I won’t think of what happened in the village, in the woods, in the daylight. Everything Mother feared—that there’s darkness inside Arien, that the Lord Under has a claim on him—it can’t be true. It can’t be.
The monster shakes his head derisively. “Only dreams.”
And then, before I can stop myself, the question spills loose. “Is it true what they say about you, what you did to your family?”
I gasp as he twists my hair into a knot and leans closer, until his mouth is almost touching my ear.
“Yes.” His breath traces over my cheek. “Everything they say about me is true.”
A shudder runs through me. I open my mouth, but no sounds come out. All I can hear is the echo of his voice. He loosens his grip and my wind-tangled curls spill free. His arm tightens around my waist, and he urges the horse to go faster. I look to either side of us, scanning the sides of the road in search of a path, a house, anything. But there’s no escape. Only the forest and the sky and the night. The monster, holding me close.
We pass through a clearing, the earth on either side of the road barren except for a fallen tree. The roots are upturned, twisted against the empty air. Outlined by the sunset behind them, they look like claws.
I turn cold all over.
Finally, we reach a wayside, where a cottage is encircled by a grove of olive trees. It’s dark now, the night sky silvered by an almost-full moon.
The monster gathers up the reins and dismounts swiftly. “There’s still another full day of travel until we’re at Lakesedge. We’ll sleep here and start out again in the morning.”
I look at the cottage. It’s so small—only one room. I’ve been so caught up in worry for Arien that I haven’t even thought how we’ll have to spend the night so close to the monster. How we’ll be with him every night from now on, at the cursed estate.
He holds out a hand and I let him help me down from the horse. I stumble as my feet touch the ground and, without thinking, grab hold of his cloak to steady myself. He looks at me intently. I start to shiver, and his mouth tilts into a sharp smile. “Don’t tell me you’re cold, even with those woolen stockings?”
“I’m fine.” I shove him away and go quickly to where Arien stands, dazed, beside the other horse. I pull him into an embrace.
“Are you okay?” I touch his cheek; he’s pallid in the moonlight, tired and worried, but not hurt.
He nods, wincing as he rubs at a cramp in his thigh. “Everything aches.”
The wayside cottage is dark, the windows closed up and tightly shuttered. The roof is tangled with a wisteria vine and the heavy perfume from the flowers chokes the air.
I reach for Arien, take his hand, and hold it tightly as we step inside.
Chapter Four
The room is hot, and illuminated only by a single lantern set on the table. On the wall opposite the shuttered windows is an altar. The icon shows the Lady with her head bowed and palms upturned, twin vines uncoiling between her fingers. A row of guttered-out candles sits underneath.
The monster kneels by the hearth, coaxing alight a small fire. His hair is knotted from the wind, and there’s a smudge of dust on his cheek. The firelight dances over him, paints his tanned skin with amber and orange. But even like this—golden and beautiful—I can’t forget what he truly is. The wrongness clings to him. Even the darkness that pools in the corners of the room seems to stretch out and gather at his feet.
He takes a fistful of twigs from the wood box and throws them into the reluctant flames. I look at his hands and picture his fingers wrapped around a throat. When I close my eyes, the image stays. A white face, blurred beneath water, a rush of bubbles that spills out in a terrible, silent cry.
He gets to his feet when he hears us come in. He sweeps the hood of his cloak back over his hair and tilts his head toward the door. “Arien. A word.”
He puts his hand on Arien’s shoulder and guides him outside. Florence catches my arm when I move to follow them. “No. That isn’t your concern.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Yes, he is.” She’s nearly as tall as the monster, and the way she looks at me is almost as frightening. “And he’s right outside. He’ll be perfectly safe.”
Outside the open door, Arien and the monster stand in a circle of lamplight. The monster is speaking rapidly, his voice low and indistinct. I strain to listen, but I can only catch scraps of his words.
“Two days … the full moon…”
“Here.” Florence pushes a tin kettle into my hands and nods to the corner, where there’s a sink. “Go and fill this for me.”