“Let’s get off the path,” I suggest when we’re far enough away from the men. We leave the cobblestones and get onto a grassy part between houses. I release Neris so suddenly that she almost falls to the ground. I steady her with a hand on her elbow.
“Well done,” she says, beaming.
I roll my shoulders as I will my heart rate to slow down. Around us, the bushes are balding, the flowers drooping. By now, everything should be thriving, but the blight is only getting worse.
What I wouldn’t give to get away from Barr na Cahar. Away from the Peacekeepers and the nobility. From the foolish rules that keep everyone imprisoned in fortified lies and deceit. To take down the Purists who mislead people desperate to fit in or those afraid of the powers they possess. I would love to meet other Wielders. Radika is the only Mage I’ve ever met. She’s told me plenty of stories about places where Magekind live in harmony with Ordinaries. Where everyone is treated ashuman beings.
If only those who hold the power to enact change could see that.
People like Neris and I could be banished to the Wastelands—it’s supposed to be this foreboding place, but what if it’s just the solace we need?
Back in bed for the night, Gruffud snoring softly beside me, I stare up at the ceiling. I replay the events of the day, of the past month, of so many moments I wish to change. I drift off and dream of that tree I saw in the hallucination a week ago.
Two women stand on either side of the tree. The taller woman has fair skin and the other woman is shorter, with curly hair. The taller woman is reminiscent of the sun; the curly-haired woman, the moon.
Light and shadow.
It shouldn’t make any sense, and yet it somehow does.
As I step toward the tree, the curly-haired woman looks my way. In a cloud of translucent shadows, she disappears, only to reappear one pace away from me. I shriek and stumble back, but there’s no malice on her face. Her brown eyes are kind, her demeanor serene. If anything, she looks perplexed. “Who are you?” she asks. Her voice is like a lullaby, like lavender gently wavering in the warm breeze.
This must be a dream.
“It is,” she says as though she’s read my mind. “Who are you?”
“Winnie.” Suddenly, I feel a tug on my body, and everything starts to crumble away.
“Wait!” the woman calls, but her voice is distant.
My stomach bottoms out as though I’m falling from a height and I can’t help but scream.
“Gwyneth, what in the hells!” Gruffud exclaims.
I jump out of bed, searching around me as I suck in shallow bursts of air. There’s no tree. No women. No shadows. Itwasa dream. I scrub my hands down my sweaty face and turn to Gruffud, who looks at me as though I’ve lost it.
“Apologies,” I pant. “Bad dream.” Except this feels nothing like a dream.
Perhaps Ihavelost it.
Chapter 17
There’ssurprising quietude and order as we make our way into the Hallowed Wood. The expansive clearing in the forest is speckled with unnerving statues of the Uldaran deities. Immaculately upkept, some are carved out of wood, others of stone. The Uldarans around us take turns approaching the different statues, speaking in soft voices to them and laying down flowers, foods, and small trinkets as offerings.
On my left, Briony is quiet and observant, and on my right, Odgar brims with reverent excitement. He lowers his head to me, pointing toward the stone statue that looms above all the rest. “That’s Hofadr the Father of the gods. Then there’s the Mother, Amodir.” He points to the second largest statue. “Goddess of fertility, beauty, and love.”
There’s a woman standing in front of the statue, tears streaming down her face as she presses a hand to the stone and another to her own abdomen. I look away, feeling as though I’m intruding on a far too vulnerable, far too private moment.
I remember my mother pleading to Rhianu, our own Mother goddess, for more children. I, on the other hand, even before knowing about the curse of Enidwen, feared reproducing. The world doesn’t need more broken royals.
Perhaps Enidwen’s curse can end with me if there’s no one to pass it on to.
A hissreverberates from within me. I close my eyes, fighting to fortify the pitiful excuse for a barrier in my mind. If only I had a strong drink right now …
“Are you still with me, raven?”
I turn my attention to Odgar and nod before letting my gaze survey the clearing again. I know the importance of children for royals—for the continuation of the bloodline. But if Odgar knew the truth, I’m certain he wouldn’t want my children.
Hells, he wouldn’t wantme.
