Chapter 12
The sky was pitch black. No moon to light the way. The snow had stopped, but it still blanketed the rooftops, the street, the treetops. Deep ruts were left from the king’s carriage.
Serena stood outside the cabin, the cloak pulled tight around her, and the lantern clutched in her hand. Yellow light illuminated the glittering snow.
Cold seeped through her weary bones. The thought of trudging up the mountain was enough to make her turn around and go back inside. Papa slept. Maris slept. Now was her chance.
She had to go.
She had to see him. The stranger at the Well of Wishes. He was the only one who could help her now.
A risk. She knew. A risk she was willing to take.
She needed to make one last wish. One that would help her when she was in the palace.
Her breath turned white in front of her as she started down the path. Her booted feet crunched on new-fallen snow. The only thing that kept her going was that when she crested the hilltop, he would be there, and he would help her.
Her legs ached. Even as fear gripped her, hope burned bright and hot within her breast. Hope that the stranger—whose name she still had not found—would grant her one last wish. She didn’t care what it cost her.
Or maybe she did. Her life was forfeit either way.
If the stranger at the Well of Wishes did not help her, then she would fail when she arrived at the palace.
She tried not to think about that. Or the way Maris threw a tantrum about her going.
She begged to go with her, but Papa refused to allow it, which was a relief.
Serena was not sure Maris would do her any favors. She knew too much.
She saw him before she even made it to the top. The stranger stood stiff, his bright eyes glinted with a hint of fear. The hood hid most of his face, but even so she still saw the map of regret, of sorrow, of pain.
“Why did you return?” he demanded, his voice thick with emotion she did not understand.
He was angry she had returned.
Serena paused to catch her breath, her lungs on fire. “You know why. The king has come and needs me to heal his ailing son.”
“The cost is too great, Serena.” His mouth turned down into a frown.
“Are you to refuse my wish?” Her tongue was sharp, though she did not intend for it to sound like a demand.
You cannot deny the wisher, weaver.
She sucked in a breath, glancing around the area looking for the owner of the strange voice. “Who was that?”
The stranger stepped forward, his eyes pleading and his voice quiet but shaking. “Please don’t make me do this.”
There was something in the way he said it that gave her pause. She looked at him and was unnerved. He peered at her with those bright blue eyes that begged her to leave, to return to the village. She closed the gap between them with one step, tipping her head back to look up at him.
Here, in the shadows, his face was nearly concealed by the hood he always wore. His burning gaze met hers and for a moment, she thought she saw something there. Some hint of desire or need. But then that seemed ridiculous, didn’t it? He didn’t know her. She didn’t know him.
And yet…she wanted to find his true name and release him from his bondage.
“Why do you hide beneath the hood?” she whispered and her voice shook.
He said nothing. His jaw clenched, the muscles flexing there. Her free hand moved before her mind told her to stop. She rested it on his cheek. Smooth. Warm.
He flinched and tried to jerk away from her.
“Why?” she repeated.
His gaze bored into hers. And in that moment, something shifted between them. In his eyes, she saw all the lonely years of his life tethered here to this place, where wishes were granted and bargains were made. Without looking away, he reached up and pushed off the hood.
The material fell back, revealing him to her for the first time. And for a moment, she stopped breathing. Her breath pooled in her throat.
Hair pale as moonlight spilled down his back and over his shoulders. It was as if the hood had held it firmly in place. He wore a silver circlet, the intricate knotwork resting against his forehead at a point.
His face was handsome. Perfect cheekbones as though chiseled by the gods themselves. Full lips. A chin that tapered to a point with a dimple in the center.
But the thing that surprised her the most was his ears formed a delicate point.
“You are…Fae.” When she said it, the words bloomed in a fog in front of her.
“And you are mortal,” he replied. “Please, Serena, do not ask me to grant another wish.”
The weaver does not decide, the strange voice said.
She shivered. “Who is that?” she asked, quietly.
“The Well,” he replied, as quiet.
Make your wish, Serena Windriver, and pay the price. For all bargains come with a price.
“It knows why I’ve come, doesn’t it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I-I…” And then she pressed her lips together, unsure. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “You know the price is too high, don’t you?”
“The price is always too high,” he replied. “But if you must…make your wish and I will grant it for I have no other choice.”
He sounded sad when he said it, making her chest ache.
“You care for me. You don’t want me to make it.”
The stranger turned away to face the Well. He leaned his gloved hands on the edge of the stone and peered down. “I must do my duty.”
Duty first.
She swallowed hard. “The king asks me to heal his son. I don’t know what ails him. I’m to go with him at first light to the palace.”
“The palace?” he echoed. He looked at her over his shoulder, surprise and concern on his face.
“Yes. The Grand Duke…he knows I am a fraud. Please, you must help me. I fear what they’ll do to me and my family if I fail.” The words spilled out in a heated rush.
