But in order to test it, she’d need to get free of this gag …
She pulled once more against her bonds, but the rope around her wrists wouldn’t budge.
The Vile sharpened her blade, filing off the brown rust. Emeline drew back, trying in vain to put distance between them. As her shoulders hit the earthen wall behind her, the forest’s heart thumped through the dirt and into her body.
It was the life song of the woods, that heartbeat. The woods that always came when she sang, trying to protect her in the only way they could—by helping her remember who she was.
Sing us a true song, Emeline.
She breathed in, glancing to the roots around her rising up towards the trees above. Trees that had helped her several times before.
Help me one last time,she thought.And I’ ll sing you every true song I know.
The Vile’s hands quickened to an almost frenzied speed as she sharpened sharpened sharpened. Honing that silvery edge.
Hearing her plea, something surged in the earth wall behind Emeline, brushing against the back of her head like small fingers working at the knot of her gag. She kept herself still as the roots in the wall prodded and tugged. When her gag loosened, they curled around the fabric, grazing her jaw as they pulled it free.
The gag fell loose against her neck.
As more roots worked at the rope knotting her wrists, Emeline peered past the Vile, to the Heartwood. She wasn’t going to get another chance.
Her father had used his power for his own selfish whims. He’d ruined things with it.
What if Emeline could do the opposite?
She didn’t have to follow in her father’s footsteps; nor did she have to run from the power lurking in her depths. She could take that power and walk a different path. She could use it to heal instead of destroy.
But to do that, she needed to offer up something precious.
Emeline swallowed.
And once I do, what’s to stop the Vile from plunging her knife into my throat?
She looked to the monster sharpening the blade. Instead of fear this time, pity swelled in Emeline’s heart. The Vile had been a woman, once. Kept from the people she loved, abused by a man everyone else esteemed, then corrupted by his curse and trapped here for nineteen years.
What if that woman is still in there, somewhere?
As the rope around her wrists loosened and her gag hung slack around her throat, Emeline said, “I know what he did to you.”
The Vile glanced up from her task with an unearthly swiftness. Seeing Emeline free of her bonds, her face contorted with rage. She raised the freshly sharpened blade in her clawed hand, coming closer.
Emeline’s heart beat swift and hard.
“It’s not okay, what he did.” She held that furious gaze. “It’s not okay that no one came to help you.”
Something flickered across the monster’s face. But the Vile didn’t stay her hand. “Stop talking!” she hissed, raising the knife to Emeline’s throat. “Or I’ll cut your voice right out of you!”
The steel bit the way frost bites: cold and ruthless.
Emeline swallowed, knowing all it would take was one flick of that pale wrist. But she didn’t stop.
“I know who you are, Rose Lark.” Her throat grew hot and her voice thick. “You’re the daughter of Ewan Lark,” she said, eyes prickling. “Beloved of Tomás Pérez.” Emeline bit down on her lip, hesitating. “And mother,” she whispered, “tome.”
The Vile hesitated. Those bloodshot eyes flickered over Emeline’s face, studying her features, searching for the truth in these words. Searching forherself.
As if she feared what she found, the press of cold steel fell away from Emeline’s throat as the Vile drew back. “No … It can’t be.”
“He broke things,” Emeline whispered. “I’m here to mend them.”
