Page 70 of Through the Wicked Wood

It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real. I tell myself. The feeling of my blade slicing against her skin. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her. Amidst the chaos and noise, for a moment I think I hear Sorin’s voice.

“Elora!”

Then, my mind snaps back to the nymph. Blade in hand I approach her. The pool of black liquid runs across the floor. Her dark eyes meet mine, those vicious lips curve into a smile.

“Tell me how to break the bargain,” I spit toward the nymph, “or I will end you now.” Angling my blade, I tuck it under her chin. Gripping her chest, she lets out a laugh that quickly turns to a cough. I glance to her chest, the wound slowly closing, stitching itself back together.

“It is not that simple, Dyrsjel,” she says, pausing to cough again. Black tar continues to seep from the wound on her chest. “The bargain will not end with me, you are wasting your time.”

“There is always a way,” I grit out, pushing the blade further into her throat. She eyes me for a moment, then grips my forearm. Pointed nails dig into my skin beneath my cloak and before I can pull away, visions flood behind my eyes.

Visions of Grawgeth, but not as she is now. But Grawgeth, the woodland nymph. Hair unbound and black. Silken waves strewn down her naked back. Her skin, not gray and sallow but pale as ivory. Her cheeks, flushed with pink, her lips as red as berries. I see her cry. Hear her. Then, a man. Her lover. Tall and thick, a mess of blonde curls. But I don’t see his face, for his back is turned. Walking away. Walking away to a life unbound by the woods. A life Grawgeth could never have as a woodland nymph.

She screams. Cries. Curses the woods and all who enter. She withers away, bit by bit, until there is nothing left of her. But the woods grow stronger. More sinister. The woods, the Wicked Woods, come to life but in their life, is death. Grawgeth’s.

Grawgeth releases her grip, and I am snapped back to the present.

“So, you see,” she says, head lolling forward. “I have nothing left in this world. End my life, and it will still not end your lover's curse. He does not belong to me, he belongs to the woods. Even when I am dead, he will take my place. That has always been the bargain. Kill me now and quicker he will come.”

Lover.

I shake the word off, clenching my free hand at my side into a tight fist.

“Then I will burn the woods down,” I hiss, ignoring how the salt of my tears stings against my cheeks.

“And it will be in vain,” Grawgeth shouts. “The magick is as sentient as Teravie. The trees will regrow, and when they do, he will be summoned here. He cannot escape this.”

No. I don’t accept this. My blade pushes deeper, more black begins to trickle from the underside of Grawgeth’s chin. “There is always another way. Tell. Me.”

Rolling her head back so it rests against the wall, her breathing is short and shallow. The black tar from her chest has covered her entirely. “There is another way, little wolf.” Her consciousness flickering in and out. “But, I promise,” she whispers, “you will not like it.”

Chapter 35

Sorin

My mother knocks three times on the wooden door before someone finally answers it. The woman’s swollen belly takes up most of the doorway as she peers through the cracked oak frame. I recognized her immediately.

“Is everything all right?” Lady Elwyn asks, pulling the door open farther. She glances from my mother down to me as I cling to my mother’s gown.

“No,” my mother says curtly, “everything is not all right.” She pulls me into the room, and Elwyn casts me a smile as I pass her by. I like Elwyn. She’s always been nice whenever my mother visits her. Which lately, has been often. She even gave me a gift for my fourth birthday last year. A small wooden knight with a sword.

“Why don’t we…sit down,” Elwyn suggests, motioning to the small settee that rests in the corner. My mother shakes her head, her dark red curls swaying and catching in the sunlight.

“Sorin,” Elwyn says, keeping her eyes on my mother. “Are you hungry? I think there are a few biscuits left from this morning, would you like some?” I nod enthusiastically, my dark hair falling into my eyes.

Elwyn leads me to a small table across the room, setting a plate of iced biscuits in front of me along with a picture book filled with stencils of various plants and foliage. I dive into the sweets even though we just had breakfast. She pats my head before crossing back to my mother, rubbing a hand idly over her stomach.

“Now will you stop pacing, Celia,” Elwyn says, her friendly tone turning frustrated. “What’s wrong?” She pulls my mother down onto the settee. I try to keep focused on the book but my eyes drift to my mother. She hasn’t been the same the last few weeks. Always muttering to herself, always pacing.

“It’s Rhoda,” my mother whispers, “she’s pregnant.”

Elwyn takes my mothers hand, giving it a tight squeeze but says nothing. I take another bite of my biscuit and wonder why she would be so upset over the queen having a baby. Isn’t that what queens do?

Finishing off my biscuit, I wipe the icing on the sleeve of my shirt. Would it be rude to ask for more?

“We’re leaving,” my mother whispers. This grabs my attention. “Tonight.”

Elwyn’s brows furrow. “Leaving?” she asks, leaning forward so they’re only a few inches apart. My mother stands from the settee, the nerves in my stomach swoosh and mix with the sweets I just inhaled.

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