5. Rowan

5

ROWAN

S aturday blew in faster than a gale off the sea.

Dread crept through Rowan's bones like a winter chill as she lay in bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Sleep had been elusive.

In some small way, it was a relief to have the certainty of knowing her time had come. She'd been waiting fifteen years for it, and at least she could find peace in the fact that her first trip into the Dark Wood would happen at sundown.

If the sunlight streaming through her curtains was any indication, she had very little time until her mother and sisters showed up to help get her ready for her presentation to the town and her journey through the Dark Wood. She dreaded seeing her family almost as much as meeting the Wolf.

Rowan knew they loved her as best they could, but it never felt like enough.

Her earliest memories were of her mother bragging to neighbors that Rowan had been born on the summer solstice—the brightest day of the year in Eireione—as if her birth alone showed her distance from darkness.

It was hard to pick one particular moment when her mother's attitude had changed. Perhaps it shifted as they slowly starved, or when she realized that a spirit singer daughter would solve all of their financial problems at once. Regardless, somewhere along the way, her mother had stopped seeing Rowan as a daughter and started seeing her as a means to an end. Her mother's betrayal was like the sun, always hanging over her, blinding her to everything else.

Anger had always been safest for Rowan. Better that than the heaviness of grief or the startling emptiness of betrayal. The years since hadn't entirely trained the softness out of her, but they did bury it deep.

Rowan stood and crossed the room, throwing the curtains open. She opened the balcony door and stepped out into the daylight, casting a glance at Orla's balcony next door as though she expected to see her friend standing there.

The icy cold of the stone cut into her bare feet, but she welcomed the hurt. She gazed out at the Dark Wood below. The blighted trees stretched as far as she could see, but a dense fog still hung over the forest, preventing her from seeing how far it went. She puzzled over what it meant if the Dark Wood was dying and the monsters in the wood were gaining strength by devouring souls. Old magic should protect the trail she'd walk, but it hadn't protected Orla.

Perhaps it was the immediacy of her doom—staring down her mortality—her very proximity to death—that finally stirred something to life inside her. She felt desperate for more. Rowan wanted to dig her nails into her life and hold on. She wanted to learn everything that Sarai knew about herbs. She wanted to learn to sing more than just service hymns and local pub songs. Maybe no one else expected her to want more, but something inside her was growing too large to be contained. She was consumed by the fear that she would simply disappear from the hearts and minds of the people she loved the second she died.

She stepped back into her bedroom, closing the balcony doors behind her.

Cade slumped into the plush chair by the fire. He was always slumping into something, as if holding himself upright was impossible. His raven hair spilled messily over his forehead, and his unlaced tunic hung open, revealing a crisp white shirt beneath.

"You could run," he said.

"And go where?" Rowan laughed bitterly. "Even the Borderwood is impassable. It's too late in the season. I'd freeze before I reached another town," she lamented.

Cade frowned. "That's not necessarily true. Didn't Finn teach you how to navigate the woods? We'd just keep going until we found a new town. I would be with you the whole time."

"And together we'd wander into a new religious stronghold that executes those who practice the old ways," Rowan said. "Even if I ran, I couldn't manage myself and Aeoife, and if I left her behind, they'd have no choice but to send her in my place." She shook her head. "Is this a demon thing? Like you don't want me to go to the Wolf because it will somehow mess with the Mother?"

"No—I don't want you to go to the Wolf because you're my friend. If I were truly evil, I'd happily allow you to be devoured. That seems like the most evil thing," Cade sighed. "No, wait. The most evil thing would be letting that creepy elder have you."

Rowan paled.

"Too soon?" Cade asked.

"It doesn't seem very evil to save me," Rowan challenged.

"I never claimed to be evil or to want to save you," Cade said. "I just think it's fascinating that these people think they're holy for sacrificing a young virgin to save themselves from the Wolf's wrath. Death is part of life, and they know it. Just because they have some deal with him doesn't mean they should all be spared in exchange for giving him your virtue and life. The last time I checked, human sacrifice wasn't exactly virtuous."

Rowan lifted a brow. "You mean you wouldn't enjoy leading a Maiden to be devoured by a death god?"

" Devoured ," Cade repeated, rolling his eyes.

That was the word that was used in the Mother's scripture. The Wolf would devour her. The elders believed in the importance of words, and they chose one that meant the Wolf would eat her greedily and ravenously—that he would use up and destroy her, or prey upon her and enjoy it.

