Page 38 of Song of the Dark Wood

Rowan had never been good at leaps of faith. She’d never been good at having faith at all, but she trusted her friend.

“Do you ever think about what you would be if your birth didn’t decide for you?” Rowan asked.

Sarai shook her head and smiled. “I was always going to be what I am. I have the heart of a witch and the soul of a wild woman. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t want to be anything else. There’s freedom in being feared and respected, even if I’ll neverbe as powerful as I should be in Ballybrine. This world won’t hand us power, Rowan. If we want it, we’ll have to find our spots to take it.”

“But how?” Rowan asked.

“You go back out there and control what you can. If you need the Wolf to want you, make him.”

Rowan nodded and then pulled her friend into her arms. “I think your prophecy was wrong,” she whispered. “I think you’re the thing that holds back the dark.”

She and Sarai stood there hugging each other for a long time—until twilight pulled ribbons of color across the horizon, the air chilled, and the forest stirred with the gentle rustle and chirp of wildlife—until they both felt anchored, if only to each other.

Rowan beltedout her song as she marched down the trail toward Wolf’s Keep. The Gratitude and Grieving Ceremony hadn’t been nearly as intimidating the second time around, though she felt more uneasy than ever around the elders. Every glance from the men felt like she was being undressed by their eyes.

She’d spent the entire week sneaking through Maiden’s Tower, looking for the journals of past Red Maidens, and had come up empty. She’d sent Cade into the Temple of the Mother to spy and look for hiding spots, but he’d also had no luck.

Cade was silent beside her, though he occasionally turned to check on the procession of spirits trailing behind.

There was very little moonlight, and the darkness felt more stifling than it had on her first journey. A stiff wind rustled the trees along the sides of the trail, and they groaned into motion. There was no growling to be heard over the sound of her song,but she sensed the beasts of the Dark Wood waiting for her to make one false move and stray from the trail. She didn’t hear so much as feel the eyes on her and the tremorous crunch of claws in the pulped-leaf dirt on the forest floor.

It was a relief that the group of spirits following her was smaller and more manageable. It allowed Rowan’s mind to wander as she sang. After turning Maiden’s Tower upside-down looking for the journals, she was convinced they had to be somewhere in the temple archives. She’d avoided them all week for fear of running into Elder Garrett, but she’d have to summon the courage to explore the following week. She needed to know what her predecessors had known. Rowan was tired of being blind in the middle of the tempest brewing in Ballybrine.

She was so lost in thought that the sight of Wolf’s Keep startled her. The mansion walls rose out of the misty evening, all rough charcoal stone and modest peaks. It seemed too grand a home for one god, with its massive, arched windows and stained glass.

Rowan finished the song and knelt, casting her gaze down at the ground as the Wolf’s boots came into view.

Her mouth felt suddenly dry and her hands shook. Rowan did not know how she would seduce the Wolf, but she needed to control what she could and forget the rest. She’d found that waiting for something terrible to happen had always felt worse than the thing itself. At least now, she could try to steer things, even if it was in her own clumsy, awkward way.

She waited for the spirits to cross over before she lifted her eyes and looked at Conor.

“Come in and warm up. We should talk,” Conor said. He reached out a hand, and she placed her chilly palm in his.

When they stepped inside, Conor helped her with her red cloak. She shifted so his fingers brushed the skin of her shoulders as he grasped the heavy fabric

Conor leaned closer, his breath ghosting over her shoulder as the cloak dropped away and revealed the plunging bias-cut back of the dress that draped just above her backside. The seamstress had taken Mrs. Teverin’s advice and truly outdone herself with the new dress.

Rowan gasped as one of Conor’s fingers trailed up her spine. He leaned so close his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“This is a very interesting dress, Rowan.”

She held perfectly still as he tossed her cloak on a chair and moved around her. Conflict twisted her stomach in knots. She was afraid of what he’d do, but more afraid she’d go back to Ballybrine a failure.

There was no mistaking the hunger in Conor’s eyes as he followed the lace that dipped down between her breasts. It was easily the most scandalous dress she’d ever seen, let alone worn.

“Do you like it?” Rowan asked hopefully, stepping into the firelight and slowly spinning to let him take in the full view.

His gaze raked over her in a way that made her feel as if she was wearing nothing at all. She shifted to give him a glimpse of her leg through the slit up the side.

Conor arched a brow. “Doyou?”

She frowned. “It’s the finest dress I’ve ever owned. I think it’s beautiful.”

“But do you feel like yourself in it?”

The dress was a stunning work of art, but Rowan felt a bit like she was playing a character—a sexier, more confident version of herself.

“If you could wear anything, would you wear this?” he asked.

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