Chapter 9
Ihated him. I hated him with my entire being. And yet, I could stop neither crying and hurting, nor loving him.
He left.
He left me standing there in the middle of the forest, broken and hurt.
I fell to my knees and slammed my fists into the ground, not even feeling the last of the snow drenching my clothes. I screamed his name until my voice cracked. I cried until my eyes were swollen and my throat raw. I curled on the ground, cursing him, begging him to come back.
It was getting dark before I managed to get myself together enough that I could at least make it back to the cottage.
"Rose? Where have you…" Mother took one look at me and stopped. "Oh, dear." She folded me into her arms, and I cried some more.
From somewhere, Snow appeared. Neither one of them asked me a thing.
They just held me until I cried myself out.
Until I was ready to collapse in exhaustion where I stood.
Wordlessly, they helped me out of my clothes, put on my nightshirt, and led me to my bed, where I curled up again, staring at the empty spot by the hearth where Magnus used to lie.
Deep in my heart, I knew he wouldn't come back.
That stupid, stupid man thought he or Magnus would hurt me.
Like either one ever could.
Why couldn't he trust like I did?
A cool washcloth wiped my overheated face, easing the swelling of my lids. The warm aroma of one of Mother's brews reached me, and Snow helped me up to drink it. Whatever they gave me, it finished the job, and I fell into a deep sleep.
The sleep wasn't restful, though. Even then, my mind and heart were tortured by the unavoidable truth that both Derrick and Magnus were gone. That they had left me.
I know I cried in my sleep because the next morning, my pillow was wet, and both Mother and Snow had dark circles under their eyes from lack of sleep.
They forced me to eat and drink, but not to get out of bed.
I knew I should have checked the traps, but I couldn't muster the willpower to get up.
Not even when I thought about our dwindling food supplies.
"Oh!" Snow exclaimed the next evening when she opened the door to get more firewood.
"What is it?" Mother asked.
I didn't even open my eyes. They burned too much when I dared to blink.
"Look," Snow said.
Then mother's voice pressed out an "Oh."
I forced my eyes to open for just a moment to take in the sight of snares filled with two rabbits and what looked like some hares. I closed them before I could make out more. Good for you, I thought sarcastically, thanks, Magnus.
I tried to find comfort in the knowledge that Derrick and Magnus were bringing us food, probably checking my snares, but I couldn't. I was too hurt.
It's impossible to say how many days I stayed in bed. I could have asked Mother or Snow, but I didn't. And I probably would have stayed even longer if Mother had not put her foot down.
"You need to get up, Rose."
“I don’t want to,” I replied like a petulant child, my voice muffled against the blanket. I didn’t even lift my head. What did it matter if the sun was shining or the thaw was coming? The woods could bloom themselves into a paradise, and still my chest would ache the same.
Mother’s spoon clattered softly into the pot. For a long moment, she didn’t answer, and the silence pressed heavier than her scolding ever could.
“Rose.” Her voice was weary, thinner than usual.
I finally glanced over. She sat by the fire with one hand pressed to her temple; the lines in her face were drawn deeper than I remembered.
She looked smaller somehow, though she tried to hold herself straight.
“The willow bark is nearly gone. My head… I can’t keep the pain away without it. You know what that means.”
Snow’s needle stilled. Her pale eyes darted to me, then to Mother. “The streambeds,” she said quietly. “That’s where the bark loosens first in spring.”
Mother nodded, the motion tight, as if it pained her. “Yes. And I can’t fetch it. My knees won’t take me so far. It must be you two.”
Guilt twisted hot in my stomach. She needed me, truly needed me, and here I was sulking in bed like a spoiled child. I sat up slowly, the blanket falling from my shoulders. “You should have said so sooner.”
“I tried to hold out for as long as I could," Mother replied, and the words were softened with love, not anger.
Snow was already gathering her cloak. “We’ll go together,” she said firmly. “Rose, come on.”
I dragged in a breath and swung my feet to the floor. My body felt heavier than it should have, but my heart beat a little faster, stubbornly alive. I thought of Magnus—Derrick—and forced the ache back down. For now, this wasn’t about me.
“All right.” I pushed to my feet. “Let’s fetch your herbs, Mother. We’ll bring back more than you will need for a year.”
Mother’s smile was faint but real. “My brave girls.”
Snow beamed at me, and though my chest still hurt, I found myself smiling back.
Snow walked quietly beside me as we left the cottage, our boots crunching through the crust of snow that still clung stubbornly to the earth.
The air smelled different now: wet bark, thawing moss, and the faint promise of spring.
But even with the forest alive around us, I felt her eyes on me more than the breeze or the birds.
I didn’t look at her. Not yet. My throat was still thick with all the things I hadn’t said. It took several minutes, several long breaths, before I finally whispered, “He’s not just a bear, you know.”
Snow’s pale lashes lowered, hiding her expression. “I had my suspicions,” she murmured at last. Then she glanced up, those ice-clear eyes searching mine. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Of course, that was all the invitation I needed. The words tumbled out, unspooling the whole story, his curse, the magician, the stone, the unbearable truth that he was Derrick. My Derrick. I didn’t even notice the wetness on my cheeks until my voice cracked.
