Chapter 24
ELLA
MAIER MANOR
“You must tell him no,” Aunt Fiona demands, stalking across my bedroom like she’s known me all my life. Like she’s not some stranger who appeared to me yesterday with a story about how I’m half-bird, half-human. “How can you work with him? He’s our enemy.”
“He’s not our enemy!” I snap as I slip into my nightgown. “He’s my friend. Lately, they’ve been hard to come by.”
“If he truly is a friend, then why didn’t you tell him the truth about the ravens and me tonight? Why didn’t you tell him about your family curse?”
I keep silent at that, remembering Jacob’s words about the poor, innocent frog-man. If he finds a frog dangerous, a bird fits in that category, too.
“I’m going to tell him,” I say tightly. “Last night wasn’t the right time.”
But that’s a lie. I sit in front of my mirror and stare at my reflection, remembering how the world hung still just for the two of us. Even now, I can taste the promise of his kiss. I wish he hadn’t stopped. Wish that I had leaned in. Instead, I’m left suspended in time, craving the impossible.
No, I can’t ever reveal my secret. He’d never look at me again like he did last night. Now I understand my mother’s choice not to tell Father.
“Perhaps it’s because if he knew the truth about your lineage, he’d hunt you, too,” she continues, staring at the fire.
The flames flicker over her feathered dress.
“I don’t know who these Grimm brothers are, but one thing I am certain of, you must stay away from them at all costs.
Some of our flock have gone missing, and those two are at the top of my list of culprits.
The ravens and I are trying to find out who they are and why they hunt our kind. ”
“I saw blood and feathers in the snow,” I say, remembering how gentle he’d been with my mother’s book. “Jacob would never do that to an innocent creature.”
“You know nothing of the capabilities of a killer,” she says.
The image of him slicing off the wolf’s head rushes back to me.
I swallow hard, telling myself if he hadn’t killed that werewolf, it would’ve killed me.
My hand shakes as I brush my hair. Finally, I give up the task entirely and clamp my palms together, begging them to stop.
Fear curls in the pit of my stomach as that burning, pricking sensation under my skin roars to life, fiercer than ever.
“Drink it, please.” Fiona sets the goblet she brought me on my vanity.
“You’re trembling. The transformation is beginning.
You need to lie down. I’d feel better if you’d let me take you off into the woods and let this transformation take place where humans won’t interfere.
It’d give you time to adjust and understand your new body. ”
“It’s nothing.” I wave my hand and stalk to my bed. “I’m cold and tired. That’s it. You should go before someone sees you.”
My aunt gazes at me, face switching from worry to a distant smile.
“You remind me so much of your mother. She was my little sister. Ten years younger than me, in fact. I loved her more than life itself. Having her taken from me was like a part of my heart was chiseled away, leaving a gaping hole. But finally being able to speak with you has helped my grief.”
Tears threaten the corners of my eyes. After Mother died, it’s as if everyone forgot she existed. Father not only replaced her but now acts like she never was his wife. Now here’s a woman I don’t know—a woman who looks almost like a bird—that misses her. Heavens. This is bad.
“Please leave,” I say again. I don’t want her life and definitely not her curse.
“Of course.” Fiona opens the window and slips onto the sill, nimble as a dancer. “If the pain gets too bad, drink from the goblet. It will help.”
In a rush of wind, she transforms into a bird, flying into the darkness.
I dart to the window, letting the cool air chill me as I watch her fly to the hazel tree, before closing it and drawing the curtains.
I pull out my treasures tucked beneath my pillow.
Jacob’s handkerchief, the raven sketch, and a new drawing I found tucked in the pocket of my cloak last night.
I smile. Jacob must have slipped it inside.
It’s a single heliotrope flower, the lines soft and simple. I trace them with my finger.
The thought of him thinking I’m one of the monsters he hunts makes my heart sink. The way he looked at me sent a flame of fire down my core. No one has ever made me feel like he does. I can’t lose that.
I can’t become one of them.
A scream rips from my throat. I wake in bed, gasping in agony.
Fire prickles my skin like tiny knives cutting their way from the inside out.
I blink against the darkness. What is happening to me?
I clutch my sheets. Sweat drips down the sides of my face.
Another surge of pain wracks my body. I scream again.
Doors in the hall bang, and voices call out. Footsteps pound against the creaky wooden floors. A sliver of light slices across my room from beneath my door, and then I hear a knock.
