Chapter 14 #2
Marian blinks, stunned silent. Of all the answers she expected – irritation, disdain, even strategic caution – this is not it.
‘I had the healers use older methods,’ Lox continues, eyes fixed on the rim of the now-empty cup. ‘Poultices. Root salves. Binding wraps. They’re slower, and you’ll likely have a scar, but they’re yours.’
Marian blinks down at herself. The tunic is loose and unfamiliar, but beneath the neckline she sees pale linen wrapped tight around her chest, the edges stained with dried green paste that smells of crushed leaves and cedar.
Her hand settles lightly on the bandage between her breasts. The flesh throbs, tender and real. He didn’t heal her because he didn’t want to betray her trust.
Remorse cracks open inside her.
‘The bandages will need changing a few times a day,’ Lox adds, ‘for at least a week; the wound was deeper than I initially thought. What those men did . . .’ His voice trails off, the tone sharp with fury.
She turns her head to look at him and places one of her hands on top of his at the edge of the bed. ‘Thank you, Robin,’ she whispers, throat tight. The sound of his real name on her tongue tastes better than any delicacy that’s blessed her tastebuds.
Lox stills beneath her touch.
She doesn’t know what possessed her to say the name he never uses instead of the one he’s adopted, but once it’s out there, it hums in the air between them like a plucked string.
Lox gives her hand a gentle squeeze before rising. He paces a few steps toward the hearth and turns. There’s a tightness in his eyes now, a heat that simmers just beneath the surface.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she chokes out. ‘I shouldn’t have struck you. I—’
‘Stop.’
Lox stands with his back half-turned to her, one hand braced against the mantle as though the stone might steady him. Firelight catches the ink along his forearm, vines and thorns shifting with the flex of muscle. His antlers tilt forward, shadowing his face.
‘You did what you thought you had to do. That is not a sin, Marian.’
The way he says her name feels deliberate, reverent. Shame wells up in her throat like bile, but she swallows it. ‘This is all my fault,’ she huffs. ‘If I hadn’t run, if I’d just listened to you and stayed put—’
‘The only people responsible for what happened are those heathens who thought they could touch what didn’t belong to them.’
She doesn’t know if he’s speaking about the ore or her. ‘Will’s right,’ she whimpers, eyes stinging. ‘You should’ve let them do away with me; I deserve nothing less.’
Anger sparks across his expression. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘You don’t know who I am. What I’ve done .
. .’ Her voice breaks. The tears come hard now, falling too fast for her to stop.
‘My real name is Marian Hallomere. I am the daughter of Eamon Hallomere, the man responsible for ravaging your land to forge weapons meant to tear through fae flesh like paper.’ She swipes at her cheeks with shaking fingers.
For a breath, Lox doesn’t move. His posture is iron, his antlers thrown in stark silhouette by the firelight, his shoulders hewn from stillness. Slowly, he straightens from the mantle, turning to face her fully.
‘You’re Marian Hallomere,’ he repeats at last.
Her gaze drops to her lap, fists twisted in the blanket. ‘I am.’ Her voice is raw, wrecked. ‘The blood in me belongs to a man who would raze this forest to the ground if it turned him a profit. The ore, the mines, the ash where your trees should stand – that’s his legacy. And mine.’
He strides across the room and kneels at her bedside. The motion is unhurried, deliberate, as if to show her there is no danger in it. The firelight burnishes the ink on his forearms as his hands brace against his thighs.
‘Look at me,’ he murmurs.
She shakes her head, tears streaking her cheeks. ‘Don’t—’
‘Marian.’ Her name sounds like a vow in his mouth. She cannot refuse it. Slowly, she drags her gaze to his.
‘There is great evil in your father.’ Lox’s voice is quiet but fierce. ‘But blood is not destiny. You are not his ledger, nor his forge, nor his blade.’
‘Everything in me was shaped by him. He taught me obedience, silence, the weight of duty until I bent beneath it.’
Lox leans forward, close enough that the shadows of his antlers brush the bedpost. ‘And yet here you are, confessing to me, knowing it could cost you your life. Do you think an obedient coward would dare that?’
Her breath stumbles. She wants to believe him, but shame swallows the notion.
His hand hovers just above hers on the blanket.
‘Do not ask me to see you as less than what you are,’ he adds.
‘You carry Hallomere’s name, but that is not the whole of you.
You chose to tell me. You chose not to kill me when you had the chance.
You chose to fight for your life when those men wanted to strip it from you.
Those are your truths. That is who Marian is. ’
Her tears fall harder now, not only from grief but from the unbearable relief of being seen. She realizes that her hand has turned palm-up beneath his, as though it moved of its own will. His fingers hover and for a breath she thinks he might close the distance.
Instead, he rises with controlled grace.
‘Today should have never happened,’ he says, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Men like that should not have made it within ten leagues of you. I will double the patrols at the boundaries.’ His head bows slightly, antlers dipping. ‘Today was my failure and for that I am sorry.’
Marian blinks through the blur of her tears, stunned. ‘Your failure? I was the one—’
‘You are under my roof, within my trees, and still mortal hands managed to maim you.’ His jaw tightens, the cords in his neck flexing. ‘I should have known better. Human men are more dangerous than any beast that prowls these woods.’
She thinks of Sherwood. Of fae sprawled in the grass with tangled limbs, fingers and mouths dipped between thighs.
It had unsettled her at first, made her flush and turn her gaze aside.
But never once had she felt the way those mortal men made her feel.
The way their hands gripped her like they already owned her.
The way their laughter turned her into nothing more than a thing. Like she was meat to carve.
Her hands shake beneath the folds of the blanket.
‘What if it happens again?’ Her voice cracks around the thought. ‘Once the king returns and grants Sherwood its sanctuary, will I always have to wait for a rescue that may not come?’
‘When I cast my deciding vote in front of the Council, I claimed you under my protection. Your safety was the root of our accord, and today’s events dissolve that pact.
’ His tone is level, but the muscle in his jaw twitches with restrained heat.
‘If you wish to leave Elswyth and return home to Hallomere Manor, or to whatever mortal path you wish to claim, you can. I will not bind you with an oath I have failed.’
The words lance through her chest. For a heartbeat she can almost taste freedom, but it curdles quickly.
Her voice falters. ‘But the Council—’
‘Damn the Council,’ Lox cuts in, his voice dangerous. ‘Let them choke on their law if they wish. My word stands. If you want to go, I will let you. No guard will hinder your step. No hand will close around you.’
The idea should spark relief, but instead her chest twists. ‘I . . .’ She cannot form the rest.
‘But,’ Lox lowers himself until his gaze is level with hers.
‘If you choose to stay,’ he offers, ‘then you will not remain defenceless. I will see to it that you have the means to protect yourself. Not scraps of borrowed strength, but your own. If teeth find you, you will bare your own. If blades seek you, you will cut deeper. You will never again taste the helplessness those men tried to force you to claim.’
Her heart stutters, wild against her ribs at the intensity of his gaze. ‘You would teach me?’
‘If your father made you obedient, then I’ll see to it that Sherwood makes you dangerous. No one will put fear in you again.’ His eyes catch the firelight, green kindled to gold, resolute as forged steel.
Something in her chest cracks. Fear, longing, and gratitude tangle together until she doesn’t know which is which. She swipes at her cheeks, but the tears come faster.
‘You don’t know what you’re promising,’ she whispers.
‘I know that Marian Hallomere will never bow her head again unless it’s by her own choice.’