6. Rowan

6

ROWAN

R owan forced herself to keep her eyes focused on the trail in front of her, despite the footsteps of the dead behind her and Cade beside her. The darkness swallowed up the glow from her lantern until she could only see a few feet in front of her.

Her gaze darted around the periphery, scanning the blighted branches that curved around the path like a tunnel. Dried leaves crunched under her boots, providing a percussive accompaniment to her song. A rustling to her right drew her attention, and she reminded herself of the first rule of her new existence.

Never stray from the main trail.

Her breath puffed out in front of her in tiny clouds as she sang. Rowan did not know how far she'd wandered and how much farther she had to go. The cold air of the woods seeped into her skin. She tugged her red cloak tighter around her to ward off the chill.

Rowan took solace in the fact that at least the horrific screaming that echoed through the forest a week before—when she'd retrieved Orla's body—was absent. She was left instead with an eerie silence.

She stumbled on a tree root and fell to her knees, dropping her lantern. She quickly picked up the lantern and launched back into the song, continuing her procession.

Rowan didn't dare turn toward the restless stirring of the spirits for fear of making eye contact with one of them and violating yet another rule.

Never meet the eyes of the dead or the monsters that lurk in the shadows.

If they looked into her eyes, they'd recognize that she was alive and could possess her. The song was enough to lure them in. It was a reminder of life meant to lead them to Wolf's Keep, where they'd find everlasting peace or judgment in the Underlands.

Cade trudged along, unusually silent, beside Rowan. The lack of incessant chatter from him was almost as unnerving as the Dark Wood itself.

She wondered if Orla was among the souls parading behind her and if the Wolf had killed her like everyone else seemed to think. Rowan's mind spun as she continued to lead the procession of souls.

A growl to her left ripped her from her thoughts. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she had the distinct feeling of being watched. It was almost impossible not to turn and look.

She froze as the third rule popped into her head.

Never bleed in the Dark Wood.

Rowan frantically checked her palms and knees for a wound from her fall. Her shoulders sagged in relief when she realized there was none.

"Easy there, Row. Take a breath and start singing," Cade said.

She shuddered as the growling grew louder. The Crone insisted that old magic protected the trail, and Rowan wouldn't be harmed as long as she stuck to it because the beasts of the dark couldn't wander beyond that boundary. If that was the case, it meant the Wolf had killed Orla and Rowan was about to meet her friend's murderer. It made little sense. Orla had insisted the Wolf wasn't what people thought he was.

Rowan drew up short. Perhaps he'd killed Orla simply for sharing what little she did with Rowan and Aeoife. It was technically a violation of the rules.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her mouth went dry. It hadn't even been helpful information. It held no details at all, only meant to make her less afraid. Could the Wolf really be so vindictive that he punished Orla by taking her life for that?

"What's wrong?" Cade asked.

"Nothing," Rowan said, quickening her pace. She raised her voice even louder to drown out the growls around her. She was going to march right up to the keep, deliver the souls, and then she was going to figure out what happened to Orla.

Moonlight cut through the skeletal branches above, creating monstrous shadows on the forest floor.

"Rowan."

The voice was faint and came from just over her left shoulder.

"Orla?" Rowan asked. Her anger evaporated, leaving her with nothing but fear and confusion.

"Yes, it's me, but don't look," Orla whispered.

"I was worried that you wouldn't—" Rowan choked on her relief. She'd been afraid that Orla's soul hadn't been set free, that it would be trapped or had wandered into the woods aimlessly along with the others, destined to become a wraith.

"I'm okay now. I just wanted you to know I'm here," Orla said. "Keep singing."

Rowan sang a few more lines. They came out tight and tired as she tried to project around the lump in her throat.

"You look good, Orla," Cade said, giving her a wave.

Orla let out a surprised giggle. "Thanks, Cade."

The three of them walked side by side a few more paces.

"What happened to you?" Rowan asked.

"I don't know. It's all a blank spot," Orla said. "The Wolf told me once that souls that have traumatic deaths don't remember so that they can find peace."

Rowan could see her friend out of the corner of her eye. She looked like herself, just with a fainter, less corporeal form. Her blonde hair still moved as if rustled by the breeze.

"He did this to you. I'm going to ask him why," Rowan said.

"Row, I don't think he would do that," Orla argued.

