Page 2 of Song of the Dark Wood

“About what?” Rowan asked, looking away. Her gaze caught on a little white snowdrop flower that had pushed up through the leaf detritus on the forest floor, bright and pure against the muted background.

“About becoming acting Maiden.”

Rowan tugged at the neckline of her dress, which suddenly felt too tight. “I have a plan.”

Cade’s grin widened and his eyes flashed momentarily red before returning to their usual hazel. “How can I help if I’m not in on the plan?”

“I have two months to work out the details. I’m going to ask the Wolf to strike a new bargain.”

Cade stared at her. “You’re going to ask—” He collapsed against a tree, clutching his stomach in a fit of laughter that senta murder of crows in the canopy into panicked flight. “You’re going to ask the god of death, the Wolf—who is supposed to devour you—to strike a new bargain? Why would he change a deal that offers him a pretty young virgin every five years?”

Rowan’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose you have a better idea.”

All the humor drained from his face. “I don’t.”

“I have to try,” Rowan said. “I owe it to myself and to any future Maidens to change things.”

Cade sighed. “It’s a bad idea to make a deal with a god.”

“Is it a better idea to die?” Rowan snapped. “Look, if I do what I’m supposed to and serve out my term, I force every Maiden after me to deal with the same terrible circumstances. If I can get the Wolf to remake his deal, I might still be on the hook to ferry the souls once a week, but I could have a life, friends—maybe even a family.”

“And you can avoid the responsibility ever falling to Aeoife,” Cade finished.

Rowan nodded as a breeze ruffled the hairs that had escaped her braid.

“Row, I don’t want to discourage you, but don’t get your hopes up. The Wolf is centuries old. It’s hard to believe he’d make a deal with you that doesn’t benefit him more. There was a time when the people of Ballybrine tried to break with tradition and the Wolf tore through town and killed every child on three separate streets in retaliation. He doesn’t seem to like change.”

Rowan wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to settle its roiling.

Patting her shoulder, Cade gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not trying to scare you. Just be very delicate about how you approach him.”

They fell into step, approaching the wooden walkway that led to Crone’s Cottage on the tiny island in Mother’s Lake.

The cottage door creaked open and the Crone made her way down the rickety planks to dry land, casting a worried glance at the Dark Wood. Despite her title, the Crone couldn’t have been older than mid-forties, and her brown skin showed little sign of aging other than the smile lines around her light gray eyes.

“You shouldn’t be close to the forest alone, girl,” the Crone scolded. Though she couldn’t see Cade, her eyes narrowed on the space beside Rowan as if she sensed him.

Rowan shrugged. The Crone had been saying the same thing to her since she anointed her as the next Red Maiden, but the woods were Rowan’s birthright, and she wouldn’t fear them the way everyone else did.

Of course, it wasn’t just fear that kept folks out of the forest. The Crone had whispered stories of a time before she was born when women used to wander into the woods for inspiration. They’d come back with brilliant poetry, political aspirations, or a new wildness stoked inside them. It wasn’t long before the elders condemned such wandering, certain that too many women with their own minds were a bigger threat to their way of life than the new religion rising in the north.

Wandering the woods seemed like harmless trouble to Rowan, but in their world, there was no such thing for women. Harmless trouble was reserved for men and boys. Whispers of such things spread like wildfire between women in the town square, laundress shops, and bakery lines. It was the only kindness the women of Ballybrine could offer each other—the truth of whose trouble was innocuous and whose was worth avoiding at all costs.

“I thought Sarai would be back by now,” Rowan said.

The Crone shook her head. “She’ll be along soon. The days grow shorter, but that girl loses herself when she’s gathering herbs in the Borderwood.”

Despite her posture hinting at disapproval, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The Crone seemed to admire her daughter’s wildness, which would serve her well as the next Crone. Crones kept ancient wisdom, cast spells, and held the heavy responsibility of ensuring the bargain between the Mother and the Wolf was upheld. Their power required courage and an appreciation for the magic of the natural world.

“What’s happening in the Dark Wood?” Rowan asked.

The Crone eyed her suspiciously. “What do you think is happening?”

Rowan rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Because I don’t know either, girl.”

Everything the Crone taught Rowan about magic made her feel closer to understanding her own power, especially since so much about her gifts was unknown and unspoken. Even the current Red Maiden, Orla, was forbidden from sharing her experiences with Rowan. Whatever happened between Orla and the Wolf was a mystery, but she must have been doing something right to have survived this long.

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