Page 30 of Through the Wicked Wood

He makes it about halfway in my direction before Agnes steps in. Grabbing his arm, she pulls him down to meet his ear. Dressed in a beautiful gown of deep purple with golden flowers etched into the fabric, she is glowing in the growing moonlight. The two of them whisper back and forth a few times, and I crane my ear, eager to know what they’re discussing. Letty’s warm hand on my elbow pulls my gaze downward.

“There’s someone you should meet,” she whispers, nudging me around. Reluctantly, I turn, and as I do, Agnes bounds past me.

Sorin follows Agnes, and as he passes me, his hand grazes my lower back. His touch is brief before he moves on but my stomach dips instantly. The lingering heat of where his hand was placed burns clear through my dress as I watch Sorin follow Agnes through the crowd of people down the street.

The group headed toward us is led by a giant man. His skin is as pale as his hair which is shaved bald on the sides, the rest is knotted loosely atop his head. A neatly cropped beard lines his jaw, and even from here, his blue eyes stand out among the crowd. Standing easily six inches taller than Sorin, I imagine he weighs double as well. His sculpted muscles are easy to identify even through his loose white shirt. Squinting my eyes, I try and fail to make out the swirling marks of ink that twist and turn around his forearms and up the collar of his shirt, covering his throat and stopping just below his chin.

Sorin catches up to the man and the two of them embrace in a violent hug, nearly toppling each other to the ground. An ear-to-ear grin splits across Sorin’s face, and I hate the weakness that smile brings to my knees. Breaking apart from their hug, the taller man bends down and touches his forehead to Sorin’s. What they whisper to each other, I can’t make out.

“Who is he?” I whisper to Letty, keeping my eyes locked on them. It isn’t often men show affection to each other this way, the same way I would assume siblings would.

“That big one there,” she gestures, “that’s Jarek.” Tugging my arm, Letty leads me to a small round table that houses carafes of wine and chalices. Jarek, I note. By the looks of their embrace, I imagine they’re close. Must be one of Sorin’s crew he mentioned. Letty pours us each a glass of huckleberry wine before my attention refocuses to the group heading our way.

It’s only when Jarek steps aside to grab his own chalice of wine that I notice the woman behind him. She walks with her arm linked with Agnes’, her beauty so intense I fight the will to keep my mouth from falling to the ground.

Her skin, a deep brown, matches Agnes’. Their resemblance now glaringly obvious as their distance between us grows smaller. Tightly coiled curls spring from her head, grazing just above her shoulders, the color a deep and shining black. She’s tall, but it’s the way she moves with such confidence that shrinks me to an inch.

Her slim fitting, dark blue dress clings tightly to her curvy hips, the long sleeves, the same style as the ones I wear, are tight in the arms and flowing loosely past the elbow. The energy in the air shifts as she draws nearer. An energy I’m all too familiar with, one I’m ashamed I missed the night I met Agnes by the fire. The energy of an Enchantress.

“Samaria!” Letty’s voice booms through the evening sky. “So glad you’ve returned safely to us once more! Was the hunting trip a success?” Letty asks cautiously, gripping Samaria’s hand.

“Glad to be back, Letty,” Samaria says. Her voice is soft, barely a whisper as she bends down to kiss Letty on either cheek. “And it was as successful as it could be, given the circumstances.” Letty’s gaze bounces between Agnes and Samaria, a look of understanding shared between the three women.

Her smile fades slightly as her attention is pulled toward me. I begin to shift under the weight of her stare, but to my surprise, my nerves settle quickly as our eyes meet. “And you must be the Enchantress?” Her question is more of a statement. I hold her gaze and am relieved to find no judgment there. Only curiosity peeks through her glowing eyes, much like the color of flames. Clearing my throat, I extend my hand in her direction.

“Yes,” I say as confidently as I can muster. “I’m Elora. Sorin and Agnes have told me nothing but wonderful things about you, Samaria.” She smirks as she places her hand in mine.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve reserved the best stories for when I’m here.” She turns, dropping my hand to grip Agnes by the shoulders. “There’s nothing these two love more than to embarass me.” She chuckles softly. “And please, call me Sam.”

* * *

The candles melt to waxy pools of white, dripping lazily on the tabletops as we enjoy the humble but delicious meal. Rich spices filled the air as carrot and potato stew are passed around with baskets of freshly baked rolls still warm from the hearth. Roasted rabbit accompanied by a spiced glaze Marian had made herself, is so tender and decadent it falls apart in my mouth. Guilt ticks at my insides for burdening Loxley with another mouth to feed during the famines, but no one says a word. Everyone laughs and speaks their gratitude for the Mother, even if what she’s been able to provide is far less than usual. Letty offers me a second helping of cobbler, and because I can’t help myself, I accept it.

Copious amounts of wine flow freely from the carafes as all the people of Loxley, and myself, sit together along the row of long tables. As the meal comes to an end, Agnes leads us in a toast.

“To our lovely village of Loxley,” she says warmly, peering over the crowd still seated at the table. “And to our even more lovely guest.” She turns her focus on me and without thought, I shrink into my chair as dozens of eyes find their way to me. “We must give thanks to the Fates for introducing Elora to my Sorin, your company is our honor.” Swallowing thickly, I pick at my nails under the table before smiling at her, nodding my head just once.

“And above all,” Agnes continues, finally breaking our gaze, “to the Mother. For all she gives. For all she does.”

“To the Mother,” the crowd echoes before everyone, myself included, takes a sip from their drink.

* * *

I’ve managed to avoid Sorin for most of the night. Every time he caught my eye, I made myself busy cleaning up or chatting with one of the twins. I’m not sure how I ended up here, but Agnes and I sit alone at the table. Fighting the urge to fidget, I recline back in my chair as she speaks, wishing desperately to rip this corset off here and now. Breathing has begun to feel like a chore, though I don’t mind the rest of the dress. It’s quite nice to feel pretty for once.

“About the other day,” Agnes starts but her eyes draw past me, watching Sam and Sorin as they laugh about something Jarek is enthusiastically explaining. “My visions are more and more sporadic,” she explains. “Ever since William passed, they’ve never been the same. And with my health…”

“It’s not a worry.” I cut her short, saving her from explaining any further. “While it was certainly a surprise, I understand the visions are not something to be controlled.” Something I know all too well given my mother’s gift of Sight.

“I know why Sorin didn’t tell me about your gift or Loxley,” I continue, “I understand.” Feeling brave, I reach forward and squeeze her hand. With no more than a few pleasantries, Agnes gives me a small smile before excusing herself for the night. Ulric appeared all too eager to walk her home, and the two slipped silently through the crowd, arms linked and faces beaming.

With Agnes gone and the twins occupied by the relentless dancing around the large fire, I find myself a quiet corner near a smaller fire at the edge of the clearing and away from the dancing. My body screams to rest after a day in the garden and socializing. Sitting myself down, my ivory gown falls into a puddle of fabric all around me. Though the corset is still cinched tight, I attempt to relax my shoulders and close my eyes, taking in the sounds of revelers and music, a smile dancing on my lips.

You shouldn’t be here.

Drawing my eyes open, I let out an exasperated sigh. The voices never let me rest for long. I’m not sure why I thought tonight would be any exception. “Do piss off,” I say aloud, hoping by some miracle they’ll listen.

“Well, that’s one way to greet a friend,” Sorin says as he sits down next to me, carefully balancing two chalices of wine in the process.

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