Chapter 6
I awaken in an unfamiliar bed, alone but for a mouse curled on the pillow beside my head. I bolt upright.
“Raven?”
Freezing air knots my nipples beneath the warm nightdress. An open window is the source of the chills racing along my flesh—and the raven’s escape. Panic seizes me.
I suspected yesterday, when he flew from my shoulder to the top of the gatehouse, that he was almost healed enough to fly home. I thought locking him inside at night would keep him safe. But witches aren’t foiled by simple window locks, clearly. I was na?ve. I cannot afford to be so again.
I dress hastily and rush out to request an audience with the king and queen.
They’re still asleep, and so it is with some embarrassment that I meet them in their robes and sleepwear.
Gwen doesn’t seem to mind, but her husband is none too pleased with the interruption.
Briefly, I explain why I must leave immediately.
“You won’t be able to take the route I did,” she says, frowning. “The river is icy and dangerous this time of year. We can give you a horse. Can you ride?”
I shake my head.
“Then we’ll send you in a coach to get you as close as possible,” says the king. “I once chopped down her apple orchard. I’m not proud of it. I remember the way to her hut.”
“Why did you chop it down?” the queen asks curiously. “I never did ask.”
“I tried to steal an apple. She chided me and made me give it back. I decided the proper retribution was to chop the entire tree down in a fit of pique. I did a lot of things then, that I regret now.”
He exchanges a glance with his wife. She covers his hand with hers and squeezes.
“You will have everything you need within the hour,” Gwen says to me.
She keeps her word. By the time most of Montrace Castle’s denizens are breaking their fast, I am bundled into new clothes, riding in the finest coach I’ve ever seen, hugging the banks of the river that flows from high in the mountains to the north through all of the Five Realms and out to the sea.
Despite the anxiety that keeps my pulse rapid, I gaze out at the speeding landscape in wonder.
“I’ve never been this far away from home before,” I tell mouse-Mum, setting her gently in my lap. “I didn’t know the world was so vast.”
The river is nothing like the brooks and springs I’ve seen near the village. It’s a wide, fast-flowing expanse studded with rocks and patches of ice near the shore. The ice catches bright sunlight, as if the river is winking at me.
In the distance, trees glower sullenly beneath a thick blanket of snow. Mountains rise beyond them. They must be unfathomably large to be visible all the way from Montrace.
Gwen ventured into that vast, untamed wilderness, alone. I have newfound respect for our courageous queen consort. She was a lowly scullery maid before she married a king. I wonder, if it was possible for her, then perhaps there is hope for me and—
I don’t even know his name. I’ve never seen him in human form. I can’t be in love with a raven. Yet a foolish part of me thinks I am. How else to explain my excitement at the prospect of seeing him again, and my fear that I will be too late to save him?
The carriage halts abruptly. Glancing up, I see the skies have darkened overhead. The witch knows we’re coming.
When the footman opens the door, anxiety is etched on his face. “This is far as we dare go, my lady.”
“Thank you.” I put mouse-Mum in my pocket and step down into the brisk winter. Snowflakes swirl around me, catching on my wool coat. Magical. The forest crouches in the distance, dark and menacing. The driver nearly overturns the coach in his haste to get away from this place.
I stride forward. I have no plan, only three days of food that I can stretch to seven if necessary, and the inspiration of Queen Gwen’s courage, to guide me.
A large black bird swoops out of a nearby tree, aiming for my face. I throw up my hands as the raven attacks, pecking me through my gloves, clawing at my hat, and battering me with his wings.
Go, Rowena. The words form inside my mind, the way they did when we were together in the dreamscape. His tone is commanding but laced with fear. You cannot be here.
“I’m not turning back now. I have to save you and Mum.”
You can’t. She will claim you, too. I won’t let you do this.
“You, sir, are a bird. You cannot stop me.” With a huff of irritation, I grab his feet and wrap my arm around his wings, forcing them to fold.
His beak hangs open, that black tongue lashing angrily as if he wants to speak.
Instead, a harsh caw comes out. He settles abruptly, looking almost embarrassed.
It won’t be my fault when she turns you into a worm.
“I never said it would be, Your Highness.”
Don’t call me that.
“Then give me a proper name to call you by.” Sullen silence is his only answer. “Can I release you now, or are you going to start attacking me again?”
This is undignified. Let me go.
I do, with a bemused smile. He hops onto my shoulder, directing me down a narrow path. The trees seem to bend over it in a tunnel. Traces of wan sunlight filter through the overhanging foliage, without that, this section of forest would be as dark as midnight.
