Prologue #3
Stepping onto the next plaque of bone, rusty red water pooled around the soles of her boots.
Joanna drew in a ragged breath. The endless forest should have been a paradise, but beneath the cloying aroma of flowers was the earthy smell of rotting earth and peat.
If she strayed from the path to pick a flower or follow an animal’s child-like cry, the hungry ground would swallow her up and drag her down.
The bog yearned for more flesh, more iron, more, though she didn’t dare stop following the path of decay, even as her calves and core ached and the blood ran from her body in earnest. What other choice did she have?
The Lady might toy with her and let her wander aimlessly through the forest for all eternity, but Joanna wouldn’t lie down between the pitcher plants and sundew and let the Dysterwood consume her until she finished her pilgrimage.
Her thoughts flickered to Mercy and the baby, but she quickly banished them from her mind.
In her domain, the Lady might know her thoughts, and she wouldn’t give her any more tricks to use against her.
She had given Mercy and the baby the best head start she could. That had to be enough.
When Joanna raised her gaze, she suddenly stood in the center of an empty glade, and the trees that had surrounded her only a moment ago now stood a furlong behind her.
She shivered, despite the summer heat, at the wrongness of the clearing.
Still water pooled on either side of her, leaving a strip of grass only wide enough to accommodate the treads of bone and wood.
With every step, her feet sank deeper into the bog and the pounding of her heart grew louder in her ears.
Her powers hummed a steady dirge as she crossed the narrow turf.
Joanna told herself not to look, but she needed to know.
Beneath the bog’s still waters, a man’s face stared back at her.
He was pale and still as death, a ragged wound marring his neck.
While his clothes were from decades before her time, the outline of his features reminded her of Stephen.
She half-expected him to open his sightless eyes or rise to grab her, but he never moved.
Bracing herself, she looked into the pool on her right, expecting to find another body.
Instead, a woman’s reflection hovered beside her own.
“Do you like my collection?”
Joanna gasped and turned to face the Lady of the Dysterwood.
Nothing Stephen had told her could have prepared her for that moment.
The Lady felt limitless, too old, too much, magic made flesh, made shadow, a glimpse of something other that was beyond comprehension.
Then, she pulled back and solidified into something approximately human.
A shadow of a smile twisted the Lady’s lips as she watched Joanna’s breath hitch and her eyes widen with terror.
She was beautiful in an uncanny way that Joanna feared hid sharp teeth or claws.
Her copper hair had been woven into intricate knots and braids; while her heart-shaped face remained unmarred by age, she appeared far older than Joanna’s twenty-five years.
Her clothes were a mockery of the sumptuous, crinoline-fluffed gowns wealthy women wore.
The fabric of her dress was so deeply red it hurt Joanna’s eyes to look at, and the embroidery decorating the edges shifted patterns from flowers to hunting scenes to figures of death, and where there should have been a chatelaine or purse at her belt, a heavy ivory knife hung in its place.
Instead of a simple necklace or ribbon around her neck, she wore a thick, golden, dragon-headed torc.
When the Lady looked down at her, her pale eyes bore through her, weighing on Joanna’s heart like lead.
“You took something that belonged to me,” the Lady said, her voice as deep and cold as the night. “Do you know what I do to thieves?”
Joanna’s throat tightened like a garrote as the Lady stepped closer. If Stephen’s family dealt with her for centuries, she could do the same. Her feet were numb in the cold water and her head swam with blood loss, but Joanna straightened her spine and met the creature’s gaze.
“I am not a thief. Stephen made his own choices. I took nothing he didn’t freely give.”
The Lady’s eyes narrowed, and the trees around the glen rustled with an unseen gust. “My patience wears thin, little thief, and your hunters draw near. All it would take is but a thought to bring them here. Tell me why you have intruded into my domain.”
“I would like to make a bargain.”
A chiming laugh escaped her lips. “And why should I bargain with you?”
“Because I have this,” Joanna said, holding up the signet ring.
“That ring buys you entry, not cooperation, child. Besides, what do you think you could possibly give me that I don’t already have?”
Rusty water lapped against Joanna’s calves as the Lady turned away.
Joanna’s powers hummed in time with her hammering pulse.
Something was down there, a hair’s breadth from her skin, waiting for the Lady’s signal to strike.
Her mind raced. She had to say something.
She couldn’t be bested by a capricious demon’s disinterest after all they had done.
“Me. You can have me and all that comes with that in exchange for a new bargain.”