She might have spent the last fifteen years being sculpted into a perfect sacrifice, but she was fairly certain that no amount of preparation would make her feel ready for that.

"What are you dreading more—the Dark Wood or your mother?" Cade asked.

Rowan laughed. "The Dark Wood."

He smiled. "I thought for sure you'd say your mother."

"She is not that bad," Rowan argued. She wasn't sure why she felt a need to defend the mother who had never protected her.

"Don't forget how my powers work. That woman is one of the most envious people I've ever met," Cade said, rolling his eyes. His proclivity as a demon tended toward inspiring envy, which also meant he could recognize it in others and help it grow, if he was so inclined.

"She wasn't always like that," Rowan said.

Cade cocked his head to the side. "Yes, but she got a taste of wealth all for your sacrifice, and now she chases after status mindlessly."

Rowan sighed. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm not going anywhere. My mother is a necessary evil of this day. After that, I won't need to see her again unless she surprises us and attends a visitation."

"You're the one doing the big, scary thing. You shouldn't have to spend the day before pandering," Cade snapped.

"When have I ever had a choice?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but a knock at the door cut him off.

"Miss Rowan, your family is here for breakfast," a servant called through the door.

"Let the fun begin," Rowan said dryly as the door opened and the group of Cleary women bustled in.

Rowan took in her mother in her fine red wool dress. Her auburn hair was arranged immaculately, all hints of silver rinsed away with a beet wash. Rowan's sisters, Maeve and Shaina, paraded in behind their mother in elaborately embroidered scarlet dresses that brought out the red in their darker hair. Tonight they'd look the part of a proud family, even if they hadn't been to visit in months.

Maeve was four years older than Rowan and married to a wealthy man who ran fishing routes around the entire island of Eireione. They had two sons whom Rowan had never met. Shaina was two years older and newly married to a man whose family owned three pubs in Ballybrine, and she was pregnant with their first child.

"Darling, you look a fright," her mother said.

"I forgot how charming she is," Cade said from his perch by the fire.

Rowan's sisters awkwardly hugged her, as if she was a stranger and not the baby sister they should have spent their lives taking care of.

"Mother, honestly, is that any way to greet her?" Maeve placed a hand on Rowan's shoulder. "Ryan and Jack send their love. Ryan is running his own small fleet these days, and Jack is managing all of Megan's father's estate."

"Of course," Rowan said. "Life goes on."

Rowan wished she could have been alone, but it was the job of the new Red Maiden's family and a team of hair stylists and servants to prepare her for her inaugural journey.

Rowan crossed her arms. "I'm sorry that I didn't sleep well the night before my devouring, Mother. I suppose you all have your work cut out for you."

"Let's get to it, then," her mother said, and a team of servants and stylists descended upon Rowan.

Rowan blinked several times, trying to recognize herself in the woman in the looking glass.

After her steaming hot bath, the servants buffed her skin and groomed her to painful perfection, plucking her brows and brushing and styling her hair until it felt like it might fall out. It was almost as bad as when they'd arrived two days before with a sugar paste to remove all hair from the lower half of her body. That pain alone was enough to make her fear death slightly less.

When the team of servants and stylists was satisfied with her appearance, they left her alone with her mother and sisters. She carefully dressed in the obscene white lace undergarments the seamstress had provided, and then her mother and sisters helped her into the silk dress, cinching it with ties at the back so that it clung to her curves.

Now, she stared at their handiwork in disbelief. Her long, curly hair was twisted into an intricate braid draped over one shoulder and woven through with tiny white flowers. They'd rubbed her lips with a beet stain to brighten them.

"You look beautiful," her mother said appreciatively, running a hand over the silk gown as if it was a wedding dress and not sacrificial garb for a virgin.

Rowan supposed that's what all wedding dresses were.

"You look like a doll," Cade said from where he leaned against the wall by the fire.

The clang of a bell outside—the first of three that let the people of Ballybrine know it was time to gather for the weekly Gratitude and Grieving Ceremony—saved her from having to respond.

"We should go," Maeve said. She and Shaina helped Rowan into her red cloak.

Rowan took one last look at herself and led them out of her room. In the hall, she found Aeoife waiting.

"Rowie, you look so pretty," Aeoife said, her blue eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Thank you, Aeoife. You'll be okay on your own tonight, right? I'll be back when you wake up in the morning," Rowan said. She struggled for confidence she didn't feel, but she hoped that it was true for Aeoife's sake.

