Page 127 of Song of the Dark Wood

“Are you going to come in or just lurk on the dock like a lost soul?” the Crone asked, cracking the cottage door open.

Rowan smiled at her. “I was hoping you could help me figure out a little mystery.”

“Come in,” she said, propping the door open with her hip.

Rowan brushed by her into the small cottage. Sarai looked up from her basket of supplies and smiled weakly.

“How’s Raya?” Rowan asked.

“She’s all right. I’m just getting some things to tend to her lashes,” Sarai said.

“How’s your research?” Rowan asked.

Sarai’s eyes darted to the Crone. “It’s been informative.”

Rowan was afraid to hope. It was likely safer to be away from Conor, but it also felt impossible. He’d admitted to being a monster, and she had no idea how to rectify the god she saw now with the careless, icy monster he’d been for centuries. She was unsure if she could forgive him for killing all those Maidens and was afraid what it said about her if she could accept that side of him.

Rowan hugged Sarai. She wanted to say so much but couldn’t in front of the Crone.

“I think I have figured out something vital,” Rowan whispered. She pulled back from her friend and turned to look at the Crone. “I think I’ve found a way to keep myself from being devoured and keep the world in balance.”

The Crone looked wary but unsurprised. “Leave us, Sarai. You must tend to Raya.”

“I should be here to help—” Sarai started.

The Crone held up a hand, and both Sarai and Rowan knew from years of experience there was no use arguing. Sarai left in a huff, and Rowan stood awkwardly in the center of the cottage, waiting for the Crone to speak.

Instead, the maddening woman simply gestured to the empty chair and went to make tea. Rowan wrung her hands in her lap as the Crone portioned out the tea and then set a teacup in front of her.

While Rowan loved tea, she was chronically impatient, taking a sip that burned her tongue so badly she hardly tasted the follow-up sip. That was who she was at heart—a girl who couldn’t stop touching something too hot, no matter how it burned.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think about Conor every time she felt overwhelmed and unmoored. She loved him, and he loved her, but it wasn’t the way she expected it to be. When people spoke about love, they made it sound simple.Now that she felt it, it was tangled with the reality of who he was and that, at any moment, the delicate trust between them could easily be broken, and it would cost more than just her heart.

“You’ve gone and fallen for the Wolf.” There was no accusation in the Crone’s tone. She was simply stating a fact.

“I’m not certain it’s so simple as that,” Rowan argued.

“Isn’t it? You have the desperate look in your eyes that all the women in the village do when they come to me to help them with some ill-fated love affair,” the Crone said with a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Rowan sighed. “Regardless, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Did you know his blight is still spreading into Ashand Orchards?”

Rowan shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. The Dark Wood is completely healed. Why would he spread it more?”

“Because you’ve shifted things in favor of the Wolf. It seems it’s your destiny to do so.”

“That’s not true! He—” Rowan stopped herself. The Crone had perked up with interest and she didn’t want to share any of Conor’s weaknesses.

“Look how you protect him now,” the Crone sighed. “There will come a time when you have to choose, Rowan. I thought that you, of all people, would be the first to be wary of the whims of the god of death.”

Rowan bit her tongue to keep from snapping. Talking to the Crone was a bit like playing chess with Conor. She needed to think about each move before she made it so that she didn’t tip her hand.

She took a long sip of her tea. “How do the gods never die?”

The Crone thought for a moment. “I suppose at some point they were just like us. The oldest of the records we have from the first Crone indicates that the Wolf was once mortal. Belief is what gave him and the Mother power. When you can offersomething that people need when they need it, their belief in you is what gives you power.”

That lined up with the story Conor had told Rowan.

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