“Women are treasured here,” Caelia said, softer now. “Denan will give you anything in his power to make you happy, and he’s one of the most powerful men in the Alamant. There are schools. You can learn to read and write. Chose a profession—healer, weaver, carpenter, cobbler, whatever you want. Yes, we were forced from our families”—her voice shook a little—“but if I had known I could have this kind of life, I would have left on my own.”
“None of that justifies what they did.”
Caelia looked up at her. “You still don’t know the pipers’ reasons for taking us.”
“And you can’t tell me?”
Caelia tried, her mouth forming soundless words. She shook her head. “After you figure it out, come talk to me. Maybe it will change the way you look at things.”
Caelia went to an arched window and waved her hand before it. The view of the lake clouded over, as if a sudden mist had come up. She went from one archway to the next, obscuring the view.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” she prompted.
Blasted curse. Larkin stepped up to it, her fingers pressing against the mist like glass. “How was the women’s magic lost?” Caelia gave a helpless shrug. “It had to do with the curse?”
“Yes.”
So the curse probably caused the loss of magic. It also bound people’s tongues so they couldn’t talk about it. Larkin wondered what other things the curse had done. “If women’s magic was lost, how are you still using it?”
“As long as the magic lives, the spells will. Just no new ones—not for over two hundred years.”
Larkin sat down on the bench at the vanity. Her reflection caught her attention. The wild, matted hair and filthy clothes were familiar. But the angry, ugly slash across her throat was new. She ran her fingers along its lopsided path. It was hard and lumpy, with scabs where the stitches had been.
Hunter flipped her, pinning her body with his own. Not murder in his eyes, but pity. “I am sorry.” And then his blood had sprayed across her, his eyes going wide with shock.
Larkin sagged against the vanity, her head between her arms.
“Larkin?” Caelia asked.
“The curse,” Larkin asked, trying to distract herself. “Where did it come from? Why does it care?”
Caelia came to the vanity and pulled out a towel and a bar of soap. “Wash yourself with this, including your hair.” She pulled back the curtain and demonstrated how to pull a lever to release a sluice of water. “Wet yourself, soap off, and then rinse. It’s collected rainwater, so it’s not heated, but it is clean. I’ve left you a tunic and pants to dress in. I’ll be back to check on you shortly.” She walked to the arch they’d come through, turned back, and held her hand up to the surface until it too went opaque.
Larkin stared at the misty barrier as if trying to see the magic it contained. She stepped forward, hesitated, and then pushed her palm against it. It grew harder the more she pushed. She yanked back her hand. She was trapped. She retreated to the vanity and began stripping off her battered clothes. Her many bruises were fading to greens and yellows.
It had been days since she’d had a proper bath, so she soaped up twice. Finished, she wrung out her hair as best she could and wrapped herself with the towel. Cream-colored tunic and trousers waited for her on the bench, as well a sleeveless robe of turquoise. Her own clothes were nowhere to be seen. No, not her clothes. Caelia’s. Which made her think of Bane. She closed her eyes, her chest aching and eyes burning with the tears she refused to shed. For a moment, she considered refusing to wear them. But what then? Walk around in nothing but a towel? She glared at the tunic, picking it up and jerking it over her head. The fabric settled against her skin, soft as a rose petal.
Gah! How am I supposed to hate something so soft? Utterly defeated, she dressed and searched the vanity, finding vials and soaps, combs and brushes. She set about attacking the snarls of her hair.
“Oh, no. Not without the oils.” Larkin started to find Caelia stepping through the banished barrier. Larkin gaped at the potted plant the woman held. It contained three white flowers, shining with an amber light. Larkin hadn’t realized how dark it had grown.
“What is that?”
Caelia set the flower on the table. “A lampent. Fire is forbidden within the Alamant, but the White Tree is generous. She has given us light to guide us through the darkness.” Caelia rummaged around in the drawers and pulled out a vial. She poured some oil, rubbed it between her palms, and massaged it into Larkin’s hair. The woman went through nearly the entire bottle. Afterward, Larkin had to admit the comb glided through her hair much easier than before.
