Three
A night bird cried a warning in the distance. The cottages around us on the dirt lane squatted in silence, their inhabitants asleep at this time of night.
Asleep, or sitting quietly in their darkened homes, not wanting to draw the notice of anything that might’ve slunk through the tree line. It might not have happened in years, but people around here had long memories.
“Don’t take any chances,” Hannon said. “If you see the beast, get out of there.”
“If I see the beast, I’ll probably piss myself.” “Fine. But do it as you’re running.”
Sage advice.
“It’s fine, Hannon. I took the smell-masking elixir. That usually works when I’m hunting. It’ll help.”
He nodded, but the pep talk apparently wasn’t done. “There is only one beast,” he said. “That’s the main concern. You’ve confronted the other creatures in that wood and come out swinging.”
Not exactly, but as I said, Hannon was a trusting soul. He didn’t seem to know when I was lying. If he thought I was tougher than I was, he’d worry less. Who was that hurting?
I turned and gave Sable a fierce hug, kissing her on the head. Dash was next, and then I had to peel him away.
“Let me go, too,” Dash begged. “I know where it is. I can help collect more. I can fight off the monsters!”
“How…” I stopped myself. Now was not the time to shout at my younger brother. I pointed at Hannon instead. “While I’m gone, find out how he knows where the field is. Wait to punish him until I get back. I want to be in on it.”
I gave Hannon one last hug and quickly set off. I could do this. I had to do this.
My bow had been broken last week by one of those bastard boars, so I was going in with nothing but the dagger and the pocketknife tucked into my trousers. Neither weapon would do a whole helluva lot against the beast. Then again, if the beast really did have scaled armor, the ten arrows I owned wouldn’t do much to protect me, either.
I cut through the back gardens of two cottages, scaling the fences, and approached the edge of the Forbidden Wood. A patch of goat-trimmed land was all that separated me from it. Weeds crawled toward the perimeter…and then wilted and died. Ghostly trunks rose on the edge, twisted branches reaching for the village. Beyond lay shadowy depths, sliced through with moonlight under the star-flecked sky.
I cleared my mind of the stakes. Pushed away the image of Father’s sickbed. Tossed aside the worry in Hannon’s eyes and the feel of Sable and Dash clinging to me when I hugged them goodbye, hopefully not for the last time. Right now, it was just me and these woods. Me and the creatures that lurked within their deteriorating depths. Me and the beast, if it came to it.
I would not let my father down. I would not fail him.
The edge of my dagger slid against the hard leather of its sheath hanging from my hip. I stepped lightly and carefully, aiming for springing ground and avoiding anything that might snap or crinkle. It was easy now, still in the village. Once I passed that tree line, it would be a whole lot harder. A whole lot deadlier.
Not a sound vibrated through the air. No wind stirred the frostbitten branches or boughs. My breath puffed white. I noticed every little detail of my surroundings. I was the prey, and I did not want to tango with the hunter.
The air cooled as I crossed the threshold. I stilled and took a deep breath.
Panic would get me dead. I needed to keep a level head.
Onward I went with watchful eyes. I needed to pay attention to any movement. Any change in scent or sound.
I remembered a time, before the curse, when the Forbidden Wood had been lovely. Green and lush. Now, though, the brittle grasses crackled under my worn boots. The bark felt flaky under my fingers. No leaves graced the branches, even of the evergreen trees, and no flowers adorned the winter budding plants.
Up ahead, around a large pine scantily clad with needles, I spotted it—a birch that didn’t seem to fit in with its peers. Just behind it was my destination.
The everlass field had been less than half its current size when I first found it. It had grown over the years, not that it really mattered. I could only use what I could steal, and I didn’t dare do that often.
Crack.
Adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream. I froze with my hands out like an idiot, as though ready for actual flight. I might have courage, but I clearly wasn’t cool when handling danger.
That had sounded like a twig snapping.
With bated breath, I waited for something to happen. Then waited some more—watching for movement, listening for sounds. Nothing.
Letting out a shaky breath, I continued on. The shapes of trees shifted
around me, crawling across the star-speckled blackness above. A creature shrieked distantly on my left. The sound spread through the air before trailing away, like ripples in a pond. My heart sped up, but the sound was too far away to worry me at the moment. Hopefully the creature would keep screeching so I could track its travel route.
A horrible scream rent the air, also distant. It sounded like a human in peril, being eaten alive or gruesomely tortured, or a man with a paper cut on his finger. It was intense distress, in other words, needing help immediately, or death might ensue.
Nice try, fucker.
I’d heard that creature before. I’d actually even seen it as I was panic- sprinting home one time. Its goal was to lure do-gooders. People came to help, and it killed them.
Or that was how it clearly thought its ruse would go. Except all knew that in the Forbidden Wood, it was everyone for themselves. There were no do- gooders here. That thing could go on screaming for all I cared. That would at least prevent it from sneaking up on me.
The birch was close now, rising stoically.
Its branches shivered dramatically, as though it were cold.
I froze again, and suddenly wondered why I always shoved my arms out like some sort of confused dancer when I freaked out…
But seriously, why in the goddess’s secret cupboard was the tree shivering? That hadn’t happened before. I’d passed this tree every time I came to this field, and it had never moved because of anything but the wind.
This is a shit time for a tree to be doing the jig, folks, I thought to the invisible audience watching my adventure. It was something I’d been doing since I was little, and I hadn’t given up the habit at twenty-three. Back in the day I’d done it because I was pretending to be a jester or a queen, but now I did it out of comfort. And eccentricity, I supposed.
Let’s keep our heads here, everybody. Things are getting a bit strange.
I gave the shivering birch a wider berth, thankful when it stopped moving. The night fell quiet once again, the screaming imposter taking a break for a moment. The field lay before me, coated in moonlight.
I scanned the area beyond the clearing. Nothing moved. No other trees shivered.
A backward glance—with narrowed eyes at that birch—and all was equally clear. No bodily warnings of danger approaching, no feeling of eyes
on me. It was now or never.
Dagger back in its holster and pocketknife at the ready, I scanned the plants as I carefully made my way through them. Most herbalists would call them weeds. But most herbalists were faeries, and they stuck their noses up at plants they couldn’t grow. Or so people said. No one in the village had seen one for sixteen years.
Of course, that didn’t stop the faeries from seeking them out. Everlass was the most potent healer in all the kingdoms. And guess what? It only grew in lands ruled or maintained by dragon shifters. Suck on that, faeries.
Even though this kingdom was basically in stewardship of the demon king because of the curse, it still had the magic of the dragons. Most of the nobility had been killed soon after the mad king perished, but the everlass remained unscathed. All we had to do was learn to work with it.
I’d always thought it was romantic. Without the presence of dragons, the everlass wouldn’t sprout from the soil. It was like the protective dragon magic infused the very fibers of the ground we walked on and gave the everlass courage to take the leap.
This plant was regal. Regal meaning incredibly fussy and hard to work with. If you were too rough or hasty in your ministrations, it would shrivel and reduce in potency. It demanded focused and careful attention, if not love.
And I did love it. Why wouldn’t I? It was saving my village.
I freed only the largest and healthiest of the leaves, being careful not to upset the seed pods that would ensure new life when the time came. As I went, I pruned any dead or dying leaves, of which there were very few.
I tucked the leaves into my sack, allowing them room. It wasn’t good to bunch them together so soon after harvesting. They worked better when they had a little space to breathe, like the plants themselves. If I didn’t have to worry about being chased, attacked, and eaten, I’d carry the leaves home in a big tray, none of them touching their neighbor.