Now, Rooke’s smile dimmed. “You wouldn’t be able to have children. The Fabel bloodline cannot continue.”
But even at this, Corabeth wasn’t deterred. “I never liked children anyway,” she said with a shrug and scrunched her nose.
Rooke took her hands and kissed them over and over again, each brush of his lips like a seal on their fate, each one dampening Corabeth’s trepidation, each one feeding the bud of emotion that had sprouted in her own chest.
“I love you too,” Corabeth said, unable to stop the ghost of a smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, though her eyes were still wet with unshed tears.
“Then we stay,” Rooke said finally.
And for each other, they did.
Thirty
Corabeth
Corabeth expected to see some change in the village now that their Elder had been removed. Now that the Fabels had been purified from its system. But life went on. People still went to work, raised their children, gossiped, laughed.
It took nearly two months until armed men stopped patrolling the main street. Until they realized that the wave of misfortune only touched the Fabels. That, perhaps, they were safe after all.
Corabeth sat in the Marshal’s office and watched as the night retreated. Outside, some first workers passed the house, hushed conversations carrying through the silence.
Soon, spring will be upon them.
Another hour passed before heavy boots walked up to the Marshal’s office. Keys jangled on the other side of the door. Then silence. Confusion.
Had the door not been locked?
The Marshal walked in, his heavy coat unbuttoned in the front, and halted at the door when he saw a female figure sitting in his chair.
“Hello, Marshal,” Corabeth said.
The Marshal launched to the side, hands grabbing at emptiness where just a few hours before, a rifle sat. Corabeth, of course, had already gathered all the guns, wrapped them in ashawl, and stashed them away behind a cupboard. They weren’t gone forever. Just gone for now.
“I just want to talk,” Corabeth said, “I come to you with a proposition.”
Torches burned all around the raised wooden platform of the pillory. Some steps away, a crowd had gathered. And between the two, a line of a dozen men meant to keep the peace.
Corabeth watched from the shadows, heart thumping in her chest. It was a terrible risk, being there, but steps needed to be taken to mend things with the village. To make life better for everyone.
They had no reason to trust each other. Not after what the village had done to Corabeth and her mother. Not after what Corabeth had done to the Fabels. But things could not just be left to fester.
“Why are we here?” called someone from the crowd that had grown restless.
The Marshal shifted uncomfortably on the platform and looked back into the shadows where Corabeth stood. Then he gave her a small nod.
“We’re here to hear out Corabeth Arlay,” the Marshal called, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd.
When Corabeth stepped onto the platform and into the light, the crowd erupted. Angry shouts and cries filled the night. The dozen men struggled to keep back the pushing people, and even they were giving each other wary looks.
The Marshal banged the heel of the rifle against the wood, pulling the crowd’s attention to himself. “Quiet!” he shouted, “And calm yourselves. We will hear her out. Andwewill not resort to violence.” At this, he gave Corabeth a pointed look.
The Marshal had not been happy seeing Corabeth. Even less so hearing what she had to say, but he could not deny the truth ofher words, that what she was about to propose, would be a step in the right direction.
Corabeth took a breath and clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. “An evil has been rooted out from your village,” she began.
A new wave of enraged bellowing. The crowd pushed forward.
“What evil? The Fabels were good men!” shouted Clarence, the treasurer of the village who had been particularly close with Hyram.
