chair over with a clatter. He looks desperately between Mother and the monster. “No, please! Don’t hurt her!”
Roughly, the monster unpeels my fingers from his cloak. His hands circle tight around my wrists. We’re so close together that I can hear the unsteady rhythm of his breath.
I stare up into his dark eyes. “I want to go with you.”
“You are the absolutelastperson I want anywhere near me.”
Then he looks down at my arms, and goes quiet. My sleeves are rolled back, baring the bruises on my pale skin, smeared like they were painted with a brush. Some are fresh, blooming like dark petals. Others are faded, just the barest hints of fingers that dug and pinched.
His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go of me. We stand together—both silent, my eyes pinned on his face.Take me with you.
The fainttap tap tapof the apple tree against the window is the only sound in the quiet room. The monster releases my wrists and brushes past me without a word, his footsteps heavy as he strides across the kitchen floor. He sweeps off his hood and leans down, so his face is level with Mother’s. She flinches.
“They’ll both come with me,” he says quietly, then straightens and turns his back to her. He tips his chin towardthe doorway that leads to the rest of the house. “Go and pack your things. I’ll wait outside. Hurry up.”
Then he’s gone, his cloak a billow of midnight as he storms out through the back door. He slams it shut behind him, the heavy bang harsh and final. My heart is pounding, and everything is drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears.
Arien looks at me fearfully. “Leta, you shouldn’t have done that.”
A disbelieving laugh catches in my throat. “No, I shouldn’t have.”
Arien starts to twist at his sleeve. I put my hand over his, but his fingers still move anxiously. “I won’t let him hurt you, Arien. No matter what.”
Mother stalks toward us, the air carrying a whisper of linseed oil. I think of the way she took my hand and held Arien cradled in her arms. The way she brought us back here to the cottage. She had been kind at first, but her care for us has dwindled away, like a banked fire turned to gray ashes.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
She lifts a hand, as though she means to touch me. My knees throb, and for a single, hideous moment I think I’m going to cry.
Then her hand drops back, and her expression hardens.
“You don’t know what you’ve done, do you?” She glances at the closed door and smiles coldly. “That monster—he deserves you both. And you deserve him.”
Arien and I hurriedly pack our clothes into satchels, then go outside. The monster is waiting for us, but he isn’t alone—the silver-haired woman from the village is there as well, holding the reins of two horses.
She must work for him, that’s why she was in Greymere, helping to collect the tithes. I notice now that she wears a set of keys and a silver sparklight on a long chain around her neck. The same as our keeper does, in the village.
The monster stands beside her. The two of them are immersed in a hushed, urgent conversation, but when they notice Arien and me, they fall silent. The monster starts to pace a restless circle on the road, his boots scraping angrily through the dust.
The woman turns toward us slowly, her face knit into a frown. “Really? This is him? He’s just a kid.”
“I’mthirteen.” Arien folds his arms. “I’m not a kid.”
The monster pauses in his pacing and sighs. “Yes, Florence. This is him.”
He spreads his hands, as if challenging her to argue. She stays silent, but her eyes linger on Arien, and she shakes her head, clearly uncertain. Then she glances at me and looks even more confused. “What about her, then?”
I hitch the strap of my satchel higher up on my shoulder. They’re talking about Arien and me like we’re not even here. “I’m his sister.”