"But he might have been mad that you told me something," Rowan countered. She continued singing the next few lines of her song.

"I think I would have remembered if it was him," Orla said. "I wish I could remember more, but I really don't. One moment I was walking down the trail, and the next, I was free from my body. I don't remember the in-between."

It was a relief she hadn't suffered, but Rowan still felt uneasy.

"I think I broke a rule."

Rowan wanted to ask more questions, but every single one vacated her mind as her gaze locked on the distant dark walls of Wolf's Keep.

"You're almost there. I just wanted you to know I'm here," Orla said.

Rowan slowed. "I'm scared."

"You'll be okay. Now make your way to the gate and bow your head and kneel as the spirits pass through," Orla instructed.

Rowan continued to sing as she neared Wolf's Keep. The blight reached all the way to its border. Large metal gates of intricately sculpted iron swung open as she approached. She tried not to stare at them, but they were the most beautiful and detailed things she'd ever seen. The winding metal vines and flowers looked more like they belonged at the entry into a beautiful garden than the realm of the god of death—or they would if it weren't for the fact that the design formed what looked like the jaws of a wolf.

Cade stilled beside her. He pressed his hands forward against an invisible boundary.

"I don't think I can go farther," he said, meeting her eyes. "There's some sort of magic to keep me out. I'm sorry, Row."

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"I'll wait here for you, I promise," he said.

She turned back to the gates and gasped. A dark shadow approached from the other side.

Rowan quickly lifted the hem of her silk dress and knelt. Her red cloak pooled on the ground around her like blood. The dead grass scratched at her bare knees as she bowed her head.

The mass of spirits surged around her, rustling her hair and cloak as they brushed by. There were only five to ten souls during most ceremonies. Tonight, there seemed to be some left over from the ceremony the week before who had made their way back to the town square when Orla passed. She estimated about twenty souls streamed by her.

Rowan wanted to lift her gaze and watch what happened to them. She wanted to watch Orla pass through the gates, but she wasn't ready to face the monster she'd been dreading her whole life. She wasn't ready to come face to face with her friend's killer.

Living with the knowledge of her likely fate her whole life had, in some ways, numbed her to fear. Still, all the angry determination and righteous indignation she'd felt earlier in the evening had cooled to dread as the Wolf's eyes bore into her, reminding her of the last rule.

Keep the Wolf happy.

She had never felt anyone's gaze on her so acutely. It felt like he was seeing through her, stripping her out of her scant clothing to glimpse the substance of her soul. She knew seeing what souls were made of was rumored to be part of his power. She wondered what he saw in hers.

"It's an honor, my lord," Rowan said.

She tried to hide the way she trembled, but it was no use. Even if she could have calmed her fear, the chill of the night bit into her.

The Wolf chuckled. "Liar."

She whipped her head up to look at him, and the air punched out of her lungs.

The Wolf wasn't monstrous at all. In fact, he was incredibly striking and entirely human-looking. His eyes were a light blue and gray, like storm clouds illuminated from within, and his dark hair was stark against his fair skin, falling over his forehead and curling around his ears. The god of death was due for a haircut. It was such an utterly ridiculous thought that Rowan laughed.

She'd imagined him so many ways, but never as an incredibly handsome man who looked to be just a few years older than her. She was speechless.

"An amused liar, it seems," he said. His smile was a beautiful threat that she wanted him to follow through on, even if it meant her doom. She looked back at the ground. "What's your name?"

She narrowed her eyes, a flicker of anger curling in her stomach. "Rowan…and I'm not a liar."

The Wolf tilted her chin up with a finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. "We just met, and now you've lied to me twice, little Red. Didn't Orla warn you I can taste lies? Yours taste sweet, like burnt sugar. Harmless in small doses, but too much could rot my teeth. Care to revise your answers, lass?"

"Fine," she sighed. "It's not an honor. It's a curse that's plagued my whole life and robbed me of one of the few people I love. I'm not usually a liar. Only when I'm confronted with death himself."

The corners of the Wolf's lips twitched. "That's more like it."

"Do you look like this to everyone?"

"What do you mean?" the Wolf asked.

Rowan waved a hand at him.

"Yes, why?"

"I just thought—" She just thought Orla would have mentioned that he wasn't monstrous—that he was one of the most handsome men she'd ever laid eyes on. Most handsome god , she reminded herself. He could wipe you out with a flick of his hand .