“Ella.” It’s Stepmother’s voice, cranky and annoyed. “What is the meaning of this? What’s going on?”
My senses sharpen, and everything rushes back to me. My supposed aunt, who’s in fact a bird, telling me I, too, will happily join the bird family and fly about on wings. Utterly ridiculous. But I can’t pretend this pain away. It’s real and altogether terrifying.
Stepmother can’t ever know about this. It’s a dangerous secret. I grind my teeth, ordering myself under control just as Stepmother steps inside. Her candle flickers, casting her face in ghastly shadows that elongate her chin and make her eyes look sunken.
Knowing she’s a Forbidden like Jacob warned me about makes perfect sense now.
“Hello,” I say in my most steady voice. “I’m fine. Truly! I just had a nightmare about my mother’s death, but now that I’m awake, I realize it was just a bad dream.”
A fire builds under my skin. There’s no way I can sit calmly in bed when the pain hits me again.
“You must learn to control your outbursts, Ella. You’re a young woman now. Your father claims your mother came from a highborn family, but seeing the way you go on, I seriously doubt the accuracy of this statement.”
Just leave, you dreadful woman, I want to shout, but instead I manage through gritted teeth, “Yes, Stepmother.”
“Don’t wake me again. The girls and I need our beauty sleep. We can’t go to the upcoming ball with dark circles under our eyes.”
Finally, she leaves with a huff. Darkness swoops across the room, leaving me alone with my pain. Another surge wracks over my body. I stuff my sheets inside my mouth and bury my head into my mattress.
When the pain subsides, I lie on my back panting. Moonlight trickles through my curtains, offering a ghostly glow on my vanity and Fiona’s goblet.
I promised not to drink it. But I’m desperate. I don’t know how many more episodes I can suffer through without waking the whole house. The last thing I need is for them to find me with feathers for skin and talons for fingers.
With shaky hands, I tip the cup to my lips and drink. The brew tastes like pine and sweet spring water. Visions of trees and honey blossoms tumble over me.
I barely manage to drink half of it when another spasm hits me, causing the goblet to slip from my fingers and rolls across the floor in a horrid clatter.
The pain overtakes me again. I sink to the ground, clenching my fists.
Stay quiet.
Don’t scream.
Keep the secret safe.
Someone shakes me awake. I lift my head from the floor to discover my maid, Jesse.
“Oh, Ella,” Jesse says. “Whatever are you doing on the floor? Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.” I lick my lips. They taste like sap. Groaning, I rise to my feet. “Jesse, whatever happens, don’t tell Frau von Maier you found me on the floor. Please?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Jesse whispers. “A warning, though. She’s in a foul mood today.”
Jesse fetches me a simple, comfortable gown. Once she’s gone, I check my face and body in the mirror. No feathers in sight. I’m safe. Perhaps it was just a bad dream.
And yet, the goblet lies at my feet, taunting me with its engraved bird etchings. I don’t touch it and leave for breakfast.
Stepmother is at the table sipping coffee, a scowl on her face, when I enter.
“Good morning,” I say, sitting at the table.
Stepmother doesn’t acknowledge me, but Cook offers a strained smile as she practically throws the platter of sausages on the table.
“Mercies,” Marianne exclaims, walking in gracefully with Bertha behind, dragging her feet. “What was all that racket last night? Was that really you, Cinderella?”
I grab a hot buttery roll from the basket. “Bad dream. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“Bad dreams?” Bertha raises her eyebrows, filling up her plate. “You were howling like a cow. I’m surprised you didn’t wake the entire village.”
“That’s more than enough food for you, Bertha,” Stepmother says. “You must keep your figure slim and delicate to look presentable for the prince. We may need to put you on a strict diet.”
“Not that it will matter,” Marianne says. A devious expression tugs on her lips as she delicately cuts her food. “The prince will only notice me anyway.”
“You’re truly horrid.” Bertha throws her fork down. “I hate you!”
“Girls!” Stepmother commands. “Stop squabbling. I have news. I released Marie, one of the servants, so we can hire a tutor to prepare you for the ball.”
“But she was my maid!” Tears fill Bertha’s eyes. “How is that fair? Why did you get rid of my servant?”
“You let Marie go?” My fork clatters to my plate. “She’s been with our household for her whole life. She’s like family.”
“All the more reason to get rid of her,” Stepmother says. “She was taking advantage of her status by hardly working. Don’t fret, Bertha. You’ll get a fleet of servants once you’re the new princess. We must sacrifice for the future. Always remember that.”