“And he left,” I whispered, hugging my arms around myself. “Because he’s afraid of hurting me. He thinks if he stays, he’ll… break me.”
“Oh, Rose.” Snow’s face crumpled, and to my astonishment, she was crying too. She caught my hand, her fingers cold but firm. “I’m so sorry.”
I tried to breathe past the ache, but her sorrow only made mine sharper. Until—
Her tears hardened. She straightened, her voice turned sharp with anger, sharper than I’d ever heard from her. “So let me understand this. He can’t stand the thought of physically hurting you, so instead, he tortures you emotionally?”
I blinked, stunned. Snow rarely raised her voice, let alone let it quake with fury. Then, to my horror, a laugh broke out of me. A half-choked, wet laugh that tumbled into a sob. “I… I guess so.”
Snow sniffed, then let out a watery laugh of her own. And just like that, we were both laughing and crying in the middle of the woods, clinging to each other like the world might shatter if we let go.
“I love you,” she gasped between tears.
“I love you, too,” I managed, my voice breaking against her shoulder.
We stayed like that a long moment, tangled up in grief and sisterhood and the ridiculousness of it all, until the forest itself interrupted us with a string of furious curses that echoed from the stream ahead.
Snow lifted her head, her brows knitted. “What on earth—?”
We followed the sound, still holding hands, until the trees parted, and there he was again: the little man with the impossible beard.
Only this time, it wasn’t tangled in the roots of a tree; it was jammed fast between two slick boulders in the rushing stream.
His legs kicked wildly as he fought and splashed, his face nearly dunked in the water.
“Blasted rocks! Vile tricksters! Release me!” the troll bellowed, his beard stretched tight as rope.
Snow and I looked at each other, eyes still wet from tears, and for the first time in days, we laughed without sorrow.
The troll thrashed again, water sprayed from the stream as his boots kicked and his beard yanked taut between the rocks.
His string of curses turned inventive enough to make even Mother blush.
“Don’t stand there like a pair of gawking storks!” he shrieked when he caught sight of us. “What are you, root-brained twigs? Stop sniveling and help me!”
Snow stiffened at my side, her cheeks blotchy from our tears, but her chin lifted high. For once, she didn’t hide behind me or pull me back. She folded her arms and said, “You’re very rude, you know.”
“Rude?” The troll spluttered, nearly choking on a mouthful of spray as the current tugged him lower. “I’m drowning, you wool-headed squirrel! And you quibble about manners?”
I bit back a grin and tugged Snow closer. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s at least look before his tongue ties itself into a knot.”
We waded to the bank where his beard was wedged. It had slipped down deep into the crack between two rocks, and the rushing water was pulling it tighter with every splash. He pulled, he twisted, and he kicked, but all he managed was to drag his nose within an inch of dunking.
“Saints above,” I muttered, kneeling to peer closer. “How does one man get into so many predicaments with the same beard?”
He scowled at me as water dripped from the end of his nose. “This is no ordinary beard, girl, it is a marvel, a legacy, a tapestry of my grandeur—”
“—and currently stuck in a creek,” Snow cut in, dry as frost.
I laughed, sharp and unexpected. Snow smirked at me, a rare flash of mischief sparked in her pale eyes, and she crouched beside me, unafraid, as if to say: We’ll deal with this together.
Snow braced her boots against the rocks and tugged a handful of beard. The troll shrieked so loud, I thought the fish might leap from the stream in fright.
“Gentle! Gentle, you ham-fisted goose! That’s my face you’re yanking on!”
“It’s your beard,” Snow corrected coolly, tugging again.
“My beard is my face, you milk-fed nitwit!” He flailed, water splashing everywhere. “Careful, or you’ll rip me bald!”
I tried next, attempting to ease the wiry strands free with both hands, but the water’s pull had cinched the knot too deep. No matter how I wriggled or pried, it wouldn’t give. My fingers were going numb with cold.
“This isn’t working,” I muttered.
“Of course it isn’t working, you harebrained cabbage,” the troll wailed. “You’re ruining everything!”
Snow leaned close and hissed in my ear, “He’s impossible.”
I sighed, pulling my knife from my belt. “There’s only one way.”
His eyes bulged as he saw the blade. “No! Not again! You wouldn’t dare—”
Snip.
The knife sliced clean, and his glorious beard fell loose from the rocks, trailing ragged and dripping. He tumbled backward with a splash, sputtering, then scrambled to his feet. He clutched the hacked end of his beard in both hands like it was a mortal wound.
“You wicked, wretched, witless gooses!” he roared, and his voice cracked with fury. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? None! Not a scrap! You’ve destroyed years—decades! That was a work of art, a tapestry of greatness, and you’ve butchered it like pig slop!”
Snow snorted, arms crossed. “You’re welcome.”
The troll stamped his soaked boots, his beard dripping, his face redder than a boiled beet. “May your needles rust, may your pelts rot, may the wolves line their dens with your hair! Gooses! Both of you! Feather-brained, root-sucking, pine-sniffing gooses!”
With that, he stormed off into the trees, shrieking curses so foul and creative even I felt faintly impressed. Snow and I sat back on our heels, wet and breathless. Then we looked at each other—me dripping with stream water, her cheeks pink from laughter she tried and failed to bite back.
And we both burst out laughing.