Aeoife's eyes passed nervously over Rowan's sisters and mother. "Is it okay if I wait in your room until you get back?" She tried so hard to hold herself together, but her lower lip trembled.

Rowan pulled her into a hug. "Don't worry, okay? I'll see you in the morning, and if I can't be back, I'll send Cade."

Her mother's eyes widened in horror, her gaze darting around the room at the mention of the demon.

Cade chuckled next to her. "What, did she think I would abandon you like she did?"

Rowan gave Aeoife a light pat on the shoulder, pulled up her hood, and made her way out into the square outside Maiden's Tower.

Townsfolk were already congregating in the gathering dark. The elders waited on the dais by the temple stairs. Rowan led her family through the crowd of unfamiliar faces, all of them eager to get a glance at her.

Once she was on the dais, she took a breath and closed her eyes. She blocked out everything, connecting with the stillness inside her that allowed her to be an object instead of a person. She slid the mask of a perfect sacrifice into place—calm, confident smile, blank eyes, head held high. Rowan stood tall against her fear; against the assessing gazes of the town; against the terror that grew in her stomach.

You chose to stay. This was your choice , she reminded herself as a bell tolled overhead, calling the town to the ceremony.

As if there had ever been an option other than to stay and play the only role anyone had ever expected of her.

The crowd looked at her like she was their salvation and she hated them for it. The same people who'd fled religious persecution and death in places where the monotheistic religion was rising were content to see her suffer for their beliefs.

There, gathered for the ceremony, it was easy to see differences in the crowd. Though they wore varied clothing, had different skin tones and hairstyles, they were all united as much by their oppression as they were by their beliefs.

A chilly breeze rustled the leafless branches of the blighted trees at the trailhead across the square that led to Wolf's Keep. Rowan kept her hood in place with one hand, shivering as Elder Falon came to stand beside her.

"By the grace of the Mother, we are here today," Elder Falon said, his voice rising above the din of whispers. He waited for the crowd to quiet. "We've presented our offering, and our Red Maiden was deemed worthy of devouring by the Wolf of the Dark Wood. Let us rejoice about that."

A cheer went up through the crowd, lauding Orla's death. Orla wasn't a person to them. She was a magical object—a buffer between them and the evil that lurked in the Dark Wood.

Rowan was glad for her red hood for the first time in her life. It meant no one could see the horror on her face. Her stomach heaved. They would all cheer when she died, too.

Rowan wanted to scream. She wanted to rip her hood off and tell them all that Orla was a sweet girl who had loved apple cider buns and snuck into the kitchen of Hanna's bakery in town to bake scones in the little free time she had. That Orla once knitted one gigantic scarf because she didn't know how to knit anything else, but also lacked the patience to make a blanket.

She wanted to tell them that Orla had never dreamed of a life for herself because their people decided for her what her life would be when she was five years old. She wanted to tell them about Aeoife, who was still just a child, who'd cried for hours over the loss of the older Red Maiden without even thinking about the fact that she was now a heartbeat away from being a sacrifice, too.

But that was not what the people wanted to hear. Rowan's friend had died, but only the people of Ballybrine would receive comfort.

Elder Falon held up his hands in praise. "We are here to give gratitude for our health and safety. We also honor those who have passed on this week. Will the families of the departed step forward?"

A procession of people dressed in black and gray made their way to the front of the crowd and each of the elders took their time blessing the families and murmuring sympathies. When they were finished, Elder Garrett came back to stand beside Rowan.

"We are also here tonight to welcome a new Red Maiden," Elder Falon continued.

Rowan shifted as the weight of thousands of eyes fell on her.

Elder Falon placed a hand on her shoulder. "Blessed by the Mother from birth and consecrated by the Crone at five, she's been studying for fifteen years. Fifteen years of lessons, prayer, and meditation. We believe she's ready to take on the responsibility. However, if there are any who would speak against her worthiness, let them speak now or forever hold their tongues."

Rowan's eyes flew to where Finn stood with a cohort of huntsmen by the path to the Dark Wood. He opened his mouth and closed it. His arms remained helplessly crossed over his chest, knuckles white from their grip on his arms.

The silence was deafening. Rowan wasn't sure what she'd hoped would happen. If someone spoke against her, the mantle would pass to Aeoife, and that would be worse. She clasped her shaking hands to still them.

"Very well," Elder Falon said. "I now allow you to look for the first time upon her face. Let us all remember and honor the name—Rowan Cleary, your new Red Maiden."

