Chapter 4
Serena hurried back down the path from the well as night enveloped the village. In one hand, the lantern swung back and forth, lighting the way in a pale yellow glow. In her other, she clutched the small round vial with the cork, the substance inside shimmering with golden light.
Her labored breath turned to smoke in front of her, but she hardly noticed. Nor did she notice the cold seeping through her boots and cloak. Hope bloomed within her that this elixir would heal her father. That he would return to good health.
As she entered the outskirts of the village, though, she halted.
A strange sensation came over her. She saw stars as though she’d hit her head.
She shook it, trying to understand what was happening to her.
Her heart did a strange thump followed by an ache so deep, she doubled over.
She still clutched the elixir in one hand, the lantern in the other.
The lantern splashed light across her worn boots and for a moment, she didn’t remember anything.
Who she was. Where she was. Why she was outside in the darkness carrying a lantern.
The bottle bit into her palm. She looked at it, a moment of confusion piercing her.
Her vision cleared as she sucked in a cold breath that stung her lungs.
Then she righted herself and peered down at the row of houses in the small village ahead of her.
Lamplight flickered in a few of the windows.
The one on the end seemed familiar. It had rows of flowers along the dilapidated picket fence that was in desperate need of painting.
Faded green shutters framed the windows and the red front door stood out in the shadows.
She tilted her head to the side, trying to recall why that was familiar. Another glance down at the vial in her hand.
Oh, yes. She went to see the wish maker. She asked him for…for…
She blinked, her brow wrinkling as she tried to pull the memory back.
She asked him to save her father. Yes, that was it.
Her father…who was sick and dying in his bed.
Her eyes landed on the small house with the faded green shutters and the red front door and it hit her. That was her house. That was where she was headed.
How strange she was unable to remember moments ago.
Serena shook it off and started down the path once again, into the village, toward her home. When she reached the red door, she jostled the vial, tucking it under her arm to grab the knob and fling it open.
Inside, the air was stuffy and smelled like sickness and…death. She kicked the door closed with the heel of her boot and set down the lantern on the floor. Maris popped out of their father’s room, her eyes wide and round and full of hope. But the moment she saw her, hope faded from her face.
“Where’s the doctor?” she asked. “Papa is worse—”
“He gave me this.” She lifted the bottle. Inside, the golden liquid gleamed.
She shoved past her sister into the room and nearly gagged. The metallic tang of blood filled the air. Next to the bed, bloody rags. Her father, pale and sweating, propped against the pillows. His dark hair was plastered against his head. His lips were the color of snow. His breath was labored.
Maris followed on her heels. “What is that, Serena?”
She ignored her, as she pulled out the cork. Then she paused at her father’s bedside, taking one of his hands. He was cold and clammy, his skin damp with fever. His eyes fluttered open as he looked up at her. He tried to smile, but it faltered.
“Serena…” His voice rasped as he squeezed her hand. “Where—”
“Shh, Papa. I have something that will help you.”
She slid her arm around his back, easing him forward so he could drink.
His gaze flickered to hers, uncertain but steady, filled with an abiding trust. In that moment, she felt the weight of it—that he relied on her for everything.
The household, the debts, the meals. And more than that, he loved her.
“You’ve always been so strong,” he muttered. “You have to keep being strong.”
Her throat tightened. “I will. I promise, Papa. But now, you have to drink.”
She pressed the bottle against his lips. He didn’t resist. He swallowed the golden liquid until it was gone. Then he sank back into the pillows, exhausted.
Serena stepped back, the empty bottle slick in her hand, and watched as her father slipped into a gentle sleep. Relief should have followed—should have loosened the knot in her chest—but instead something colder threaded through her veins.
Maris appeared in the doorway, her eyes darting between their father and Serena. “Serena, is he—?”
“He should be fine now,” she answered, though her voice came out clipped, distant.
She stared at her father, but the warmth she’d felt moments ago—the trust in his gaze, the love she’d been so certain of—drained from her.
All she saw was a man who had leaned on her strength, who had demanded and demanded until she was nearly broken.
And a treacherous thought took root. Would he ever thank her? Would he ever truly see her?
As the dark feelings bloomed inside her, something else flickered at the edges of her mind. A knowing. A sense of…what? That she had surrendered something. That she had agreed to a price as sharp and bitter as the metallic tang of blood in the air. That she had…lost something.
But she could not grasp what it was.
Maris edged closer, arms wrapped tight around herself. “When will we know?”
Serena tore her eyes away. “I don’t know. Perhaps in the morning.”
Weariness pressed down like a weight. She passed her sister the bottle and stumbled to her room, shedding her cloak where it fell. Boots kicked aside, she climbed onto the bed still dressed, sleep pulling her under like a tide.
The man lingered in the silence long after Serena’s footsteps faded down the mountain path. The air stilled, heavy with damp stone and the faint shimmer of magic. He pressed his palms against the worn rim of the Well, staring into its depths where threads of light writhed like restless serpents.
Always the same. Another desperate mortal. Another bargain struck. Another piece of a soul unraveled to feed the Well’s endless hunger.
But Serena was not the same.
Her eyes had burned with defiance, with love so fierce it threatened to undo her. He recognized it, though he wished he didn’t. It was the same flame that had undone him centuries ago.
He remembered the girl. The mortal who had come to the Well weeping for her dying family.
He had given her what she asked for, weaving her wish into warmth and life, defying the law that demanded payment.
For a time, her joy had filled his dark world with light.
But mortals were not meant to bear the weight of such magic, and in saving her family, he had doomed himself—and her laughter—to silence.