"You thought I was simply appearing in a form you'd find appealing?" Mischief lit his eyes. "While I'm happy you approve, Rowan, I look this way to everyone, though I have another form that might be closer to what you were expecting. Something that mimics the worst fear of the beholder. Would you like to see it?"

Rowan shook her head mutely. She most certainly would not. She yanked her gaze away from his, feeling as though she had left part of herself behind in its snare.

"Did Orla make it?" Rowan asked.

The Wolf swallowed hard. "Yes, she crossed over. She'll be fine now. It was brave of you to come into the woods after what happened."

"Or perhaps foolish," Rowan said.

"That too."

Rowan shivered. The icy ground beneath her bare knees made it harder and harder to focus on anything but how cold she felt.

"You should come inside," the Wolf said. He reached out a hand, and she flinched. "I'm helping you up. You're very jumpy."

"I wonder why," Rowan muttered as she placed her hand in his.

She was shocked by the heat of his skin. Perhaps it was the chill of the night, but she swore his skin was nearly hot enough to burn. She stood slowly, allowing her stiff joints to move again.

"You're freezing. Let's get you inside," the Wolf said, guiding her through the gates.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. Rowan was slightly taller than most women in Ballybrine, but the Wolf still towered over her and his strength was clear in the corded muscle that hardened beneath her hand on his arm. He looked fully human, but there was a deep stillness about him that rang of magic, though it didn't feel evil like she'd expected. In fact, the silence of his magic felt calming to Rowan.

He led her through several ancient-looking stone arches and up a set of stairs to a great wooden door. The entryway was so dim that Rowan couldn't make out much, except that the wing to the right appeared to be a black hole of darkness.

The Wolf guided her to the left, into a sitting room with a large, intricately carved stone fireplace blazing with a roaring fire. Silver moonlight sliced through large glass windows, casting shadows on the stone floor and expensive-looking carpet. A dark mantel covered in a collection of wood carvings—all various renditions of wolves—framed the fireplace.

Rowan took it all in as she tried to stop her knees from trembling. She turned slowly, surveying the entire room, trying to search for exits discreetly.

The Wolf caught the way her eyes lingered on the door on the far side of the room a second too long.

"You can relax. I won't hurt you," he said.

Rowan cocked her head.

"I know you have no reason to believe me, but if I kill you, who would bring me souls?"

Her anger rushed to the surface. "I don't know. That problem didn't stop you from killing Orla."

The Wolf's eyes narrowed on her, and he ground his teeth.

Rowan froze in place, fear locking up all of her muscles. "I'd like you to change the bargain you have with the Mother," she blurted.

The Wolf raised his eyebrows. "You think you know better than two centuries-old gods?"

Rowan swallowed hard. "I think I don't want to die to hold up a world that doesn't care about me."

The Wolf crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Rowan shifted from foot to foot under the weight of his gaze. She clenched her hands in her dress, counting her breaths to settle her racing heart.

"That's a bold request for a brand-new Maiden."

Rowan gnawed at her bottom lip. She couldn't argue with that. It was bold, but waiting for something to go wrong was torture. It was easiest to get it out of the way now. Her mouth was so dry she could barely form the words as she forced herself to speak again. "So you'll consider it?"

The Wolf pursed his lips. "Everyone talks about the bargain, but no one seems to remember why it exists."

Rowan crossed her arms. "Enlighten me."

He closed the space between them in three quick strides and it took all of her self-control not to run. He tilted her chin up so she'd meet his gaze.

"There are more frightening things than me, lass. Our deal was made to give us the combined power to banish something sinister. Even if I wanted to change it—which I don't—it would require extreme caution."

Rowan's blood chilled as she considered what might be worse than death.

The Wolf sniffed, his eyes glowing faintly. He stepped away and left her trembling where she stood. "I'll consider it, but I make no promises."

It was noncommittal, but at least he hadn't tried to kill her.

Rowan's shoulders sagged in relief when a man appeared at the door holding a tray with two steaming cups and a plate of biscuits. He looked fully corporeal, but Rowan could tell he wasn't by the sound of his energy alone. He was tall and built like a warrior, with a scar that cut up his left cheek and disappeared into his hairline. Still, he was incredibly handsome with dark hair, tan skin, and pale gray eyes.

It seemed everyone in Wolf's Keep was extraordinarily good-looking.

