That’s what she expected when she walked through the curtain— a forest like the one that had devoured her sister. But it was only a room. A room filled with branches cast in marble bases, most no higher than her shoulders. A Wilderwood in miniature. Nothing like what she’d seen when she and Red raced toward its border four years ago. Nothing like what Red had just disappeared into.
Neve’s chest burned, too heavy and hollow all at once. She couldn’t hurt that Wilderwood.
But she could hurt this one.
The limb of a branch was in her hand before she had the conscious thought, before her mind caught up with her body. She wrenched her fist to the side, and it came off the main bough with the crack of rending bone.
Neve paused for only a moment. Then, with a fierce snarl and teeth bared, she wrenched off another, relishing the snap it made as it came away, the feel of the wood giving beneath her hands.
She didn’t know how many branches she tore into before she felt a presence behind her. Neve turned with splintered wood held in her two fists like daggers, her dark hair waving against her face with the force of her breath.
A red-haired, white-skinned priestess stood in the doorway, face implacable. She looked vaguely familiar— from the Valleydan Temple, then. Neve wondered if that would matter. The vagaries of heresy weren’t something she was familiar with, but wrecking the Shrine would probably make an easy case for it. What would that punishment be for a First Daughter, the one meant for the throne? Neve tried to care, but couldn’t quite find the energy.
And yet, the priestess did nothing. She stood there, silently, cool blue eyes surveying the damage before rising to Neve.
Slowly, Neve’s breathing returned to normal. She released her fists, the two branch shards she’d held clattering down to the stone floor.
Neve and the red-haired priestess stared at each other. There was something like a dare in each gaze, a measuring of mettle, though Neve didn’t know what she was measuring for.
Finally, the priestess stepped farther into the room, picking deftly over white wooden splinters. “Come,” she said, in a voice that was brusque though not unpleasant. “If we clean up, no one will ever notice.”
It took Neve a moment to understand what she was saying, so far was it from what she expected. But the priestess bent down, gathering white splinters in her hands, and after a moment, Neve joined her.
A small pendant swung from the priestess’s neck, circling like a pendulum. It looked like a shard of wood, like the leavings of Neve’s rampage scattering the floor. The only difference was the color; where the branches were the pure, shining white of bleached bone, the priestess’s pendant was threaded through with black.
Neve frowned at it. Strange, for a priestess to wear jewelry— it wasn’t exactly forbidden, but none of them did it, going about clad only in their white robes with no further adornment.
The priestess saw her looking. A small smile tugged up her mouth as she caught the pendant, rolled it between her fingers. “Another piece of the Wilderwood,” she said, by way of explanation. “It breaks more easily than you’d think, with the right pressure. The right tools.”
Neve’s brows drew together. The priestess watched her as if she saw the shape of her questions and wanted to draw them out. Neve shut them behind her teeth.
For all her destruction, the mess she’d made fit easily in their four fists. The priestess made a bowl of her full white skirt, gathering all the shards before bundling the fabric in her hand like a pocket. “I’ll dispose of this.”
“You mean make more jewelry out of it?” Neve couldn’t keep the bite from her voice. She was tired, so tired of keeping her composure. Of pretending all of this didn’t bore beneath her skin and scour her out.
“Oh, no.” Despite the flippancy of the response, those blue, implacable eyes watched her carefully. “These aren’t right for that. Not yet.”
Disquiet thrummed under Neve’s ribs.
The red-haired priestess stood still, managing to look regal despite the awkward way she held her robe to contain the wood shards. “You’re here because of your sister?”
“Why else would I be here?” Neve wanted it to come out fierce, but it was quiet and thin. She’d spent all her fierceness. “I have no interest in praying.”
The priestess nodded, taking Neve’s blasphemy in stride. “Would you like to know what happened to her, when she crossed into the Wilderwood?”
It struck Neve silent for a moment, such a heavy question asked in such a casual manner. “You . . . you know?”