Chapter 13
Thirteen
Corabeth
“Hold on to my cloak,” Rooke said, looking over his shoulder at Corabeth.
A light layer of snow covered the ground, and tiny snowflakes kept falling as they stood at the edge of the forest. Despite the cold, there was still a perpetual fog hanging between the trees, smudging their sharp edges.
Corabeth did as she was told and took the rough fabric of Rooke’s cloak between her two fingers. Then they started walking.
The fog grew thicker with every step, becoming almost suffocating.
The moisture clung to Corabeth’s skin and hair as she felt the pull of Rooke’s cloak ahead of her.
Swiftly, the world became nothing but the white of the fog and the black of Rooke.
The only thing that told Corabeth they were still in the forest was the crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet.
Just as suddenly, the fog started to thin out again, and trees became visible. A short distance away, Corabeth saw a road and the beginnings of a town.
“How…” Corabeth gasped, looking behind her. She saw nothing but a forest swimming in a light mist. The closest town must have been at least five leagues away. Somehow, they crossed that distance in mere seconds.
“This is my forest, my fog,” Rooke said, reaching into his cloak. He pulled out a heavy pouch.
“Here,” he said, and deposited it into Corabeth’s open palm. “I don’t know what money’s worth these days, but I assume gold and silver are still accepted.”
Corabeth felt the heaviness of the pouch and balked. “That’s too much, I’ll get robbed blind,” she said and fished out some coins. Then she handed the rest of the pouch back to Rooke.
“You’ll wait for me here?” Corabeth asked expectantly. A fear had started to grow deep inside her that she didn’t wish to look at too closely.
“Yes,” promised Rooke with a nod.
Corabeth took a few steps towards the town before she turned around again.
“We’re almost finished with the book,” she called to Rooke. “Will you read the final chapters to me tonight?”
Again, Rooke nodded.
Corabeth forced herself to start walking again, stopped herself from turning around. She felt Rooke’s eyes on her all the way to town.
Despite the cold, a vibrant market was erected in the town square, and Corabeth picked through it, getting whatever she deemed necessary for herself.
Fresh baked goods, preserves, eggs, and finally a few books.
She figured if Rooke had indeed been stuck in his house with the same books, he would appreciate them as well.
The town’s people glanced at the newcomer, some whispered, most openly stared. A few of the vendors tried to inquire about her, the shoppers drawing closer to hear the answers as well, but Corabeth gave roundabout answers.
“What are you here for?”
“Oh, you know, this and that.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Just outside town.”
“Are you new here?”
“Yes, quite.”
After asking around, Corabeth was given directions to a farmer at the edge of town who might sell her an animal, and she set off, leaving the gossiping people behind her.
The farmer, a man of many years and few words, considered Corabeth from behind his bushy eyebrows.
“What does a fine lady like yourself need a hog for?” he asked and took another bite out of the raw carrot he was chewing on. Corabeth almost laughed at being called “a fine lady.”
“My business is my own. Name your price and ask extra if it means you ask no questions,” she said, holding her head high.
The farmer sat silently for a long while, his long, gray beard moving as he chewed.
“Twenty silver,” he finally said.
Corabeth knew exactly how much he overcharged, but she made no complaints, simply dropped the coins into the farmer’s hand. He looked at them with some astonishment, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to pay such a ridiculous sum for a hog.
Then he put the coins in his pocket, stood with a quiet groan, and disappeared behind his house. When he returned, a well-fed hog walked beside him on a piece of rope, its ears flopping as it trotted along.
The farmer handed the rope wordlessly to Corabeth and went back to sitting in his previous spot. He took a fresh carrot from his pocket and bit into it.
“What other animals do you have?” Corabeth asked before leaving.
“Sheep, goats,” the farmer replied, “Plenty of goats.”
With a nod, Corabeth turned, tugged gently on the rope, and together with the hog she walked through Darkwood.
The ripple of gossip was palpable, but she paid it no mind, made no eye contact.
She simply kept her gaze at the end of the road where the town ended and the woods began.
She wondered if she would see Rooke waiting for her.
Or if he had simply sent her off with enough coin to get her settled.
The spot where she had last seen Rooke was empty, and Corabeth’s heart sank. She took some tentative steps into the woods, looking around, seeking a familiar shape in the mist. The hog next to her sniffed the ground curiously, burying its snout under dead leaves.
“Come further,” said a voice quietly. Corabeth was sure it was Rooke’s, but she had no idea where it came from, if it was near or far. She walked deeper into the woods, but the rope went taught, the hog frozen in its place.
“Come on now,” Corabeth said gently and pulled again. She knew she was leading the animal to its death. “Come, come.”
The hog took some tentative steps towards her, but it was clear the animal was now wary. The voice had startled it.
A low growl came from somewhere behind Corabeth, and suddenly, a great shadow swept through the fog towards the hog. An urgent squeal came from the animal as it was picked up. Rooke held it easily as if the hog didn’t weigh over a hundred pounds.
“Quick, hold on,” he said and positioned himself in front of Corabeth.
A pack of shopping in one hand, she grabbed hold of his cloak and once again they started walking into an unnaturally thick fog.
The hog kept thrashing and making horrific sounds the whole time, the squeals echoing in the quiet of the forest. Corabeth wanted to press her hands to her ears.
When the mist thinned out once again, Rooke released the hog, letting it run off into the woods. When he turned to Corabeth, his eyes had a predatory gleam to them.
“Go inside,” he said, his voice almost a growl.
Corabeth had to remind herself she was safe here and nodded. She didn’t look back when Rooke disappeared into the woods, stalking after the hog. As she closed the door of the manor behind herself, she shut out the terrified screaming of the animal somewhere in the woods.
When Corabeth came downstairs again at duskfall, dinner was waiting for her once more—pork chops with herby potatoes. After her meal, she found Rooke lounging in the library, more relaxed than she had seen him so far.
“I take it your meal was satisfactory?” she asked, sitting in her usual armchair across Rooke.
A lazy smile spread across his face. “Best I’ve had in ages.”
There was a part of Corabeth that felt awful about leading the animal to its slaughter. But she told herself it was simply the cruelty of nature. One creature devouring the other for survival. Wolves ate sheep, cats ate mice. Rooke ate… others.
“Shall we?” Rooke asked, sitting up straight and opening The Dragon and the Drowned Queen. There were only a handful of chapters left.
Corabeth nodded and curled up in her seat, letting the warmth from the fire seep into her bones. Rooke cleared his throat and began reading.
“‘The queen stood,’” Rooke read about an hour later, “‘foot on his neck, blade pointed at his chest—the man who had taken everything from her—and found it within herself to show mercy.
“‘You do not deserve to taint my hands with your blood,’ she spat.”’
Corabeth frowned and sighed so loudly, Rooke looked up from the book.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Why is the protagonist always the merciful one? For once, I want to see them get their revenge,” she said, rolling her eyes. She was growing tired of the same story repeating. Or perhaps she found it hard to relate to.
“Is that what you would do?” Rooke asked.
Corabeth considered the question for a moment. She imagined herself pressing a boot against the neck of Ely or Turner or Village Elder Hyram Fabel. A shiver of satisfaction ran through her. Would she show mercy or paint the ground with their blood? Not a single tender feeling stirred in her.
The flames from the fireplace danced in the blacks of her eyes as she said, “Yes.”
Rooke nodded thoughtfully before he went back to reading.
As Corabeth lay in bed that night, waiting for sleep, she didn’t think of dying. Instead, she thought of killing.