Page 65 of Song of the Dark Wood

An hour later, he finally emerged from his music room. Playing so furiously managed to take the edge off the desire to immediately seek out Rowan again, even if the thought of it still sank claws into his mind. He snuffed out candles as he walked back down the corridor when the sound of soft singing stopped him in his tracks.

He walked down the hall, careful to keep his footsteps silent. He didn’t want her to stop. Her singing grew louder the closer he moved to the great room. When he reached the end of the corridor, he peeked around the doorframe.

Rowan sat on a rock at the top of the wilderness in the great room, high above the stream that cut through the floor. Unlike how she usually moved around as if trying to take up as little space as possible, her presence seemed to fill the entire space. She sat tall, her spine erect. Her long, auburn hair cascaded down her back. He couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to because her voice was expressive enough that he could feel the emotion in her words.

Conor recognized the song, though he’d never heard it sound quite so lovely. It was an old folk song about a powerful witch who could heal memories or steal them. When her land is invaded, she’s forced to either let the invading king kill her love or use her magic to rob him of every memory of her. The song was about reliving their love story while enduring the pain of erasing it.

From Rowan’s mouth, the song sounded powerful, vibrant, ethereal.

He sensed notes in her voice he’d never heard quite so clearly. His whole body buzzed with the pleasure of the song. The melody rolled through him like the very pulse of life itself. He had never felt anything like it, and if he wasn’t so accustomed to his own stillness—as Rowan had described it—he might have missed it. Her voice filled him with a strange nostalgia for something he’d never known or couldn’t quite remember.

She stopped singing abruptly, and he ducked behind the corner so she wouldn’t catch him spying.

He wanted to ask her why that song. Favorite songs and connection to music was deeply intimate. He’d never had anyone to talk to about music. The idea of asking her those questions was thrilling, but he instantly shut it down. It would help no one. Getting closer to her would only make things worse. Even now, it was hard not to tackle her to the ground and ravish her in the middle of the hallway—such was the magical pull she had on him.

Conor needed to put distance between them before things got any more out of hand. As it was, he constantly felt on the precipice of pouncing on Rowan, and she seemed delighted to be plundered. Being out of control was his least favorite feeling, so he forced himself back down the hall and into his music room, where he played furiously until his control slid back into place and an idea formed in his mind.

He just needed some distance, and he had a good idea of how to get it.

17

ROWAN

Disorientation was the new normal for Rowan as she moved about the shadowy halls of Wolf’s Keep. Since the day she’d been attacked in the woods, Conor had made a point to stay as far from her as possible—that was, until the day prior, when he kissed her in the library before once again making himself scarce. She sensed he was eternally right on the edge of losing control. The thought of causing that kind of frenzy in him made her feel strangely powerful.

Maybe it was normal for him to act so changeable, and she was simply too inexperienced to know otherwise. It wasn’t as if Rowan had someone she could ask, and since she’d yet to find the Red Maiden journals, she was left in the dark.

She was still afraid to tell him about her issues with the elders for fear of how he’d react. Her whole life, she’d been blamed for anything that had gone wrong around her, and she wasn’t sure that Conor had the temperament to handle the situation with tact. While he didn’t seem as fond of punishment as the elders, she still didn’t want to test things in case he blamed her for Elder Garrett’s interest. They seemed to have settled into a precarious rhythm that she didn’t want to disrupt.

Conor appeared at the library door. He looked both frustrated and nervous. Apprehension flashed in his blue eyes and he tugged on the sleeve of his dark green tunic, and rubbed a hand over the hair curling around the back of his neck. He still needed a haircut. The thought almost made her laugh, but Conor looked so serious she refrained.

“Good afternoon,” she said, closing the distance between them.

She waited to see if he would kiss her or shake his head and walk away like he often did. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she leaned in slightly. Instead of kissing her, he took a step back.

“Come with me,” Conor barked, grabbing her wrist and tugging her out of the room. She trailed behind him as he led her outside into brilliant sunlight.

“Have you given any more thought to changing the bargain?” she asked as she stumbled to keep up.

Conor stopped short so abruptly she nearly ran into him. “Rowan, please let that go. I heard your request, and I’m considering it. Do not push me on this.”

The words held no menace, but she still felt chastised. She was asking more in the hope of selling him on her plan so he wouldn’t suspect her deal with the Mother than of actually negotiating. Still, his easy rejection made rage curl in her stomach. She clenched her fists and reminded herself who she was speaking to as he led her around the corner and through the garden gates.

“The Dark Garden.” Rowan smiled. She spun in a circle, taking it in. It had changed since her last visit. The late afternoon sun cast orange light on several new blooms on the rosebushes. Most of it still remained in dry neglect, but she could see the potential.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Conor shifted on his feet and looked anywhere but at her as he dragged his boot through the dirt. “It’s yours,” he said so quietly she was sure she’d imagined it. “It belongs entirely to you.”

“What?”

“The Dark Garden is yours—to do whatever you want with. If you need help or supplies, just tell Charlie, and he’ll make sure you get what you need. I don’t know what that might be, but I imagine seeds or bulbs or dirt.” Conor ran a hand through his hair and gestured at the barren plots.

Rowan stared at him, her mouth clogged with words that felt too heavy to speak. Humiliating tears rose in her eyes without her permission. Her body seemed poised to absolutely lose it around Conor at all times. It was extremely inconvenient.

Conor took a step back and threw his hands up. “Mother slay me! Now what did I do?”

Rowan swallowed hard. “Nothing, I?—”

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