A long quiet moment passed as he peered at her. In his eyes she saw pain, and she saw acquiescence. He pulled off his gloves and placed them aside on the edge of the Well. The runes carved into his skin glowed gold. He held them out to her.
“Give me your hands.”
Serena dropped the lantern at her feet and reached for him, putting her hands in his. They were warm and soft. The moment their skin touched, it sent a thrill through her and a curious sweeping through her belly. Her breathing was ragged. Her heart was pounding.
The stranger pulled her close, so close barely an inch separated them.
“Make your wish, Serena Windriver. Say the words and it will be granted.”
Her throat burned. One wish and she’d save the crown prince. Without it, she’d fail and doom her family. She took a deep breath, expelled it.
“I wish for the power to heal the king’s son.”
“So, it shall be.”
He chanted low under his breath. As he did, gold tendrils of light lifted from the well spiraling upward and then settling between them.
The runes on his skin pulsed. His hands turned hot, searing.
She cried out and tried to pull out of his grasp.
But he held fast, tightening his grip on her as his voice rose higher and higher with the chant.
The swirling magic settled on their entwined hands. And then, a blinding flash. Heat pounded through her fingers, up her arms. She whimpered, tears blurring her eyes. When he released her, she stumbled backward.
To her horror, her hands glowed bright gold. She gaped at them.
“What—”
“You have the power now.”
She blinked, clutching her burning hands to her chest. “How do I—?”
“A hand over the heart will heal the ailment,” he said, his voice even and cold. “And now the price will be paid.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Now?”
“When the crown prince is healed, you will return here to me. You will take your place as the Weaver of Wishes.”
“What?” The word trickled out her in a roughened whispered. “I don’t understand.”
“When you take my place, my servitude to the Well of Wishes ends. Forever.”
“But—what—does that mean?”
The Well’s voice curled through the night like smoke in a tavern. It means, Serena Windriver, he dies and you take his place.
Her knees buckled and down she went, landing in the snow and knocking over the lantern. The light snuffed out. She clutched her still glowing hands to her chest as if hiding the magic from the world and herself and knowing she never could.
The stranger stood rooted in place, numb from the cold and what was taken from both of them.
His hands curled against the stone rim of the Well until it bit into his palms, burning faintly.
He watched, mute, as Serena snatched up her darkened lantern and turned away.
Tears slicked her cheeks. Her boots pressed deep into the snow, leaving a fragile trail as she disappeared into the darkness.
Pain lanced through him, sharp enough to make his breath hitch. He should have been glad—his servitude was nearing its end. Death was meant to be a mercy. But this freedom came at the cost of an innocent girl’s life. A mortal who would never survive as Weaver of Wishes.
Had it been anyone else, elation might have surged hot and bright through him.
But it wasn’t anyone. It was Serena.
A beautiful, selfless girl who wanted nothing more than to do the right thing, to heal her father and keep a roof over her head. Her mistake, though, was coming to the Well of Wishes. And yet…he could not name it a mistake. Not when her presence had breathed warmth into his cold, lonely soul.
“The price was too high,” he whispered hoarsely.
For that kind of power, the price had to be too high, the Well said.
There was nothing to be done about it, either. Once the crown prince was healed, she was to return here and the exchange of power would happen. His death. Her servitude.
Her teeth had chattered when she asked, Wh-what about my family?
They will forget you, he’d said. Cruel. It was too cruel.
Her face had contorted in pain.
And then she whispered, And if I don’t return?
Your life will still be forfeit. And so will mine.
The words twisted inside him, worse than any blade.
She thought by simply not returning, he would live and she would remain in the village. But the Well always took its due.
You should be happy, dear boy. Your time is ending. No more loneliness. Your dream of release has come true.
“As if that’s a consolation,” he rasped.
He hated the Well knew his innermost thoughts.
Unbidden, Serena’s face rose in his mind—not pale and stricken as she had been tonight, but as he longed to see her.
Her lips curved in laughter, her eyes bright with mischief, her hair loosened and caught in sunlight.
He wanted to see her smile. Gods, he needed it, more than breath.
When he had taken her hands—her small, frigid hands—his own senses had sparked alive again. Her pulse had fluttered against his palms, and for the first time in centuries, something inside him had pulsed, too. Not duty. Not magic. Something far more dangerous. Hope. Desire.
He did not know what it would cost him. What it would cost her.
Ah, but now you have a different dream. A deep, guttural chuckle. How foolish of you. Did you think this girl, this simple mortal, would want you?
His jaw locked as he walled off the ache, but the runes throbbed in time with his heart, betraying him. She had come to free him. She had come searching for his true name—a name no one had spoken for centuries. A name lost to time.
He lifted his hand. The runes still glowed faintly, pulsating magic’s aftermath he’d forced into her. His throat tightened as he stared at the darkness where she’d vanished.
And then, for the first time since his bondage began, he tilted his head back and whispered his own wish into the wind. Not for release. Not for death.
But for Serena.