He had broken every law of his kin to save them. To save her. He had tried to bring her back when she was gone. That was his crime. His sin. His punishment.
The Fae High Court had bound him here, to the Well, chained to the magic he had twisted for love. Now he would grant wishes until his hands bled, until his heart turned to ash, until mortals walked away leaving him empty.
But still, he wove. Because he could not stop. Because that was his penance.
The laws were clear—grant a favor but take payment in return. A name. A memory. A feeling. It did not matter.
He dragged a hand down his face, shutting his eyes. Serena’s voice still lingered in his ears, soft and certain, asking him to save her father. As he once begged to save the one he loved.
She would not thank him when the payment was due. None of them ever did. Yet when he thought of her, something sharp and dangerous stirred in him. A hope he had long since sworn dead.
“Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself, his voice rough in the night. “Not again.”
But the Well rippled with starlight, and deep inside its waters, he heard her name whispered back to him.
Serena awoke to bright sunshine pressing against her eyes. For a moment, she remained where she was, nestled against her pillow and buried under the thin quilt her grandmother made. Maris had one like it.
But the room was too quiet. She didn’t hear Maris snoring next to her, which was unusual. Maris was not an early riser. It was always Serena up early taking care of the household chores and making sure they weren’t going to starve before next week.
Her eyes blinked open. Maris’s bed was empty and unmade. As though she hastily got up, threw off the blankets. As if she’d leapt up in a hurry.
Serena sat up, straining her ears to listen. A man’s voice, stronger than she remembered, joined by her sister’s.
Papa.
Her breath hitched. She shoved aside the covers, swung her legs to the floor, and noticed absently the hole worn in the toe of her stocking. Something else to mend later. For now, she hurried from the room.
The door to her father’s bedroom was cracked. She paused, hand braced on the frame, listening.
“…Serena went to the doctor,” Maris’s bright voice carried. “She came back late.”
Serena pushed open the door. It swung open, banging against the wall, startling both of them. Gone was the sickly smell to the room. Now, the air was fresh and crisp. As though Papa had never been at death’s door.
Papa sat upright against the pillows, the gray of sickness gone from his cheeks. His lips had color. His eyes shone. He looked—alive. More alive than she had seen in weeks.
But his smile—broad, crinkling his eyes—was fixed on Maris.
“You’re up!” Maris said, hopping to her feet. Her voice was too high for the morning.
Her gaze flicked from her sister to her father, who smiled so wide his face lit with joy. But the smile wasn’t for her. It was for Maris.
“Papa?” Serena whispered.
His eyes slid to her, but it was Maris he reached for, patting her hand where she perched beside him.
“Maris was letting you sleep in,” he said warmly. “She told me how you stayed out late, fetching the doctor.”
Maris flushed pink and ducked her head, her hands clasped tight. “It was nothing, Papa.”
Nothing? Serena thought bitterly. She had climbed a mountain alone, carrying only a lantern. And yet here sat Maris, basking in his praise as though she’d been the one to do it.
“I did,” Serena said. “Maris, fetch Papa some fresh water and whatever bread is left.”
Her sister hesitated, reluctant to leave his side, but rose. She bent to kiss his cheek before slipping past Serena and hurrying to the kitchen.
Papa turned his eyes to Serena at last. He held out a hand, beckoning her closer. “Come, child.”
She crossed to the bed, perched on the edge of the chair, and took his hand. His fingers were warm, strong. She searched his face, astonished at the change.
“Are you better?” she asked, tentative.
He nodded. “Whatever the doctor gave me worked. I should thank him.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “That’s not necessary, Papa.”
“Yes, it is,” he insisted. “I hope you paid him properly.”
“Of course,” she murmured. Though the memory blurred in her mind. She remembered only the Well. The man. The golden elixir. Not how she had paid.
“Good.” He slipped his hand from hers, already pushing aside the blankets. “Now, I’ll get up. Too long I’ve been lying in this bed.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, rushing to the other side.
“There’s work to be done, Serena,” he said firmly.
“No, Papa.” Her voice sharpened. She placed her hands on his shoulders to give him a firm but gentle nudge. He sank back to the bed. “You should rest.”
He opened his mouth, but Maris bustled back in with a cup of water and the last of the bread. “I brought this,” she said. “It’s all we have.”
Papa’s eyes softened as he looked at her. “You take it, my little dove.”
Maris shook her head, cheeks pink. “No, Papa.”
His stomach growled. Serena crossed her arms. “Eat it. Maris and I will be fine. I’ll bake more bread, and I’ll go hunting later.”
“Hunting?” His brows shot up. “Since when do you hunt?”
Maris piped up helpfully, “She brought home rabbits once.”
Papa gaped at Serena. “Rabbits?”
“Someone has to keep us fed,” Serena said flatly, pressing the bread into his hands. “Rest today. Tomorrow you may help in the garden. It needs weeding before the first snows come.”
He sighed but nodded, yielding. “Very well. Today, I’ll rest. Tomorrow, I’ll work.”
Satisfied, Serena stepped back, letting Maris slip easily into the chair at his side once more. His attention turned to her, his smile reserved for her.
He had not thanked her for climbing the mountain in the dead of night. He had not thanked her for bringing back the elixir that saved his life. Instead, he smiled for Maris, let her kiss his cheek, let her laughter fill the room.
And Serena, standing in the doorway, felt the sharp, deep ache bloom inside her.
He favored Maris.
Now she told herself not to resent him. Not to resent either of them.
But the bitterness sat heavy on her tongue, impossible to swallow. Had she wished away her father’s love? The question lodged deep inside her, sharp as glass, and she feared she already knew the answer.