“What?” breathes Mairwen, still staring at the glint of blood on her fingers.
“You are a witch and a god, Mairwen Grace. Both a girl and a forest. Or you could be, if you let yourself.”
Arms circle her from behind; Baeddan, leaning around her as if he needs comfort. He nuzzles the bite mark, kisses it gently, and licks away some of the blood. Mairwen shudders, but feels stronger with his arms around her than alone with the first Grace.
“Tell me what happened,” Mairwen says. “Tell me the truth.”
The first Grace smiles grimly. “I fell in love with the forest. And the forest loved me back. And so we traded hearts. Mine is here, larger and stronger than it could have been in the small cavern of my body, and I am only death. His heart is outside, free. And he is only life. The saints bind us together, keeping the charm alive, keeping the forest itself half alive without its god. Because the saint lives and also dies, the saints are always alive and always dead.”
Baeddan laughs.
“What happened to the old god of the forest?” Mairwen asks.
“He lives. He walks among you. He ventures far from his tree. But he always returns for the slaughter.”
Mairwen clutches at Baeddan’s wrists, digging her nails in. He hisses his pleasure and tightens his embrace. But Mairwen looks for the moon, then remembers it’s so low, so very, very low. “The old god of the forest left the forest.”
“I think, pretty Mairwen,” the first Grace says, “he must also be your father.”
She’s panicking, breath too thin and fast, scratching at Baeddan the way he scratches at himself. It’s impossible. Her mother would have told her, or at least would not have lied. “My mother...”
“Forgot.” Grace shrugs. Her veil hardly trembles. “Or forgot some. Our charm makes sure of it, that the old god is forgotten.”
“And I can change it? I can change the bargain? Break it or unmake it, because of who... what... I am?”
“If you let it change you first. But you won’t remember I told you so. We’ve spoken too much of him.”
Mairwen backs away from the first Grace, pushing at Baeddan so he steps back too. Eyes bright and on Grace, Mairwen says, “Baeddan, take me to the Bone Tree.”
•••
WHEN SHE OPENS HER EYES,Mairwen remembers.
Every step inside the Devil’s Forest, every cut and every tree she climbed. She remembers the bird women and bargaining with them to be led to Arthur. She remembers Baeddan finding her instead and kissing her and the moment she recognized him. She remembers the rowan doll, and she remembers fighting with him, screaming at him; she remembers his eagerness, his wild singing, his willingness to take her through the marsh. She remembers the brilliant red apples he fed her and trees grown faces and claws, the ferocious half-dead wolves and rotting bone creatures and tracks in the mud, and when she saw Rhun was in the forest too, and Baeddan was desperate to eat him. She remembers Arthur and Rhun fighting over who would die, who should run. Their misery at how much they wanted the other to live.
She remembers dancing with Baeddan in the perfect grove, his sorrow, his distress, and when the Grace witches woke from their graves.
She remembers what the first Grace said, and leaving the grove to find the Bone Tree, where she was confident she could change the bargain and hold it inside her. She remembers counting the skulls on the tree, and finding Carey Morgan’s. When she touched his cheekbone, she was saying goodbye, because she did not share his blood after all.
Mairwen remembers climbing onto the altar with Rhun and Arthur, swearing it would free Baeddan, too, and all of them would go home.I can change it!she said. They clasped hands, tied woven charms to their wrists, and cried, “We are the saints of Three Graces,” just as the sun rose.
She remembers Sy Vaughn laughing and helping her gather yarrow when she was a little girl. Two dark-brown eyes.
And one is different now, but only since John Upjohn’s Slaughter Moon. It went gray as the bargain broke. As he lost hold of himself.
All the memories huddle in her mind, dull and dreadful.
Her mother is barely breathing, and so Mairwen leans over to breathe for her, then kisses her lips and stands.
Her knees shake and Mairwen catches herself against the kitchen table. Her insides squeeze and twist. She coughs; it becomes a gag, and she’s retching, her body bent and shaking. Mairwen spits another flower out of her mouth, and pieces of tree bark, chunky and wet. Another spasm catches her and she can’t breathe through the strength of the retching this time.
She spits out the small, pebble-like wrist bone that had been part of her binding charm.
Her head spins and sweat breaks out all over her body. She is flushed in the face and cold in the hands.
Mairwen sits.
It’s over. Her magic is gone. The charm, the pieces of the forest she bound to her: gone.