The man grinned as if he'd heard her thought.

"This is Charlie," the Wolf said, gesturing to him. "You'll likely see him a lot, and he can help with any rogue souls that don't want to be corralled here. He's a?—"

"Reaper," Rowan finished.

The Wolf whipped his head around to look at her. "How did you know?"

Rowan looked down at the ground. She couldn't seem to stop blurting things out. She'd kept her magic under wraps for years, and now she found herself unable to shut her mouth about it. "He just sounds like it."

The Wolf frowned. " Sounds like?"

Rowan wrung her hands. "He has a resonance that's between the souls and…um…you."

"What do I sound like?" the Wolf asked. There was a sudden vulnerability in his eyes that made her uncomfortable, as if he wanted her to assure him it wasn't something horrible.

She met his gaze and swallowed hard, worrying her lip with her teeth. "You sound like silence. Like a total lack of sound. Complete stillness."

The Wolf's shoulders sagged, and she reached a hand out, nearly touching him. She drew her hand back at the last second.

"It's not a bad thing," Rowan said. "It's actually quite nice. The village can be very loud for me. There's this frenzied song that runs through everything, and it's dissonant and grating. Being in the forest is quieter, more melodic. But being around you is pleasantly silent."

She blushed fiercely as she met the Wolf's gaze. "How many reapers are there?" she asked. Immediately, she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, I shouldn't have just blurted that."

She was royally screwing things up.

"What happens if you ask questions out of turn in Ballybrine?" the Wolf asked.

Rowan involuntarily tucked her hands inside her cloak, but he grabbed them and wrenched them into the light, taking note of the red welt that looked especially angry in the firelight.

"Bastards," Charlie breathed.

"It's fine. It barely hurts anymore. They say I'd be better suited with a less curious mind," Rowan said. She couldn't help that she wanted to know everything she could about the world around her. The more information she had, the better chance she had of surviving.

"That will not be happening here," the Wolf said. He ground his teeth and looked away. "You can ask what you like here. Whether you'll get an answer is another story."

It surprised Rowan that he cared about the marks. Maybe he wanted his toys to be pristine before he killed them.

"Here, put this on," he said, thrusting a bundle toward her.

She stared at the heavy robe in his hand for a moment before taking it. Did he want her to strip?

The Wolf sighed. "It's warmer than your cloak, lass. I'm offering you a trade. Unless, of course, you're so inclined to put on a show."

Heat crept into Rowan's cheeks as she unbuttoned her cloak and handed it to Charlie. The Wolf's gaze burned into her as she pulled on the robe. The soft material was luxurious and felt as if it had been wrapped in warming stones. It smelled faintly of whiskey and soap. It was only when she was cuffing the sleeves to free her hands that she realized it was the Wolf's robe.

Charlie looked from her to the Wolf before he smirked and made his way to the door. Rowan watched him go with mixed feelings. Part of her wanted the company, but the more daring side of her wanted to know what would happen if she was alone with the Wolf.

"The robe is mine, but it's considerably more practical than what you're wearing," the Wolf said, gesturing to her silk dress. "I don't know why they think I want that."

Rowan frowned, holding the robe open, and dropped her eyes timidly. "You don't find me pleasing?" She wished she could tug the question back as soon as it left her lips.

Are you really upset that the Wolf doesn't want to devour you? she chided herself.

Something about the entire evening had separated her from her common sense. She needed to reacquaint herself with reason immediately.

The Wolf closed the distance between them, and she met his stormy eyes. "I assure you, Rowan, I find you exceptionally pleasing." His gaze raked over her, and goosebumps rose on her skin. "I simply find it impractical for the chill of the season. I don't want you to be any more uncomfortable than you already are trekking into the Dark Wood alone."

Rowan looked at him, puzzled.

"I know they have educated you for the past?—"

"Fifteen years," Rowan supplied.

"—on what to expect, but you should just forget everything you've heard about me. I don't relish your suffering, or anyone else's, for that matter. I don't want you to be anonymous and lonely."

Rowan let out a bitter laugh, turning to face him with her hands on her hips. "Then why was I taken away at five and forced to live at Maiden's Tower?"

"Harder to convince someone with something to lose to make a sacrifice. That's a choice the elders made for you."

"You mean—" Rowan couldn't speak. All her anger evaporated. Her throat clogged with emotion.

