Page 129 of Into the Heartless Wood
And yet it is. She found me in another form, to betray me all over again.
But I cannot see her betrayal in anything other than her shape. Because she told me the truth, didn’t she? I should have known from the beginning, from the moment she told me her name.
Bedwyn.
Birch tree.
I stare at her. “Seren. I—”
A cold wind blows through the tower, raging and wild. It smells of the wood. Brambles twist out of nothing, coiling around her, pulling tight.
“Seren!”
I blink, and the wind and brambles are gone, and she’s gone with them.
My life leaks red from my chest. I’m not strong enough to haul myself from the iron table without crumpling to the floor. So I lie here, propped up on my elbow, gasping for air like a fish.
She saved me. I don’t know how or why. But she saved me.
And now she’s gone.
The king radiates anger like pulsing heat. He paces between the iron table and the place the branches wrapped around her and spirited her away. Leaves swirl on some invisible wind. Leaves and violets.
She is all I can think about.
Peeling potatoes in the kitchen. A tray of food in the stables when I could barely move. Hiding under the couch waiting for the nobleman to leave, the feel of her hand caught fast in mine. Dancing in the courtyard to the distant strain of the orchestra.
Kissing her like the world was ending, like there would never be another moment to truly live.
I didn’t know there really wouldn’t be.
I press my hands against the gaping wound in my chest, trying to staunch the blood. It leaks through my fingers, slippery and hot.
Too much, too much.
My head wheels.
This is what it is, to die.
Oh God.
My father’s words whisper through my mind.Do not mourn me, Owen. I am happy. I am with her.
I will go to them. Father. Mother. But I’ll leave Awela behind. I’ll leave Seren behind.
I can’t bear it.
The king crouches in the place where she stood just a moment before, leaves still whirling in the air. Leaves and violets. They settle, slowly, to the floor, and he grabs a fistful, crushing them in his palm. I catch the scent of her: wild, intoxicating power. “I only needed a piece of one,” he says, laughing as he opens his hand. “I should have known what she was. A gift. A sign.” He pours the crushed leaves into an empty glass vial, and corks it.
He wheels on me, any hint of laughter gone. “What deal did you make with her? What has she done to you?”
“Nothing,” I rasp. “Nothing.” The world is going hazy at the edges.
He grabs my shoulders, shakes me hard. “There is wood magic in you. Your soul is protected. WHAT DEAL DID YOU MAKE WITH HER?”
He shoves me off the table, and I land with a jolt on the floor. Pain rushes up to swallow me. Blood slides between my fingers.
He kicks me in the side and I scream as a rib snaps.