Elder Falon lifted Rowan's hood, and for the first time, the people of her village saw her. The crowd went silent as they took her in. Hands crossed over hearts before opening to offer murmurs of thanks to the Mother. Several people went down on one knee once they finished gawking.

Their faith astonished Rowan, even though she resented it. She was the one making a sacrifice, yet it was always the Mother getting credit. All good things were attributed to the Mother, all uncertainty was soothed by the Crone, and all evil was the work of the Wolf. Red Maidens were simply the sacrifice to keep evil at bay. A small price to pay unless you were the one paying it.

Their beliefs were tidy; they didn't require critical thinking, just blind faith—something Rowan had never possessed. Maybe she would have if she was among the pretty young girls who were up for marriage this season, gathered at the front of the crowd in colorful frocks. Maybe if all she had to worry about was landing a husband and living a mindless life at his side, she'd not think critically about what her beliefs cost.

"We ask that the Crone, who is the mortal embodiment of the Mother's wisdom, step forward and give her blessing. She sees the truth in things. She sees what is for the good of all, and she steers us on this path of righteousness," Elder Falon continued.

The Crone stepped forward in her white ceremonial garb. Sarai's mouth was a tight line as she walked silently beside her mother, carrying some burning herbs. Her eyes were ringed in dark circles that mirrored Rowan's, and she wondered if her friend had been up all night as well. Only Sarai, Finn, and Aeoife felt that the people's gain was their loss.

The Crone came to a stop in front of Rowan, her eyes suddenly going cloudy with prophecy. Rowan wondered hopelessly if the Crone might see a way out for her, but her blessing was a formality. They had no one else to ferry the dead since Aeoife was so young, and as far as Rowan knew, the youngest acting Red Maiden in their history had been eighteen.

The Crone's vision seemed to sharpen and her eyes narrowed on Rowan before widening as she took a tentative step back. She swallowed hard but said nothing as she dipped her fingers in the bowl of water and blessed Rowan's forehead and heart.

At least she was blessed with a clear heart and mind as she marched to her doom.

"The Mother has given her blessing to Rowan Cleary," the Crone said with an unmistakable waver in her voice. "She will heal our dying wood and bring abundance to our village. She will please the Wolf."

A thunderous cheer rose from the crowd. Rowan watched the spirits of the departed that were scattered about the square. They seemed indifferent to the ceremony. Instead, they studied the people, trying to poke and tug at their clothes, confused by their lack of corporeal form.

She wondered what the people of Ballybrine would think if she told them how many dead crowded the square.

The Crone nodded, and Rowan turned to face her family. Her mother touched her cheek tenderly, a few tears streaming down her face in a perfect performance of elegant grief. Rowan turned away and awkwardly hugged her siblings and her father, who seemed the only one hesitant to let go. Finally, she caught Aeoife's eye and gave her a wink before turning back to the crowd.

The Crone and Elder Falon led Rowan from the stairs in front of the temple through the crowd and toward the Dark Wood. The crowd surged toward them, everyone reaching out to touch Rowan. Rowan had almost forgotten it was considered a blessing to be touched by a virgin Red Maiden.

"Thank you, Red," they whispered as their fingers brushed her hands, her shoulders, her hair.

For five minutes on the dais, she'd had a real name, but now she was simply "Red" again.

Rowan felt claustrophobic and panicked until they finally reached the edge of the Dark Wood, the crowd behind them.

"Bow your heads and pray for our sacrifice to be found acceptable. We give her up to the Mother and the Wolf," Elder Falon said. He nodded to Rowan.

Rowan met Sarai's glassy eyes and offered a half-hearted smile. They'd always known it would be this way, but it was still hard to swallow and Rowan had no idea what she would do if their positions were reversed. Sarai nodded toward the crowd, and Rowan turned to see Finn. His face was a picture of devastation, his eyes wide, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. She smiled at him like nothing was wrong. He tried and failed to return the smile.

The Crone placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sing now, girl."

Rowan took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and sang.

For a moment, there was nothing but the magic of her voice and the ancient song. An unnatural stillness settled in the air before the spirits began to drift toward her.

" Follow me home,

It need not be a lonely road.

Let your tears fall now

And wash away what came before ," Rowan sang.

She turned to face the Dark Wood and shivered. She wished she was wearing something more substantial than a lace-and-silk dress, but the Wolf liked what he liked, no matter the temperature.

Rowan continued the song.

" The trail will rise to meet your feet,

Where the breeze is always at your back,

And the sun shines upon your face. "

She took one last glance back at her friends before turning around and taking her first step into the dark.