Chapter 13
In the village, the rising sun beat down like a hammer.
When Naia arrived, Elias was in the square, sharpening a sword. To her surprise, everyone was there—the entire village, milling and grumbling, armed with pitchforks and kitchen knives. At her approach, they went quiet. Their silence was like a fist wrapped around her throat.
“It’s done,” she called.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, threaded with grumbles of disbelief. All the while, the song tingled on Naia’s tongue, begging to be sung.
Elias stepped forward, hope in his eyes. He, at least, believed her. Or wanted to. “You mean the beast is defeated?”
“He is,” Naia said.
“By who?” someone called out.
She hesitated. Loneliness snatched at her already, a bitter shadow tangled with the song’s bright promise. But she had a brother to save, and her beloved beast’s wish to grant. “By me. So put down your weapons. Don’t go up the mountain again. Just leave the poor creature alone.”
The crowd’s grumbling deepened, but Elias reached for her. “You know the song, then? Summer will end? We can finally get married?”
Naia evaded his grasp. “No,” she said.
He frowned. “What? Why not?”
“Because. I don’t want us to get married. You won’t either, in a moment.”
Confusion creased his brow.
Naia surveyed the villagers. And this time, she really looked.
Maybe they’d laughed at her in the past. Pointed.
But now they carried fear and hope in their eyes—things she’d felt herself, so many, many times.
She saw mothers desperate to save their children.
Men willing to risk their lives for their neighbor’s.
She saw people who couldn’t see, but who were no less worthy of being looked at. Brambles and all.
So she opened her mouth and sang.
A bittersweet melody poured free, swelling from some bottomless place. At the sound, the heat faltered and fled. The crisped grass plumped beneath Naia’s feet. Leaves perked and turned scarlet. The song went on, until clouds massed overhead and broke open.
When the first raindrop hit Naia’s skin, fur sprouted there, as she’d known it would. Within minutes, the deluge drenched her, coaxing horns from her skull, lengthening her teeth to daggers, curling her fingers into claws.
It hurt. Horribly. She buckled and cried out, even as the song continued. Elias stiffened. He looked as horrified as if she’d curled up and died right in front of him. Though she supposed that, for him, she had.
When it was done and the agony finally ebbed, Naia straightened, her chest heaving. She already knew what would come next.
Sure enough, the murmurs began at the back. “Look! She’s the one who’s cursed, now. Maybe if we kill her, summer will end for good.”
Agreement rippled through the crowd. The villagers advanced, thrusting their pitchforks and knives. Even Elias raised his sword.
Surprise never stirred. Neither did fear—blades pricked at Naia’s skin, but she swatted them away with her claws and fled.
Already, the mountain called to her, and she could no more refuse its summons than unsing the song.
No, she’d sealed her fate the moment she’d opened her mouth.