He meant she could have led a normal life until she became acting Red Maiden. She could have grown up with her family and friends, all while continuing her education, but she'd never even been offered the option.

Rowan narrowed her eyes at him. She wanted to argue, but it made too much sense. She felt deflated.

"So it's all a lie? The separation? The scriptures? The forced chastity?" Rowan asked.

The Wolf crossed the room faster than she could track him, and she took a step back. Her hand flew out in front of her to ward him off.

"Have you let another man have you?" he asked. His eyes blazed with barely contained rage. His entire body shook with anger.

She took another step back, and he relaxed slightly, as if realizing how contradictory it was to tell her not to be afraid and then be so aggressive about her first few questions.

He cleared his throat. "What I meant was—if you haven't been chaste, the magic might not be enough."

"That's kind of ridiculous, don't you think?" Rowan asked.

She expected him to be angrier, but the Wolf just sighed and shook his head. "It is. I think the idea was to make things more challenging for me , believe it or not."

Rowan stared at him.

"I know you have questions. I swear I will explain as best I can, but first, answer my question," the Wolf said.

"Yes. I've been chaste."

The Wolf's eyes glowed. Grays and blues swirled in his irises.

She blinked rapidly, unsure if she'd imagined it. Something about Wolf's Keep left her with that feeling constantly hanging over her—as if she was in another world where she couldn't entirely trust her eyes alone.

"You don't need to lull me into a false sense of security. You may as well just get it over with now," Rowan said, bowing her head slightly.

Did he simply like to play with his conquests? Was this fun for him?

When she met his eyes again, he looked both angry and amused. "Are you so eager to be taken?"

Rowan blushed fiercely. "No."

He chuckled, and a bitter rage erupted from her chest.

"I'm glad you find it funny that a lifetime lived beneath an executioner's blade has made me eager to end the suspense," she snapped.

The Wolf's eyes went wide and then softened. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't mean to toy with you." He gestured to her steaming mug. "Drink and warm yourself."

Rowan nestled into the chair by the fire. "What about the blight?"

"What about it?"

"Why did you do it?"

The Wolf's face was inscrutable as he shook his head. "Don't concern yourself with the blight. I've already given you a lot to think about tonight. Just enjoy your drink. You'll need it so that you warm up enough to walk back."

Rowan eyed the mug and took a tentative sniff. Bright red pomegranate seeds floated in the golden liquid.

"Cider?"

A wide smile split her face. The monster in the woods drank warm apple pomegranate cider. She wondered absently if it was a bad idea to drink something offered to her by the god of death, but it seemed rude to refuse his hospitality.

The Wolf pursed his lips. "Did you expect poison?"

She shrugged and took a sip. It burned the whole way down. "Not just cider," she sputtered.

The corner of the Wolf's lips quirked up. "Yes, there's some whiskey."

Rowan coughed again, embarrassed by her innocence. "I've never had whiskey before."

The Wolf's eyes widened. "Seriously? You've lived your life in Ballybrine and never had whiskey? Drink up."

Rowan hadn't imagined it would be so easy to get him to answer her questions. He seemed almost too eager to offer her information.

"Am I really supposed to call you ‘Wolf'?" she asked. "Also, why a wolf, anyway?"

He rolled his eyes. "Hundreds of years ago, I appeared as a wolf to one loud-mouthed bard and that was all it took. Not to mention that for years, wolves were the most feared and misunderstood creatures in these lands. You can call me Conor."

Conor, which meant "lover of wolves." It wasn't a common name since most people didn't give their children names that evoked the god of death.

Rowan clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Of course."

"That's funny?"

"It's just so…ordinary," she said. "I expected something elaborate and less literal."

She knew she should take it slow, but instead, she gulped down the drink, relishing the delicious warmth that spread through her body. Taking off her boots, she tucked her legs up underneath the robe and rested her head against the back of the chair.

Without the adrenaline of fear keeping her going, Rowan felt suddenly exhausted. Using her magic for such a sustained period while walking just over three miles through the woods had taken more out of her than she expected.

The urgency she felt earlier faded away when Conor said he'd consider changing the bargain. It was a terrible time to lose her fire, but between her lack of sleep from grief all week, the warmth of the room, and the whiskey in her stomach, sleep felt more necessary than anything else. Before she could sort through the mess of questions in her mind, she nodded off.