Prologue

MURGHA

"Don't cry, Mur."

My sister rocked me in her arms on the porch of our inn. Our father was in the yard, yelling obscenities at Mama. Her cheeks streaked with tears, she was on her knees, begging him.

"Please, Phestys. Let me stay." She had her hands clasped together as if in prayer, her pretty, dark hair having come loose from her braid. "The girls need me."

"The girls don't need a whore to teach them nothing."

Towering above her, he threw her satchel at her feet, the one she used to harvest herbs in the forest. But it was bulkier now, filled with the clothes I saw Papa stuff inside minutes ago.

"I know. I'm so sorry. I never meant…" She shook her head, biting her lip, her eyes full of pain and sorrow. Then her gaze flicked to me.

"Meant to what?" Papa leaned down and snarled, "Spread your legs for a moon fae bastard? I think you meant that well enough. Proof is right there." He pointed to us on the porch steps. No, not to us. Just me.

Mama shook her head. "You don't understand."

"Nor do I care to. You was gone three days this time, woman. Out whoring again, I suppose."

She shook her head but didn't deny it aloud.

"You're no good to the girls or me. Get you gone." He waved his hand, shooing her from the yard.

When she continued to shake her head and beg, her sad eyes flicking to me and Tessa, he picked her up by the arms.

"I said"—he tossed her out the gate where she fell in the dirt lane—"get you gone!"

I dug my fingers into Tessa's waist where I held her close, but she didn't complain. She kept petting my hair, trying to soothe me.

Papa stood with arms crossed at the foot of the stepping stones that led to our inn, scowling down at Mama. She hauled herself off the ground and heaved the satchel over her shoulder. Then she looked at me and Tessa.

Though her hair was mussed and her face pink and streaked with tears, she looked like she always did when she brought us into the forest to collect sorrel, milk thistle, juniper, or figwort. She'd taught us all of the plants with special properties to heal and to make our food taste good. She did so many things to make life more lovely, to make us feel loved. And now Papa was sending her away.

She offered us a sad smile and watery words of, "Be good, my sweet girls. I love you."

Then she turned and walked down the path leading out of Myrkovir Forest. Papa grunted and stormed back to the house, stomping up the steps where we sat.

"Quit your weepin' and get to your chores," he grumbled as he passed us and slammed the door behind him.

I flinched in Tessa's arms. She kept stroking my hair as we both continued to cry, watching Mama grow smaller and smaller until she disappeared around a bend.

"Don't you worry, Mur. She'll come back," my sister promised. "Mama will come back."

But she never did.