Page 68 of Song of the Dark Wood

Rowan laughed out loud,brushing tears from her eyes. An ache formed in her chest like a fist clenching her heart.

Perhaps it’smy imagination playing tricks on me with my tenure as acting Red Maiden coming to an end, but I can’t help feeling that if there was ever a time to leave some final words, it’s now.

Sometimes I regret hiding so much of myself away. I’m well aware that you tried your best to get to know me. I appreciate it, even when I seem like I don’t. The truth is, I don’t know how you bear loving people so much.

You’re not as broken as you think you are. I believe you are actually better suited to this life because you’ve held on to your sense of rebellion.

I never had a sister, but if I did, I would want her to be like you—unflinching in the face of scary things. You stand up for what’s right.

You’ve never asked me about him, but I saw the questions on your face hundreds of times. I’ll tell you this—Conor can be maddening and cruel, but he does his best. He’s so handsome it’s easy to forget what he is. He doesn’t care the way humans do. His care is possessive. It’s ownership. Still, I think he wants to be good at his core. He’s never been anything but honest and kind to me, but he is undoubtedly more than a little rough around the edges in all his isolation.

He likes to pretend he’s so unaffected by everything, but I expect he will be quite taken with you. You have the kind of fire that matches his, and I think you could be good for him, as long as you don’t forget that he’s the god of death. He cannot care like you do, Rowan, but he can connect in his own way.

You and Aeoife are the two bright spots in my life, and I am so grateful for both of you, even if I never said so. Pleasetake care of Aeoife. She’s so much softer than you and I. I worry about what the future holds for her if she doesn’t learn to protect herself as we have. The rest of the world will not treat her with such delicacy.

I don’t have any regrets other than the fact that I haven’t been able to fully unravel a mystery that I’ve been working on for quite some time. There must be a way to undo this bargain that puts us at the mercy of the gods. I’ve been researching for years now and haven’t made as much progress as I’d hoped. I’d planned to request access to the former Maiden’s journals once I finished my tenure and was made a lady.

Perhaps the answers are in the other Red Maiden diaries, wherever they may be. I know you’ll be able to put it together.

Please help yourself to what little I have. I wish I had more to offer than a few paintings and this journal, but I also know what you need most and what you’ve been lacking your whole life is information. I’ve done my best to get everything I know into this journal. The one that the elders have is fake.

All my love to you and Aeoife,

Orla

“Goddess above! I miss her,”Rowan choked out.

The grief swallowed her whole. She could barely breathe around the ache of it. Charlie put a steadying hand on her shoulder, and she covered it with her own.

She felt compelled to start reading the journal right away but also unable to start. Instead, they stayed there for a long time: Rowan crying, Charlie a silent witness to her grief. Still, it felt better than grieving alone. Especially as the weight of all of it settled onto Rowan in one devastating revelation.

Orla had only allowed Rowan to truly know her once she was gone.

18

ROWAN

That night, Rowan woke to a great commotion. She sat with a start, and Orla’s journal flopped onto the bed next to her. She’d fallen asleep reading it—not long ago, judging by the heavy dark outside her windows and the height of the candle on her nightstand. Flames guttered in the fireplace, threatening to go out. A tempest raged outside, pummeling the walls of the keep with vicious, windy fists. Sheets of rain furiously pounded against the windows, the storm begging to come in.

A loud screech cut through the din of the gale, chilling Rowan to the bone. She should have stayed safely tucked in her bed. Instead, she stood and pulled on her robe before cracking open her bedroom door.

Another screech echoed through the halls. The sound reminded her of what she’d heard in the forest after Orla died, when the Dark Wood resounded with the screams of lost souls being devoured by the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

Rowan hesitated at the threshold of her room before continuing down the hall. When she reached the top of the stairs, she heard murmuring between the agonized wails. She padded down the stairs, the soft sound of her slippered feet onthe marble floor punctuated by low groans that she followed to the dining room.

Conor stood at the head of the table, bent over a spirit. His brow furrowed in concentration and his eyes glowed, staring down at the writhing spirit as Charlie and a dark-haired female reaper restrained it.

The soul didn’t look like the ones Rowan led through the woods. Instead of the palish white-gray color with which she was accustomed, this one was nearly translucent, spotted with bright crimson—like spatters of blood. Rowan flinched as another keening wail burst out of it.

All three sets of eyes snapped to her.

“Rowan, you cannot be here. Go back to your room!” Conor barked. His eyes were incandescent, his presence somehow larger than usual, as if he could fill the whole room.

Rowan didn’t move. She stared at the writhing soul. “I can help.”

“Absolutely not. Out! Now!” Conor growled.

“I think you mean ‘Thank you, Rowan, that’s so generous of you,’” she said.

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