Chapter 12
Twelve
Corabeth
That night in the library marked the beginning of a new kind of tradition for Corabeth and Rooke.
Come dark, Corabeth went downstairs where a dinner waited for her—rich and meaty stews, soups, or roasts.
Each night, she managed a few mouthfuls more than the previous night.
Then she joined Rooke in the library, where she curled up in the armchair and listened while he read to her.
It wasn’t something they coordinated. It simply became the new normal.
Nearly a week passed this way, each night spent in each other’s quiet company. It was only in the evenings that Corabeth stirred to life, otherwise spending her time in bed. Occasional headaches still plagued her, but one afternoon, she found herself awake earlier than usual.
She admired the view from her balcony, overlooking the garden that seemed devoid of all life. From above, she made out the intricate shapes that the leafless hedges drew out—a maze leading to the fountain in the middle. Dark roots and vines crawled across the walkways like poisoned veins.
Corabeth rummaged through the wardrobe in her room, chose a new dress—a more opulent one with intricate black lace appliques upon a midnight blue fabric—and wrapped herself in a thick cloak before she found her way outside.
A wide stone staircase led down to a garden where gravelly paths wound between plants that had shed their leaves in preparation for winter.
Dried leaves crunched under Corabeth’s feet and she filled her lungs with the cold air.
The wintery breath that lingered was almost sweet.
She slowly walked the garden, the paths taking her closer and closer to the center, where she knew an empty and cracked water fountain sat.
Surrounding it were four stone benches. These too, the vines had slowly started to devour.
Corabeth sat down on one of them, wanting to spend just a few more minutes somewhere else besides the room she had become to consider her own.
A raven circled the fountain, once, twice, then landed on its edge, facing Corabeth. Its head shifted in sudden, jerky movements as it considered her.
Corabeth thought back to Rooke’s words, how the ravens had indeed been her friends, and smiled a little. She wondered if this raven was one of the birds that came to her back yard when she still had a home, a village.
The bird jumped down from the fountain and hopped closer to her, not once taking its beady eyes away from her.
It picked up a dried leaf with its beak, then another and another, creating a little pile that the wind scattered almost immediately.
Disappointed, the raven once again turned its gaze expectantly at Corabeth.
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Corabeth said apologetically.
“He wants to play,” said Rooke, startling Corabeth enough to make her whole body jump. Her heart beat against her ribcage hard enough to bruise.
“You need to stop doing that,” Corabeth said, sighing from relief, her hand still pressed to her chest. It wasn’t too long ago that his presence would not have offered her comfort.
“Apologies. I’m used to quietly stalking in the shadows,” Rooke said, and sounded apologetic enough. He walked closer to the fountain where the raven was once again sitting on its edge. Rooke was holding a long stick in his hands.
“This one especially likes you,” Rooke said with a fond smile, motioning towards the bird. The raven flared its wings, fluttering them furiously. A harsh croak escaped its throat.
“Is he upset you told me?” Corabeth asked. She tried to fight the smile that threatened to break across her face.
“Maybe,” Rooke admitted. “If ravens could blush…”
Corabeth realized he was carrying a rake when he began gathering the dried leaves with long, deliberate strokes, piling them into a knee-high heap in no time. The raven watched, excitedly jumping along the edge of the fountain the entire time.
“What are you doing?” Corabeth asked.
“Helping him, of course,” Rooke said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He was asking for your help, but you so rudely refused to lift a finger.”
“I plead ignorance,” Corabeth said and lifted her hands in surrender.
When Rooke, or the raven, or both of them deemed the pile of leaves high enough, Rooke stepped back and the raven took flight with a sharp caw, landing at the top a moment later.
The pile sank a little under its weight.
Then, with a playful lurch, it tucked one wing and let gravity pull it down, rolling sideways in a flurry of reds, oranges, and browns.
It kicked its feet with glee before righting itself with an indignant shake.
The bird’s pure delight brought such joy to Corabeth that she could not hold back the laughter that bubbled up inside her. How good it felt to laugh for the first time in seemingly forever! And how absurd it was that it happened in the dreary garden of the Beast.
The raven repeated its slide again and again, as if it was spurred on by Corabeth’s light laughter. And if Corabeth had paid attention to Rooke, she would have noticed how his breath hitched in those moments.
“I didn’t know they do that,” Corabeth admitted, looking to Rooke when the bird finally tired and flew to a nearby tree to clean its feathers.
“Many don’t,” Rooke said. His eyes were on the bird. There was a fondness in his gaze when he looked at the ravens. My ravens, he had called them. Corabeth added it to the things she didn’t understand about the man before her.
Everything she had been told about the Beast was meant to scare her. Don’t stray into the woods, the Beast will eat you. Don’t stay out past dark during the Night of the Beast, he will feast on you. Should you encounter the Beast, say your prayers, for you will not survive.
Yet here he was, offering her shelter, reading to her, playing with his ravens. The contradictions made Corabeth only more curious.
“Can I ask about your curse?” she said, mustering up the courage.
Rooke took a moment to think about it. Perhaps to prepare himself. Then nodded.
“Why were you cursed?”
Rooke propped the rake against the edge of the dry fountain and leaned back on it, facing Corabeth.
“Funny thing, the curse wasn’t even intended for me.
It was for the head of the Ashford family—my father.
Unlucky for me, my father had died just hours before the curse was unleashed, making me the head of the family. ”
“Why was your father cursed, then?” Corabeth asked, brows furrowed.
