Samara
I stood at the center of Daft Moor staring into the endless night, made darker by the thick tree line of the Enchanted Forest. It grew so tall, it blocked out the moon and stars. The ground beneath my feet was soggy and cold as ice, the frosty air smelled rich and sweet, and blood stained my hands. It felt thick and seeped between my fingers to the ground, splashing my bare toes like raindrops. I refused to look at the pool of crimson gathering at my feet. I did not want to face what I had done. Knowing was enough.
The blood was not my own.
It belonged to a fae I had once almost loved but had betrayed on this very moor.
My heart ruptured with guilt, carving a painful path from my chest to my throat.
The ache woke me, and when I opened my eyes to the dark, a fresh wave of grief roared to life. I was used to the feeling. I had dreamed the same dream for the last seven years, coaxed into slumber by a haunting voice whispering my name.
Samara, it sang. Samara, my love, come to me. Flee with me. I can set you free.
But those words were nothing more than a broken promise, and each morning when I woke to the same heavy darkness, I was left alone to face my punishment for the wrong I had committed before the Enchanted Forest.
I sat up slowly, my lower back aching as I threw my legs over the side of my bed, though calling the pallet I had built up in the corner of the kitchen “a bed” was quite an exaggeration. Still, it was better than sleeping on the floor where the rats could reach me.
I shivered at the thought and looked down at my hands, which were also sore. I spent yesterday bent at the waist for hours, cutting into packed layers of peat. I had been working little by little each day, hoping to harvest enough for the coming winter, though it promised to be long and harsh. I might have harvested more had my three burly brothers helped, but it was not a task that fell to them. No task fell to them.
That thought brought a wave of guilt. I knew I was being unfair. My brothers—Jackal, Michal, and Hans—might not help with the house or the animals or harvest peat, but they did hunt, and they were the greatest hunters in all of Gnat. Only they managed to enter the Enchanted Forest and return with spoils—spoils that kept the entire village fed.
They were heroes, and I was nothing more than what they made me, because I could be nothing else with the blood of the fae on my hands.
“Your fingers look as if they have been dipped in blood,” my brothers had said upon
first seeing my hand. “You will be marked for shame by the villagers and death by the fae, but if you will listen to us always, we will keep you safe.”
I believed them at first and had been scared enough to listen, but as the days passed, one after the other harder than the last, death did not seem so dreadful.
In fact, I had begun to think favorably of it. There was something beautiful about ceasing to exist—something that sounded a lot like…rest.
Shame burned my cheeks. I should not think of resting while so many suffered around me, and now, as winter drew near, it was imperative everyone pulled their weight, especially me, who had the responsibility of ensuring the three greatest hunters of Gnat were well rested and well fed.
It was that obligation that drew me from bed.
There was a chill in the air that made my flesh prickle. Still, I crossed to a table in the corner and poured icy water into a bowl and splashed my face. The cold shock roused me, and I dressed in warm layers before kneeling before the fireplace where embers glowed beneath white ash. I raked everything into a pile and reached for the bucket I kept near the fire that was supposed to be full of kindling, except it was empty.
Strange.
I knew I had gathered branches and bits of bark before dusk to keep from having to do it this morning.
Anger twisted in my gut. One of my brothers must have taken it.
“Ladies do not get angry,” I heard my mother say. “It is unbecoming.”
My teeth ached as I fought to quell what felt like violence in my veins and rationalized their behavior.
Perhaps one of them had grown too cold in the night, used all their kindling—which I had also refilled—and came for more. After all, if they did not sleep, they could not hunt, and if they did not hunt, we would not eat, and if we did not eat, we would all die.
I sighed and tossed the rake aside. It clattered to the ground as I swiped the bucket from the floor and ventured into the semidarkness. The cold felt like a fist pushing on my chest. It hurt to breathe, but it was a familiar feeling.
As I stepped out onto the frozen ground, I thought I could smell snow coming. There was a sharpness to the cold—like knives poised against my skin.
I made my way across the yard to the wood I kept piled near the barn. As I gathered juniper, pine, and a few large pieces of oak, a slim black cat hopped onto the heap, stretching and purring, eager for attention.
“Good morning, Mouse,” I said, scratching behind her ear. “Have you roused Rooster?”
Rooster was a stallion and older than Jackal, my eldest brother, who was two and thirty. Mouse gave a high-pitched mewl. It was her way of saying no.
“You had better wake him. The boys will be impatient to leave today. The snow is coming.”
Mouse’s response was a growl. I knew why she protested. Rooster was tired, but it could not be helped. Even the old worked in Gnat, human and animal alike.
“I know he needs rest. If it were up to me, I would not send him into the forest at all.”