“Why did you lock me in?” Larkin asked warily.
Caelia’s brow drew down in confusion. “You mean because I closed the barriers? They’re created for privacy, as well as to keep out the weather, so they’re incredibly strong. You have to know how to turn them on and off. Here, I’ll show you.”
At an archway, Caelia took hold of Larkin’s wrist and pressed her hand into the strangely textured surface. “Push in until you feel it hardening, then draw your fingers together, grasping it gently and pull back.”
It felt like a film on Larkin’s hand. She drew back, and the barrier disappeared slowly, revealing the twilight outside. Larkin gasped at what she saw. Trees lit up as if they were graced with a thousand golden stars. Below, the water was black as ink, but in the depths, fish of all different sizes pulsed with rainbows of color. It was the most beautiful thing Larkin had ever seen.
“Wait until you see the White Tree.” Caelia led Larkin back to the vanity and set about weaving Larkin’s hair into a complicated set of braids, which she set off with tiny glowing flowers. Last, she placed a tapering mantle that draped down Larkin’s right side. On the apex above her breast, a three-headed snake had been expertly tooled into a single circle. Below the snake was a peak, from which hung a polished teardrop turquoise stone that matched the robe.
Larkin took the piece of turquoise in her hand. “This mantle—it means something, doesn’t it?”
“This is the insignia of Denan’s house.” She touched each snake head in turn. “Bravery, loyalty, intelligence. The stone is a wedding gift to you.”
She stiffened. His insignia on her breast—his ownership.
Caelia’s mantle had four glittering jewels. Larkin reached out and took a piece of onyx in her hand.
Caelia smiled. “My wedding jewel.”
“And the others?”
“Mothers are greatly honored among the pipers. My husband gave me a jewel for each child I gave him. A diamond for my eldest, an emerald for my second. I’m hoping for a pearl for my third. And this one”—she held up an amethyst—“for mastering weaving.”
“So much wealth,” Larkin breathed. One of these jewels would have been enough for Larkin’s entire family to live off for years.
“The pipers have a rich heritage,” Caelia said, her expression turning inexplicably sad. She shook herself. “The last touch.” She brought out a leather belt, studded with more turquoise, helping Larkin tie it on the right side. It was fully dark when she was finally finished dressing.
Caelia turned Larkin around so she faced the mirror. “There, now look.”
Larkin peered into the mirror, hating how pale her skin looked against the thick freckles on her face, but her riot of copper hair was for once tamed into braids and curling waves instead of frizz. Dressed in such finery, she looked wealthy and pretty.
Larkin closed her eyes. “And if I refuse him?”
“You can try.”
Larkin considered her chances. It wouldn’t be hard to overpower Caelia in her present state, but then what? Would she flee back into the forest full of wraiths and mulgars? And that’s if she could get past the wall and its sentinels. No. If she were really going to escape, it would take careful planning, and she would not leave without Alorica. They were allies now. Tears of frustration built in Larkin’s eyes.
With an apologetic look, Caelia crossed to the opaque barrier and removed it. A young boy of around seven waited for them. He looked so like a younger version of Denan he could only be his brother. He carried a beautiful cloak in the same turquoise as the robe.
“Mother has been working on your clothes for days,” he said matter-of-factly. “She wouldn’t even take me swimming.” He seemed to expect an apology for this affront.
Larkin wasn’t sure what to say. “I, um, I’m sure she’ll take you swimming now.” It came out sounding more like a question.
His gaze narrowed. “I’m supposed to take you to the boat.” By the tone of his voice, it was clear he thought this task unpleasant.
“This is Wyn, Denan’s younger brother,” Caelia said. “The pipers weave the cloth from tree bark. It will last for years without showing wear, and the color will never fade. The clothes are a gift from Denan’s mother, Aaryn, to welcome you into the family.”
