“You can come together. Susanna will be unharmed,” Corabeth said. At least this she could promise. There was no need for Susanna to die. She had simply married into the family. She had been cruel and indifferent, like the rest of the village, but she was untouched by the curse.
“See?” Hyram said, turning to Susanna once more, false hope coating his words. “You and Giles will be unharmed.”
Susanna was nothing but a crying mess as Hyram pulled her along towards the woods. She staggered, dragged her feet, but followed.
“Elder Fabel!” someone shouted behind them, but Hyram did not stop now.
Unsteady feet carried the two of them past the first trees. The mist around them thickened, only the path to Corabeth remaining clear. Rooke followed silently behind them, a shadow like Death itself on their heels.
Panicked shouts rose from the village.
Hyram and Susanna came to a stop before Corabeth, mere feet away. In the blink of an eye, Rooke stood between them and placed a hand first on Corabeth’s shoulder, then on Hyram’s.
The fog shifted.
Shots rang out, but they were already elsewhere.
Corabeth blinked, and only Susanna stood before her, the older woman’s eyes spilling over with tears. Her hand searched absentmindedly for Hyram’s on her arm but found nothing. Still, she stared only at the limp boy in Corabeth’s arms.
“You can claim his body,” Corabeth said, her voice thick with unspoken emotions. “But the rest of your family will remain lost to you.”
The realization made Susanna crumple to the snow, her agonized wails echoing in the forest.
Corabeth placed Giles’ lifeless body on the ground before his grieving mother. Then she turned and let the mists swallow her as well.
Twenty-nine
Corabeth
Corabeth’s fingers found Rooke’s cloak, and she let him guide her one final time. Ahead of them, Hyram walked in silent resignation.
The familiar contours of the mansion rose from the fog, almost black against the dawn light. Although Corabeth no longer saw the spires as claws or the windows as hollow eyes. Instead, she saw the rooms where she had been reborn, where she and Rooke had nursed each other back to life.
Rooke gave Hyram one final shove, sending him several steps forward, and under a gnarled tree, they came to a stop. Hyram turned to face them then.
“Is he safe?” he asked, throat bobbing. Much like Turner, there was a silent rage bubbling under the surface there, but Hyram was much better at controlling it.
“Your sons are dead,” Rooke informed him with no particular emotion. Corabeth guessed he had to distance himself from the situation as much as she did.
Hyram’s face twisted in anger. “You bastard!” he cried, launching himself at Rooke, who stood taller and broader than him. He was no match for the Shadowbeast. Rooke simply caught his arms, twisted inhumanly fast, and pinned them behind the older man’s back.
“Are you enjoying your little revenge?” Hyram roared, spit flying as he raged. He tried to fling himself at Corabeth, but Rooke held him in place.
“This isn’t about revenge. At least, not only about that,” Corabeth said. Her voice was almost clinical as she spoke. “What do you know about the curse?”
Hyram finally stopped struggling, his chest heaving heavily. “The Beast is the curse upon our village!”
“Wrong,” Corabeth immediately interjected. “So eager to take on the role of the victim. It’s he who bears the curse,” she said, making eye contact with Rooke for a brief moment. “And it’syourbloodline that inflicted it.”
Genuine confusion spread across Hyram’s features. For a moment, he even stopped straining against Rooke’s hold.
“Your bloodline will end with you and so will the curse,” Corabeth said. She looked at Rooke then in a desperate attempt to memorize his features. She knew that the end of the curse was just a snap of the neck away.
They had already said their goodbyes before going to the village. They’d kissed each other’s hands and eyes and lips, tasting the salt from their tears. Whispered their farewells, and what could not be expressed with words was felt in the embrace as they clung to each other for a small eternity.
Hyram lowered his head, and his shoulders started shaking. Silently. But only at first. The sound that started trickling from him wasn’t crying or pleading.
He was laughing.
