Chapter 8
Again, smoke envelops me. Flames lick my exposed skin. A wave of sickness threatens to consume me. I hold my throbbing hands near my face trying to stretch the scarf over my nose and mouth so I can breathe.
I follow the blaze deeper into the forest, keeping my gaze trained on the narrow path at my feet where the air is clearer. Every part of me aches. Lungs. Throat. Eyes. Stomach. Hands. Gods, my hands. I can hardly move my fingers without vomiting.
I must find him.
The pathway broadens abruptly into a clearing. In the center of it are three apple trees, now reduced to ash. I know them from the glossy, poisonously red fruit scattered and rotting on the ground. No animals dared to eat the poisoned fruit. Only foolish, trespassing humans.
“Raven?”
I pick my way through the meadow. The fire has already moved on having consumed all the fuel there is here.
“Raven?” I call out again.
“BITCH!”
I shrink away from the singed monster that rises out of the ashen orchard. Her greasy gray hair is burned, her entire body naked and as blistered as my own palms are, yet the witch is very much alive.
“I escaped. You made a promise. You’re fae, you cannot lie or break your word.”
She growls and lunges at me. I sidestep her easily. She’s badly wounded but her nails are long and clawlike, and she keeps swiping at me with them.
“Release him.”
“You can only save one of them, Weena.” Her still-red lips stretch into a hideous smile. “You would truly choose a man whose name you don’t even know over your own mother? After the way she cared for you alone all those years?”
I step back. A scratching sensation at my ankle prompts me to glance down. Mouse-Mum scrambles up my sagging stocking with pleading in her rodent eyes. They’re still soft and brown like hers. My heart cracks.
A blur of motion in my periphery makes me dodge back a step. Wicked talons graze my cheek. I gasp and clutch the wound. When I pull it away, the scarf is red with blood. The witch cackles.
Mouse-Mum climbs to my skirt. Up my front, then onto my shoulder. I keep dancing and dodging the witch’s attacks, tripping on rotting fruit. I can’t keep this up for long.
I know what I have to do.
“Mum,” I whisper. “Change her back. Now. You promised.”
The witch shrieks. Sudden weight explodes on my shoulder, dropping me to the ground. Bone cracks. I land with a grunt on hard apples. Bruises bloom across my back, my bottom, my thighs. I’m nothing but pain.
I’m never eating another fucking apple for as long as I live.
“Weena, oh, gods, you’re hurt—”
Mum’s panicked voice in my ear. Stunned, I’m surrounded by her earthy, herbal scent and the soft press of her arms as she attempts to embrace me for a split second.
The witch drags her off me and throws her aside with inhuman strength. She attacks me like a wildcat. I barely bring my legs up in time to kick her away. Rolling over, I scramble to my feet, searching for a weapon to fight back with. A tree branch. A rock. Anything.
What I find instead are feathers. Crisp, dry, scorched feathers.
“Raven?” I croak through cracked lips.
You made the right choice. His voice is weak. Fading. Fear rips through me. I fall to my knees and pull his burned, broken body into my arms.
This, I cannot heal. No one could.
A savage cry indicates the witch is preparing another attack.
I’m not sure I care anymore. I’ve saved my mother.
I’m losing the only other one I love. Tears well, stinging my bloody cheek as they fall.
Still, if I’m going to die, I’ll do it on my feet, not kneeling in the dirt.
I stagger upright and gape in shock as Mum jumps on her back and locks one arm around the witch’s throat.
I finally know what I should have been looking for, he says regretfully. Not a crown. My name. If I could remember it, I would be free of this curse.
His body trembles. Plumage has been burned away from his wings, tail, and most of his belly, exposing raw, angry skin with bits of singed vane stuck to it.
“Thank you,” I sniffle. “You saved my life.”
You would have done the same for me, Rowena.
The tears come in earnest, then. I watch dispassionately through a watery film as my mother chokes the life out of the witch.
First she tumbles to her knees, but Mum doesn’t let go.
She pins her opponent to the ground and uses her other arm to clamp down harder.
The witch scores her forearms again and again, yet she keeps her strangling grip on the woman’s throat.