Larkin hesitated before taking the cloak. It wasn’t cold—in fact, it was perfectly temperate—but it seemed she was expected to wear it. “Was she taken from the Idelmarch as well?”
“We all were,” Caelia said.
“I will take you to him,” Wyn said.
Larkin considered fighting, but she didn’t see how it would do any good. Heart heavy, she followed him, Caelia beside her. Little white flowers in the moss gave a gentle, warm light as she descended the stairs and came out on the platform. Shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to the other, Wyn opened the door to what looked like a decorative birdcage that dangled over the darkening water. He stepped inside and waved for them to hurry up.
Larkin hesitated to step into the cage, but Caelia tugged her forward.
Caelia pulled a lever, and they descended smoothly and rapidly. Before Larkin could catch her breath, they reached the dock where a boat waited, manned by four men wearing the snake insignia. Wyn lifted the latch and dashed out and into the boat. A little shaky, Larkin stepped onto the dock. Caelia pulled another lever, and the cage glided back up and out of sight.
The men helped Larkin and Caelia into the boat and moved to take their positions. Wyn had his arms wrapped tight around his waist, as if to keep himself from snatching a pair of oars he was eyeing, though it didn’t stop his short legs from swinging restlessly. Caelia gave him a look, and his swinging feet stilled—mostly.
The men pushed off from the dock, their oars dipping. Color caught Larkin’s eye, and she turned. The boat left a trail of glowing violet behind them. Wyn must have noticed her perplexed look. He reached out to the water and splashed, the water turning violet. He shook out his hand, water spraying her face.
“Wherever the water is disturbed,” Caelia explained, “it changes colors.”
“What is this place?” Larkin breathed.
“The Alamant,” Wyn responded as if she were dense.
“Anything that feeds off the trees glows golden,” Caelia said. “Anything that feeds off something that feeds off the trees gleams in different colors.”
Larkin cupped her hands and brought up some water; tiny violet creatures so small she could barely make them out swam in her palms. Acting on impulse, she tossed them into the water. Violet spread like an ink stain.
At the boat’s edges, a frilly creature nearly the size of their boat glided through the water beneath them—almost like it was carrying Larkin to her heartsong. The frills broke the surface, undulating edges flashing with color. Larkin reached out, her fingers dipping beneath the surface. The creature was spongy and slick, like a hard-boiled egg.
“A mandrill—a good sign,” a man breathed.
As it faded from view, golden-white light caught Larkin’s attention. Between massive overlapping trunks, a new tree came into sight. It glowed like a fallen star, piercing the dark waters with luminosity. An elegant staircase rose from the water. People lined its sides, all of them holding thin branches. At the top of the stairs, under a golden arch, Denan waited.
He brought his flute to his lips. The music breathed her in. Larkin turned liquid, a trembling form held together by nothing more than a melody. Every bit of her longed for her source, for the warmth and comfort of her heart. It was so much stronger here—so strong she was powerless to resist.
The boat glided to a stop at the base of the stairs.
“From here, you must go alone,” Caelia said.
“I’m afraid.” Larkin didn’t understand her fear. Her heart waited at the top of the stairs, a fiery pulse that called to everything in her.
“We all fear the moment everything changes,” Caelia said softly.
Larkin took a steadying breath. Caelia held her hand and helped Larkin step into the water up to her knees. As soon as her feet touched down, she was in another time and place.
Before her was another tree, another group of people superimposed over the ones before her now. Another man looked down at her in Denan’s place. He was beautiful, with brilliant blue eyes and a shock of blond hair.
The vision faded as quickly as it had come. Larkin shook her head to clear it, not understanding what it all meant. The heartsong drew her back in, making her shimmer to liquid and back again. The music called her out of the water and through the archway of held branches. The wind picked up. Falling leaves fluttered against her face and onto the steps. Teardrop-shaped leaves that had faded to a silvery green clung to her bare feet. Beneath her, rainbow lights pulsed deep inside the tree.
