Page 35 of Song of the Dark Wood

Rowan took note of precisely who was on which side in case she needed an advocate later, not that she could count on any of the elders to dissent. They fell in line with each other with minimal argument. Even Elder Falon, who was usually so reasonable, had an inscrutable look on his face.

“I didn’t realize I was on such a tight timeline. I assure you all I will do my best to press things on my next visit,” Rowan said tightly.

“Is there anything else you need from Rowan? I’m sure she’s quite tired,” Mrs. Teverin said, as if reading the tenuous grip Rowan held on her temper.

“No, I suppose it’s fair to say that we have everything we need for now. We will all sit in prayer with the Mother for her wisdom,” Elder Falon said. He waved his hand in dismissal, and Rowan followed Mrs. Teverin out of the room.

“Breathe, girl. You look like a powder keg ready to burst,” Mrs. Teverin whispered as they stepped out of the temple into the cool morning air.

Rowan let out her breath, trying to shake away the tension that made her chest ache. “What is the ceremony they were talking about?” she asked.

“It’s best if you don’t know, dear. Not unless it’s going to happen for sure, at which time I will tell you everything. There’s no use knowing and suffering the nightmare of worrying about it unless you have to,” Mrs. Teverin said in the firm way that let Rowan know she wouldn’t say another word about it.

Rowan sighed as they made their way back into the tower.

“I don’t know what you did to make Elder Garrett so wound up, but perhaps you could patch things up,” Mrs. Teverin suggested.

“Me? I’ve done nothing except deny him my body, as I was supposed to.”

“Yes, but Rowan, you know well what powerful men do when you don’t give them something they want. They try to take it. Justice is a lovely virtue, but one you shouldn’t expect to find here,” Mrs. Teverin sighed.

“And I’m supposed to do something about that?” Rowan asked.

“No—you’re supposed to remember it, so you have a plan forwhenit happens,” Mrs. Teverin replied.

The look in the older woman’s eyes filled Rowan with grief because, suddenly, she wasn’t speaking to her tutor. She was talking to a woman who’d had something taken from her.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan mumbled, though she wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for her outburst or Mrs. Teverin’s suffering.

“Don’t be sorry. Be smart, girl. That man has a bone to pick with you, and you’d be wise to have a plan for when he makes an issue of it.”

Rowan nodded and wiped away a frustrated tear.

“Those tears won’t save you. But perhaps a new dress will. I’ll have the seamstress in to make something to entice the Wolf,” Mrs. Teverin said. “Let’s not worry about the rest of it until we have to. In the meantime, I’ll let you sleep.”

Even though Rowan had done everything exactly as she’d been told to, she still fell asleep feeling like a failure.

9

ROWAN

Rowan snuck into the Borderwood after her morning of lessons and meditation. She left Cade with Aeoife so the girl wouldn’t try to follow her to meet the Crone. Rowan needed answers, and she obviously couldn’t go to the elders for help. The boards creaked beneath her feet as she crossed the rickety bridge to Crone’s Cottage. Her footsteps echoed across the Mother’s Lake.

The Crone stood at the threshold, waiting for her. “Thought you’d be here sooner, girl.”

The earthy smell of dried lavender and mugwort greeted her as she entered the cottage. “I need your help.”

“I know,” the Crone sighed, gesturing to the table, where a cup of tea waited for Rowan. She could tell from the smell it was her favorite lavender-chamomile blend.

Sarai sat on her bed in the corner, studying a huge tome with fraying edges. She smiled at Rowan before turning her attention back to her studies.

The Crone sat down across from her at the table. Rowan’s gaze snagged on the ancient-looking book in front of her. The paper looked nearly transparent, so dry and delicate it wouldsimply crumble in the wrong hands. She tried to read the words, but before she made any sense of it, the Crone carefully closed the book.The History of Ballybrine Prophecyby Crone Arietta LaFray was stamped on the spine in faded black ink. The book was written by the previous Crone, Sarai’s grandmother.

“Why are you looking at old prophecies?” Rowan asked.

“You want to know about what the elders said?” the Crone countered, ignoring her.

“Could I just put on a red dress?” Rowan started. “No one would know if I had or hadn’t?—”

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