“No. Now go away. Please.”
He doesn’t. His forehead thunks against the door, and I check the lock again, just to be sure. But nothing can stop him from coming back the next night, or the next. I think he even sleeps out there, his back curled against the wood, because I sense him when the sky is dark, his presence weighing against me like the pressure shift before a thunderstorm.
At least it vanishes when the sun is up. When the Shadow’s angry roars echo through the Wildwood.
But sometimes, during the day, I hear footsteps in the hall, lingering outside my door. Once or twice, I imagine they might be Amriel’s, because something pulls at me, a heavy tug in my gut. But whoever is out there never says anything, and the footsteps inevitably recede.
Mostly, I pass the daylight hours in the window seat, brushing my hair and gazing out at the hourglass. It sits frozen below, its time suspended, only the thinnest layer of sand strewn across the bottom. From what I can tell, I’ve used up only a fraction of my time. And I have nothing to show for it except a fresh set of scars.
Not that they’ve healed yet. I clean my injuries daily, careful not to dislodge the scabs. The surrounding skin turns a violent shade of purple, but infection doesn’t set in, and little by little, the pain recedes. Soon, I’m walking normally again, if only from my window to the bathroom and back. Or to my bedside table, where I dig into my satchel for a sip of the honeyed elixir Amriel gave me. True to his word, it slakes my appetite for a day at a time, freeing me of the need to leave my room. Maybe I can just stay here forever, hiding from these fae. From the ridiculous bargain I’ve made. From the horrible forest outside.
I just wish I could hide from myself.
With so much silence and solitude for company, I spiral into rumination. I can’t stop reliving the hunger that gripped me in the Wildwood, or when I offered myself to Amriel. Its echoes cling to me even now, reverberating in the hollows of my bones.
I try to banish them with prayer. But no matter how many hours I spend on my knees, true communion eludes me. It’s as if a veil has fallen between me and Ishanna, clouding my vision, muting the warmth of her grace.
Which shouldn’t surprise me. After all, I’ve strayed. Fallen victim to the same temptation I’ve denounced all my life.
And yet, with all this time on my hands, I have to wonder. Was I ever truly as upstanding as I believed? Have I ever really resisted temptation? Or have I never encountered it in the first place? Maybe I’ve spent my life so focused on earning my Grace that I haven’t stopped to consider that I’ve never actually proven myself. Maybe I’ve simplysurrounded myself with objects that cost no effort to lift, then had the arrogance to declare myself strong.
No wonder I fell apart at the first touch of enticement.
Today, I sit in the window again, clad in a dressing gown I scrounged from my closet. Unlike the skimpy dresses on offer, the gown covers most of my body, but it fastens with a simple sash in front, instead of buttons. Worse, the fabric clings to my curves—forest-green velvet on the outside, cream satin on the inside. Each caress of the fabric feels like an extravagance, so mostly, I stay still, despairing over the fact that I’m stuck here, unable to go back, too afraid to move forward. Each glance at the shadowed forest strikes a harsh chord inside me.
I have no desire to set foot in the Wildwood again. But I’ll have to. It’s my only way out of here. My only way back to Aethrolia, and Ishanna.
A knock sounds at my door.
I let out a sigh. Maybe it’s Calen again. He’s tried to check on me a few times, but I’ve simply shut the door in his face. And I have no problem doing so again, if that’s what it takes to be left alone.
But when I pad across the room and flip the lock, the door creaks open to reveal someone else. Not Calen, but the fae woman he dined with on my first night here.
She studies me, her dark eyes reflecting the shine from the window. “Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay? Can I come in?”
I pause. But I don’t feel the need to hide from her the same way I do Calen or Amriel or the Shadow, andsomeoneshould probably see that I’m still alive up here, so I shrug. “Sure. Why not?”
She slips in, her hands full, then uses her hip to close the door behind her. “Thanks. I brought you food. And books. And…well, I couldn’t think of what else you might need, but whatever it is, I can get it for you.”
I pause, an ache blooming in my chest. I don’t plan to eat from the platter she’s placing on my dresser, or read from the stack of undoubtedly salacious books, but her consideration moves me, anyway.
“Thanks,” I say. “That’s extraordinarily kind of you.”
Her mouth curves as she dusts off her hands. “Well, I didn’t do the best job of welcoming you to Velindra. None of us did. So I’m tryingagain. Amriel said not to, that I should leave you alone until you’re ready to come out, but I never really listen to him, to be honest.”
I snort softly. Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.
“Anyway,” she says, clasping her fingers before her. “I know you probably think of me as a…heathen…or whatever it is you humans call it.”
I press my mouth shut. I want to deny it, but I can’t, and after a brief scrunch of her eyebrows at my silence, she moves on.
“But the way I see it, we’re both women. Human or fae, Velindran or Aethrolian, we share that much in common. And the bond between women is sacred.”
I digest that. I don’t know that anyone back home would agree—in Aethrolia, the only bond considered sacred is the one between Ishanna and her disciple. And yet this woman’s words stir something in me, a warmth that nestles just below my heart.
“I like that idea, actually,” I say. “But I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Ravenna.”