Rooster accompanied my brothers on their hunt, and since we only had one stallion, they took turns riding him. Rooster was not fond of the woods and moved slowly. My brothers took this as being disobedient and whipped him to keep him moving. I hated it, but when I had voiced my anger, Jackal threatened to whip me. Rooster, sweet Rooster, had stepped between us, and his defiance had angered Jackal, but the threat of a strike from the powerful stallion kept him at bay.
“Strike me and I will put an arrow through your leg. I do not care if you are the only horse in all of Gnat,” Jackal had threatened through clenched teeth. Then he looked at me. “And you. You will pay for his disobedience. Do you spend all your evenings in the barn whining about how terrible we are? No wonder he defies us. Well, I will show you cruel, you ungrateful git.”
I spent the night in the barn after Jackal’s threat, too afraid of what he might do in the night, but that had only delayed the inevitable. The next morning, he woke me by dousing me in ice-cold water and threw a dull knife at my feet.
“You will go to the moor and dig peat for our fires.”
Still soaked, I had ventured into the bog. My fingers were so frozen, I could hardly hold the knife.
I would have never guessed that day, born in so much misery, would lead to an even worse day—the day I would eventually betray the fae man I loved.
You really are a silly git, I told myself. You cannot love a man you have never really seen.
But I knew by the way my chest ached, I had.
Thankfully, I was roused from the pain by a sharp cry from Mouse, a familiar sound that usually signaled the approach of one of my brothers. My heart raced as I whirled to see which of the three were approaching, except no one was there.
Still Mouse continued to hiss, showing her sharp teeth. The hair on her back stood on end.
I studied the tree line just beyond the rotting wooden fence that lined our property. The trees there were like giants—ancient and menacing. Thick fog poured from the darkness between the trunks, snaking through the air toward me like beckoning fingers. Though I saw nothing else, that did not mean no one was there. The fae usually moved about the world invisible to mortals. It was when they chose to show themselves that trouble followed, and while there was a part of me that wished I had never met the nameless, faceless fae, there was also a part of me that wondered—that wished, though those were dangerous things—that it was he who watched me so closely.
I shook my head to dismiss the thoughts and then reached for Mouse, who I held against my breast.
“Nothing to worry over, sweetling,” I said, placing her on the ground. “Now go and rouse Rooster.”
Mouse cut me a sharp look before stretching and wandering off to the barn.
I finished gathering the wood and returned to the cottage. With the kindling restocked and the fire lit and warming the house, I started breakfast, frying ham and potatoes, boiling eggs, and porridge. With everything prepared and warming, I headed upstairs to perform my most dreaded task—waking my brothers.
It did not matter that the three expected me every morning. I was always faced with some kind of threat. If they did not curse at me, they threw whatever was in reach. I’d already tried keeping their tables clear, except that night, each brother had brought every breakable thing to their bedside and threw it at me when I opened the door the next morning.
I decided then my attempts to make my life a little more bearable weren’t worth the consequences. So my brothers did what they wanted to me, and so long as Mouse and Rooster were safe, I thought I could take it.
I topped the steps and approached the first door on the right. The room belonged to my youngest brother, Hans. He was the quietest of the three, and while that meant he did not subject me to quite as many insults, his preferred method of torture was what he called tricks.
The door creaked as it opened, and it was dark. The embers in his fireplace were nearly snuffed out. I glanced at the bed and could not see Hans, though that was usual. He liked to bury himself beneath the covers. That was probably best. It would be easier to revive the fire with him asleep.
I crossed to the hearth and kneeled, repeating the same process I’d gone through downstairs, except this time, the bucket of kindling was full. With the fire blazing, I started to rise when someone shoved me.
I flailed and caught myself, palms pressed flat against the hot stone of the hearth. The pain was instant and sharp. I yelped and pushed away, landing on my ass. For a few seconds, I could do nothing but sit in quiet shock, palms red and throbbing.
Behind me, Hans broke into peals of laughter.
“You should have known
better than to assume I was asleep!”
My eyes watered, partly from the pain but also from embarrassment. I shoved those feelings down, because they had no place here. No one survived this life feeling sorry for themselves. Besides, Hans was right—I should have known.
I rose to my feet, pushing up from the cold stone floor, wincing at the pain. The palms of my hands felt taut, as if I suddenly didn’t have enough skin.
I would have left without a word, but I thought the consequences might be worse if I did, so I spoke.
“It is good you are awake,” I said, meeting his blue eyes. They were most like mine but untouched by burden or fear. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
His face turned pink, the color settling most in his cheeks.
“Aren’t you going to laugh at my trick?” he asked.
I stared at him for a few seconds, knowing he wasn’t joking, and then opened my mouth and laughed—or tried to. ...
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