“My father,” Rooke said with a sigh, “was a cruel man. Centuries ago, he lorded over these lands, over the villagers. Despite his own riches, he let them go hungry and suffer. One of the villagers sought out a witch to curse him, to make him feel the hunger of a hundred people.”
“That’s terrible,” Corabeth gasped. She had gone hungry plenty of times. But the hunger of a hundred people? She could not even begin to imagine it.
“He would have deserved it,” Rooke said, a sharp edge to his tone now.
“What exactly did the curse do to you?” Corabeth kept prying, afraid that each new question might anger him. She was still treating Rooke like an unpredictable wild animal, even though he had not lashed out at her. Something told her that if she lost her vigilance, it would only end badly for her.
Rooke stretched his arms to his side as if showing himself off before dropping them again.
“It changed me to my very core, not to mention my features. I was a gentle soul. My father hated that about me and tried to beat it out of me plenty of times. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Now… I’ve killed more times than I can count. ”
“The curse compels you to kill?” Corabeth asked and swallowed hard.
Something twitched in Rooke’s face. “It compels me to feed. I feel a constant hunger, and only blood can take that away.”
“Human blood?” Corabeth’s voice was barely audible.
A bitter smile spread across Rooke’s face before he answered. “I can feed on animals. But it’s like craving a sweet and eating an apple.”
His eyes scanned Corabeth, who was suddenly sitting very rigidly.
“You’re scared of me,” Rooke noted.
Corabeth looked him straight in the eye. “Am I wrong to be? Did you not throw me behind bars for my own protection? Because you yourself thought you might attack me?”
“I have yet to apologize for that. I’m sorry,” Rooke said to Corabeth’s surprise.
“But you need to understand, I can’t even recall the last time I was in the company of another person.
I’m confined by these woods. I was afraid to lose myself to a frenzy.
I now know that I still have my self-control, despite living as a beast for centuries. ”
Corabeth softened slightly as a realization hit her. “You’ve been alone this whole time?” she asked. The pity in Corabeth’s eyes made Rooke avert his gaze.
“The curse gifted me my ravens. The witch must have had a twisted sense of humor,” he said, looking up at the now-empty tree where the bird had previously perched on a branch.
“How so?”
“My father’s name was Corvus. He named me Rooke. He had an obsession with them,” he said with a shrug.
“But,” Rooke said and pushed himself off the edge of the fountain, “I hunt these woods and I feed on the animals. There’s no danger to you. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Corabeth took some comfort in that. After all, had she not already begged him to kill her? Had she not been denied?
“In the village,” she said, “they collected money from all of us to afford the animals that got sacrificed to you.”
Rooke huffed a bitter laugh. “Sacrificed? The animals are there to trick me.”
“Trick you how?”
“Every thirty-three years, I get the chance to hunt down the bloodline of the one who cursed me. The villagers have forgotten about the curse. All they know is that I come to hunt the streets of the village. The villagers leave out animals painted in human blood to lure me, to distract me. I’m the most feral during the Night of the Beast, unable to resist. You were lucky that by the time I found you, I was so gorged on blood I could barely stand. ”
Corabeth hadn’t felt so lucky that night. All she yearned for was the mercy of death. Now… she wasn’t so sure.
“Is there enough for you? In these woods?” she asked. She had never seen any larger animals in the forest, barely any hares.
“The animals are becoming scarce. It’s like they finally figured out there’s only death for them here. But I’ll manage,” Rooke assured her, walking a slow lap around the fountain.
Corabeth had found it hard enough to scrounge up food when she had the occasional market and the general goods store. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if she had to hunt for it herself.
A thought hit her as she looked at Rooke, eyes wide. “I could help you,” she said.
“Help me?” Rooke asked as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.
“Yes,” she said eagerly, “I could go to a nearby village or town. Buy you an animal. Just… Don’t make me go back to my village.”
Rooke seemed thoughtful for a moment, weighing her idea.
Corabeth had started to feel a restlessness stir within her, the more she recovered. No longer sleeping all day, she had more time to consider her idle hands. To feel useless.
“Let me help. To pay you back for your kindness,” she pleaded.
“Don’t feel like you need to do anything to pay me back. There is no debt,” Rooke assured her.
“Still, I would like to help if I can,” Corabeth said, determined now.
“I suppose it would be nice to have a hog,” Rooke murmured, “I’m so very tired of deer.”
“Then a hog I will get!” Corabeth declared, jumping up from her bench.
There was an amused glint in Rooke’s eyes when he watched her.
“Very well,” he agreed, “I can take you to the edge of the woods tomorrow. Near the town of Darkwood. While you’re there, get something for yourself as well.
I have limited options with the meat I hunt and root vegetables from the garden. ”
Something clicked in Corabeth’s head then. Not once had she considered where her dinner came from. Who it came from.
“You’ve been cooking for me, haven’t you?” she asked, the answer already so obvious.
“Who else?” Rooke retorted, amused, and held his arms out to his sides.
“You really don’t have to. I’m not quite so catatonic anymore,” Corabeth said, but Rooke silenced her with a single look.
“Please,” he said, “It’s good to have something to do after all this time.”
Corabeth had always looked after herself, and she found it hard to suddenly have someone else do it. But she also saw the other side of it. She saw that perhaps the Beast before her was just a lonely man who needed to take care of someone. Who needed something to do. And who was she to deny him?
That night, when Corabeth went to sleep, she did not think of death at all.