Page 88 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
With her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, she ran her thumb along the underside of her engagement ring and let her thoughts drift to Atlas.
She’d shut her mind off from him this morning after she’d sensed him probing at her thoughts last night. If he wanted to know where she was or who she was with, he could ask her himself. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She curled her hands into small fists as she approached the rundown cottage. The roof was barely thatched, and plumes of gray smoke curled out of a crumbling stone chimney, filling the air with the scent of peat and cinnamon. Stormy gray shutters hung from broken hinges, each of them groaning and creaking as the gusting wind threatened to silence them forever. From the outside, the cottage appeared as though it was ready to cave in upon itself and fall apart, but the inside was something else altogether.
It was warm and cozy with multiple bedrooms and comfortable furnishings. Zoryana had never explained how the cottage was glamoured by fae magic deep within the woods, and Everinne had known better than to ask.
She climbed up the front stoop and lifted one hand to knock when the door swung open and High Priestess Rozalie, Zoryana’s mother, appeared.
Her hair was a rich brown like Zoryana’s, but instead of spiral curls, Rozalie’s was straight and chopped short to her chin. She wore a cape of velvet that swirled at her feet like smoke, and her long gown spilled around her in layers like burgundy wine, complete with a crawling ivy of black lace. Rozalie shared her bronze skin tone with Zoryana, as well as her nose, and though their eyes were different shapes, they were the same brilliant jade green.
And right now, those eyes were focused directly on Everinne.
A tiny line furrowed across Rozalie’s brow, and she glanced out into the darkening forest.
“Everinne.” She shifted, moving so she partially barricaded the entrance of the cottage with her body and the door. “You should not be here.”
“I know.” Everinne worried her bottom lip, flexing her frozen fingers within her pockets in an effort to keep the blood flowing. Wind whistled through the treetops, so the branches shuddered and moaned. “I was hoping to speak with Zoryana one more time before…”
Before she was no longer allowed to see her only friend.
She swallowed a lump around the words she couldn’t say.
Rozalie tilted her head, her plum-colored lips pressing into one another. It wasn’t exactly a smile, more like a look of pity. “Zoryana is not here.”
Everinne’s stomach bottomed out, and her breathing grew shallow. “She’s already left?”
“She is safe.” The High Priestess fiddled with the silver necklaces she wore around her neck, where charms representing the triple moon jingled together. “Safe from anyone or anything that wishes her harm.”
Safe from me, Everinne wanted to say, but she kept those thoughts to herself.
And yet, beneath the layers of burning peat and cinnamon, the wind carried with it sage and juniper, the scent of Zoryana’s magic when she absorbed grief or remorse. Everinne’s skin tingled.
Rozalie was lying.
“Of course, I understand.” Everinne nodded, attempting to peek around the stoic matriarch of witches. “If you see her, would you please pass along a message from me?”
Rozalie inclined her head, waving one hand through the air for Everinne to continue.
“Tell Zoryana I love her and I’m sorry for the awful things that were said between us.” The smell of sage and juniper strengthened, soothing Everinne. “And that if she wishes to reach me upon her return to Prava…she will find me at the palace.”
Rozalie’s dark brow arched in question. “The palace?”
“I am…” She sucked in a breath and her lungs ached. The bond she had rejected was still there, pulsing softly, connecting her to another soul. “I’m to be married to Prince Atlas.”
There was a flicker of interest in Rozalie’s bright green eyes. “A most impressive union. I did not realize you and the prince were so fond of one another.”
Everinne ducked her head, and her curtain of dark hair billowed in the stiff breeze, hiding her face. “Neither did I.”
The lie was weak but she held her ground, slowly lifting her gaze to find the High Priestess watching her intently. Rozaliepursed her lips, considering, then slid two fingers beneath Everinne’s chin and gently tilted her face upward.
“Are you pleased by this arrangement?” she asked quietly.
No. Yes.
Kralv Oldrich had blackmailed her into marrying Atlas after discovering the power she wielded, and there was no telling what he would demand of her. Worse, she couldn’t risk exposing the bond that had formed between herself and Atlas. If the kralv found out about it, he would use such information to his advantage, ensuring he inflicted as much harm to both of them as possible.
When Everinne failed to respond, Rozalie spoke again, her features softened, and her hand fell away. “Sometimes, the mind tells us lies in an effort to console the heart. We try to reason with logic in order to understand our desires, to make sense of our fate.”
Rozalie leaned her weight against the door frame, and the old wood creaked loudly. “But even the moon holds secrets of her own, she too has a dark side. Yet it is not something to fear, but rather embrace.”
