Page 28 of Song of the Dark Wood

Without the adrenaline of fear keeping her going, Rowan felt suddenly exhausted. Using her magic for such a sustained period while walking just over three miles through the woods had taken more out of her than she expected.

The urgency she felt earlier faded away when Conor said he’d consider changing the bargain. It was a terrible time to lose her fire, but between her lack of sleep from grief all week, the warmth of the room, and the whiskey in her stomach, sleep felt more necessary than anything else. Before she could sort through the mess of questions in her mind, she nodded off.

7

CONOR

The new Maiden had a death wish. Conor stared at her in disbelief.

Rowan slept heavily, curled into the chair by the fire as though she was right at home in the lair of the god of death. She’d come in so fiery that he could practically taste her rage, but as soon as she realized she was relatively safe, she’d crashed. He couldn’t imagine the life she led to feel at peace in his keep. She should have been scared out of her mind. Instead, she looked cozy, her full lips parted and her auburn hair catching the firelight.

He had plenty to do, but he simply sat in his chair and watched her. He tried not to think of the skimpy silk gown she wore under his robe, or the fearful, furious look on her face when he had tilted her chin up as she knelt at the gates.

He wanted to wake her and ask her so many questions about her magic. It hadn’t occurred to him until after she fell asleep that all the past Maidens might have been able to hear magic, too. Their song enchanted and lured the dead to cross between realms. It made sense that their ears were attuned to more than what met the eye as well.

Suddenly, he questioned every moment when Orla had stood there in silence, eyes closed, as if she was waiting or listening for something. He wondered if she intentionally kept it from him or if she’d never mentioned it simply because he hadn’t asked.

It felt like a bit of a betrayal, but as she’d proven many times before, Orla was hard to know. He’d tried to, but she was a very private person—guarded in the way those born of terrible loss were.

“Should I have Mrs. Kline clear out Orla’s things and start on a wardrobe for the new girl?” Charlie asked as he bound into the room. He drew up short at the sight of Rowan asleep in the chair. “The new Red is a lightweight,” he laughed.

“Don’t call her that,” Conor snapped. “Her name is Rowan.”

He hated how everyone in town just called them “Red.” It was dehumanizing, and it made him sick. He learned each of their names as soon as they trusted him enough to reveal it, though most were afraid not to. Years of being indoctrinated left them all confident that he was a monster. As if death wasn’t necessary to balance the realms.

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? Her name is Rowan?”

Conor couldn’t believe it himself. A Red Maiden named Rowan, which literally translated to “little red one.” She had the red hair and a temper to match.

“So I assume I should have Mrs. Kline clear out Orla’s room?”

“No,” Conor sighed. “We’ll put Rowan in the garden room.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Next toyourroom? Is that a good idea?”

Conor frowned but said nothing else. Moody silences were the easiest way to shut down Charlie’s questions.

The reaper gazed back at Rowan. “She’s certainly bright as a summer day.”

Conor wished he could see what Charlie did. Reapers were gifted with extra sight that allowed them to spot and capture lost souls as well as perceive various aura colors to differentiate the dead from the living, the good from the evil.

“What does it look like?” Conor asked.

“Maybe the brightest I’ve seen,” Charlie started. “She has lots of greens cocooned in red. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was soft and sensitive underneath that fiery exterior.”

Conor wished he’d asked Orla more about the younger Maidens. It was short-sighted not to have done so.

“Are you just going to let her sleep?” Charlie asked.

Conor shrugged. “I don’t want to wake her yet. She’s been through enough, and letting her sleep is the only kindness I can offer.”

“She has courage walking into the woods with the blight and Orla’s death. I’ll grant her that,” Charlie said.

“That she does.” Conor eyed the sleeping girl warily.

Charlie stared at him. “Why are you looking at her like she’s dangerous?”

“Because she is,” Conor said, meeting his friend’s eye.

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