I stride over and stomp on the witch’s arms to keep her from doing further damage. Her choked howls fade. When her body goes limp, Mum waits another minute and then rolls her to her back and stuffs herbs into her mouth. The witch’s skin turns marbled black and shrivels.
“What did you put in her?” I gasp, cradling the injured raven in one arm and helping Mum to her feet with the other.
“Witchesbane,” she pants raggedly. “I had it with me that day. She’ll stay dead. Weena, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you.” She pulls me into an embrace, heedless of what must be excruciating pain from her bleeding arms.
“I’m just glad you’re alive.” I sniffle. “Is there anything we can do to save him?”
Gently, she examines him, hesitating before giving a shake of her head. “Do you want me to give you a moment to say goodbye?”
My heart shatters.
We won, but we still lost.
I fold my trembling legs, suddenly aware of exhaustion in every fiber of my being. The moon shines bright over the scorched trees. Burning pine fills the air, tinged with the sickly-sweet scent of roasted apples.
Animals creep into the clearing. Mice. Rats. Snakes. Birds. Deer. Squirrels and rabbits, too.
“You can’t leave me,” I whisper. “I love you.”
The raven stirs. How can you love me when you don’t even know who I am?
“I know everything except your name. You’re brave, determined, loyal...handsome.”
Flattery. His voice is fading, yet there’s a spark of amusement.
“Truth.”
Wait. His name... I pull the crumpled page from the book I found in the witch’s cottage. Names. A long list of them. The oldest entries are faded as if they were written eons ago. Newer entries are clearer. Darker.
I squint at the very first entry. Angling the paper to catch the light, I motion for Mum to come closer. “Can you make that out?”
She brings the paper close to her nose. Then holds it at arm’s length and shakes her head. “Can’t read it. I think this might be a C?”
It no longer matters, Rowena. The raven shudders and stills.
“No!” I place him at my feet and begin reading out loud, spilling names past my lips as fast as I can. “Hubert Altep, Sonia Reed, Garrick Letterby, Amalia Kenny, Renata Palmer, Lady Jocasta Penfirth-Latham Woodhouse, Jack Bertram…”
All around us, people begin popping up. Excitement sparks near my heart. It’s working. Once they’re reminded of who they are, the witch’s spell is broken. I stare hard at that first name.
“C-orbin?” I call out. “Prince Corbin?”
I stare in shock as the raven transforms into a man.
A naked man.
“Oh!” Mum gasps, shielding her gaze. I am not nearly so modest. I drink in the sight of his muscular body. Luckily for my mother, he’s lying face down. While there are still burn marks, they’re relegated to his back. Red, angry flesh in the shape of wings stretches across his shoulders.
I drop to my knees and reach out to touch him. A light breeze stirs his hair. I can’t tell whether or not he’s breathing.
He pushes laboriously upright. I jerk back. The raven–Corbin–tugs me into a hard embrace.
This is no dream. His hair smells of ash and smoke, yet there is a scent buried beneath the devastation that I recognize.
One of ancient air and cold wind, stars and night and freedom.
I first breathed him like this in dreams when we roamed the midnight skies over forests that stretched farther than I have ever been from home. I close my eyes and hold him.
“Rowena.”
His voice is rusty with disuse. I clutch him closer, tenting my fingertips to avoid touching him with my burned palms. The feeling of hearing my name on his lips is indescribable. A low vibration that races over my skin, reverberates in my chest. Warms my heart.
“I was so scared. I thought we’d lost you.”
My lips tremble when I press them to his. He scoops me up, lifting me easily. Still kissing me. Soft, but firm and exploratory. Like two people meeting for the first time, already head over heels in love.
“You don’t have to carry me. I can walk.” The burns on his back must be excruciating. Yet he refuses.
“Let me, Princess. Right now, your skirt hangs to my knees. If I set you down, I’ll be exposed to your mother. None of us want that.”
I giggle. Poor Mum has her eyes glued to the list of names. Her face is bright red as wild creatures transform into naked people. There’s too much gleeful celebration for anyone to be embarrassed. Except for Mum, of course.
“I’m no princess,” I protest.
“Would you rather I call you Weena?” Corbin smirks. I kiss the infuriating grin away.
My heart soars.