All of it led her up, up, up, toward the man who made her heart sing. Denan wore a mantle with a snake on the front and a golden circlet of woven branches. An emerald the size of a child’s fist dangled from the end of his mantle. On the final step, her hand came up, already reaching for him. Instead, he pushed a two-handled goblet into her palms, nodding for her to drink.
She tipped the cup to her lips, a single mouthful of golden sap slipping down her throat. Warmth spread through her, turning her head tingly and light. She recognized the sensation from when Denan had stitched her neck. He released his flute, letting it rest against his chest.
She stepped toward him, tears of love in her eyes. “Denan.”
Four men came to stand beside them. They held beautiful metal bracers with opalescent branches studded with thorns woven throughout. Denan pushed his hands in the bracers up to the bend of his elbow. “Take hold.”
As the song’s effects faded, Larkin grew uneasy, but whatever she’d drunk had dulled her sense of fear, painting the world with rainbows. The bracers extended out long past his fingertips, which left plenty of room for her to reach inside and grasp his hands. With a simultaneous pull, the men tightened the clasps. The bracers bore down on Larkin’s skin, the wood coming together to form intricate patterns. She gasped and tried to pull back, but Denan held fast.
She blinked at him as if waking from a dream. She glanced around at the hundreds of people watching them—most of them men. “What . . .” Light like moonlight on rippling water came from their bound arms, trailing lines up Larkin’s skin. The pain flared against the drug they’d given her. She whimpered and tried to pull free.
“Steady,” Denan said. “It’s almost over.” Even as he said it, the lights began to fade.
“What’s almost—” And then she knew. This barbaric ritual was her wedding.
The men released the bracers. She gasped in pain as they came free, leaving welts and broken thorns that twined from her skin to Denan’s. She tried to jerk back again, but Caelia and another woman were at her side, wrapping her arms in pure white cloth covered in salve. The women worked quickly and quietly, the burn easing.
“What next?” Larkin hissed to Denan. “Will you flay me? Throw me in a cook pot?”
A man wearing a bigger crown and a boar on his mantle stepped forward. He placed a gold circlet around Larkin’s head and called out, “Prince Denan and his wife, Princess Larkin!”
The crowd cheered, their branches waving in the air.
Larkin gaped at them, then Denan, th
en back at them. “You’re a prince?”
He bowed to the crowd. “And now you’re a princess.”
She cocked back her hand to slap him. He caught her wrist, which set her eyes to watering with the burn. “Everyone is watching. Remember the impression you want to give.”
“I don’t care about—”
“It’s done, Larkin—sealed with women’s magic. No power save death can break the bond between us now.”
He released her, and she stumbled back, her head shaking. “No. You tricked me. You— I hate you!”
“Calm down, Larkin,” Caelia warned.
“I will not! I . . .”
Denan played his pipes again. Her anger and resentment slipped away like water through her fingers. She took a step closer to Denan. He led her behind the archway, across a platform to the other side of the tree. He let his flute drop. She went into his arms, the feel of him under her hands . . . repulsive. She shoved him back and drew a breath to berate him.
He interrupted her coming tirade. “It’s time for the second ceremony. You need to decide if you will participate of your own free will or if I force you.”
“Like you already forced me?” she spat.
“I did, and I would do it again. Now make your choice.”
She swallowed all the angry words—as she did when her father threatened her—burying them deep. For all its beauty, the Alamant gave her no more freedom than she had at home. At least there, she had Mama and Sela. “What is this ceremony?”
“It’s really more of a tradition at this point, to see if you have magic, but I think we’ll find you do—the first enchantress in over two hundred years.”
He was still handsome, his face chiseled with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. His good looks felt like a trap—just like this place.
His expression softened. “I know this is hard.”
“Don’t apologize for hurting me while you’re doing it. It’s hypocritical.”
He took a step back. “Follow me.”
She glared at his back as she followed him back to where they’d been married. The people had gone, leaving a neat pile of branches. She picked at the bandages around her arms. “What was that thing you put on me anyway?”