She is expecting you.
“I thought as much. While we have a moment of privacy, tell me why you flew off last night.”
There is no privacy here, Weena. Be very careful what you say. The smallest promise can be a deadly trap when you’re dealing with the fae.
“I’ll be careful.” His admonishment worries me, though. I scan the looming forest apprehensively, sensing unseen movement among the branches. Animals…or the witch?
I could no longer resist the compulsion to return to her. It has been building since the day I was injured. She tried twice to get me to return with her, and when you intervened, your mother paid the price.
I pat the small lump in my pocket. Mouse-Mum stirs sleepily. “Can we fix her?”
If you can break my curse, you can also break hers. Defeat the witch, and her powers will be broken.
We have arrived at the edge of a clearing filled with animals. Deer, squirrels, rabbits, hawks, and birds of every variety I can name fill the scant space.
“So many,” I breathe. Yet I think I will be the one to defeat her? Hubris, thy name is Rowena Bloom.
The raven abandons my shoulder and flaps into a nearby tree.
The woman I remember from the day she visited the cottage steps out of the crumbling, decrepit hut.
She looks entirely different. Older. Meaner.
Unclean. Her greasy gray hair is matted and dull, her skin is coated with grime, and her clothing hangs in tattered rags from her spindly, bent frame.
“Love will be your undoing, girl,” she says gleefully.
“Or yours,” I counter evenly. Her smile snaps into a scowl. “I want my mother and the Raven King released.”
“What will you trade for them?” she asks. “Yourself? A country commoner is hardly a fair exchange for a fine king.” She beckons to the trees, and my raven flies down to sit on her wrist. “To free your mother and the raven, you must bring me the heads of the king and queen of Montrace.”
Blood drains from my face. Icy coldness seeps into my veins. I can’t do that. I won’t. “No.”
“Then your mother’s life is forfeit, and your beloved king will remain my prisoner.”
“NO.” My shout echoes through the glen, scattering animals and sending the birds flying. The witch regards me warily.
“Come inside, child. Have a spot of tea.”
Her demeanor shifts from hostility to hospitality in the blink of an eye.
Suspicious, I duck into the listing cottage.
Shutters hang haphazardly. The doorway slants sideways as if the hut is one strong gust of wind away from collapsing altogether.
There isn’t a right angle in the place. Even the table is crooked.
The skewed proportions may be dizzying, but it’s the filth that offends me.
Everything is covered in a thick layer of grime.
An inch of dust coats the mantel where a broken clock points to a time long past. Piles of junk lay abandoned on the floor, heaped into corners.
Rats and other vermin scurry amongst the mounds.
I recoil in distaste, but the raven swoops in through an open window and begins pecking about the rubbish undeterred.
“Don’t get many visitors nowadays. There was a time when I was a healer, too, you know. Everyone wanted my help,” the witch says cheerfully. She pulls a pot off the fire and uses a rag to pour hot water into a chipped teapot. “Sugar?”
I shake my head. She puts five spoonfuls into her own cup and pours dark liquid over it. But when she places a mismatched teacup and saucer before me, I turn it upside down. I remove a flask from my pack, uncork it, and take a sip. The witch’s lips purse.
“Rude.”
“I had a word with the king and queen of Montrace before coming here. I know what your brand of hospitality leads to.” I set mouse-Mum on the table and offer her a piece of the scone I’ve kept in my pocket for this purpose. “My mother was pleased with the apples you left for us.”
“They were for you, girl. Not your thick-headed mama. I should have turned her into a pig.”
I’ve gotten under the witch’s skin. She sips her tea and sulks, but I can see the cunning in her eyes as she watches me. “I’m not that much of a fool.”
“Yes, I can see I’ve underestimated you.” A crafty compliment to get me to let down my guard. It won’t work.
“I want my mother and the Raven King released from your spell,” I repeat my earlier demand.
“I told you what you must do.”
“There must be another way.”
She huffs and side-eyes me. “There is. But you won’t succeed.”
“How?”
“You must outwit me. It is impossible. You are but a green girl of twenty-two. A spinster. A murderer.” She cackles.
I flinch. “However, you amuse me with your stubborn stupidity. If you can extricate yourself from this cottage by nightfall, I’ll give you the chance to save one of them.
Your choice! If you fail, you must join them as part of my menagerie. ”
Instantly, the shutters bang shut, a lock clicks on the door, and the broken clock begins ticking. The witch winks out in a puff of smoke.
Alone, with mouse-Mum trembling in my cupped hands, I survey the creepy, decrepit hut with dismay.