Stolen Enchantress

  “Larkin is lost to you.” Maisy’s voice carried across the field. She tossed a green pine bough into the fire behind her; sparks outlined her silhouette. As usual, she was filthy, twigs and leaves in her matted hair, her dress torn and ratty. The crowd fell silent and stepped back from her. “She will betray you all in the end.”

  All at once, Larkin went from terrified to furious. “The forest take you. I’m the same girl from two days ago!”

  “Rimoth!” Daydon called. “Come fetch your mad daughter!”

  Ignoring the lord, Maisy shambled toward Larkin. People fell over themselves to get out of her way. “Except for the magic that now runs in your veins.”

  How could Maisy know?

  “I saw you last night.” Maisy came closer. “Saw you at the woods. Saw you fend off that man with nothing more than a bit of air.”

  The crowd grumbled uneasily. A child started wailing. His mother gathered her brood and ushered them away, more mothers with little ones hurrying to follow.

  Larkin knew better than to take her eyes from Crazy Maisy, who was likely to start throwing mud or rocks. Over the last year, Larkin had borne the marks to prove it. “You’re a liar.”

  “Larkin’s soul has been taken by the forest. The changes have already begun. Soon enough, she’ll betray you all. It will be the end of us—the end of everything.”

  A few people made signs to ward off the beast. Lord Daydon shouted for someone to take Maisy away and then fell into a fit of coughing, but no one dared interfere when Crazy Maisy was making her predictions—predictions that had a tendency of coming true.

  Was Maisy right? Denan had called Larkin out of her bed the night before. She’d been powerless to resist the siren song. Her chest heaved hard for breath that wouldn’t come. Was her soul really gone? Was the piper twisting it even now?

  Maisy snatched Larkin’s hand, her fingertips grazing the swollen knot where the sliver was still lodged deep inside. “You know it’s true, don’t you, Larkin?”

  Larkin jerked back, feeling the eyes of the crowd on her. “No.” Larkin’s voice shook, betraying her. “It’s a lie.”

  “There’s a sure way to know,” came an old man’s voice. “The crucible.”

  Larkin reached out to the tree to steady herself. “No.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement. A few men started toward her.

  “Larkin isn’t going to betray anybody,” Bane called from behind her. He leaped over the rock fence and came to stand beside her. He panted for breath, and his brow shone with sweat. Where had he been?

  “You all know Larkin,” he said. “She’s one of us.”

  “And we’ve all seen how often you fawn after Harben’s daughters,” Maisy said suggestively.

  “Th-that’s—” Bane stuttered. Larkin had never heard Bane tongue-tied before.

  Crazy Maisy laughed again—a beautiful sound, even if it was tinged with madness.

  “Stop trying to cause problems, girl.” Daydon reached the front of the crowd. “Or I’ll send you to the druids in Cordova.”

  Maisy picked up a generous hunk of mud and crept closer to Larkin, who glared at her, daring her to throw it. Instead, Crazy Maisy smeared it across her own face until only her bright blue eyes stood out against the brown.

  “Maisy! That is enough.” The lord motioned to Bane, who stepped forward and gripped Maisy’s shoulders. Twisting out of his grasp, she snapped at his hands, her teeth flashing white. With a yelp, he jumped back.

  Maisy whirled to Larkin, her eyes bright with madness. “She’s been touched by the forest. She’ll betray you.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Bane said.

  “She’s touched in the head,” Nesha added, voice shaking. “You all know it.”

  “And what would a cripple know about it?” Maisy snarled, genuine hurt filling her eyes. “There are two kinds of women safe from the forest: married women and cripples.” She laughed at her own joke.

  Nesha flinched. The crowd burst into conversation, people arguing both sides.

  Instinctively, Larkin stepped between her sister and Maisy. “You forgot to mention crazies.”

  Maisy clenched her fists, mud oozing between her fingers. “They’ve touched you. You’ll betray—”

  “If the forest’s touch turns a girl into a traitor,” Larkin shouted to be heard, “what about all the other Taken? Were they traitors too?” She knew she’d touched a sensitive spot with that one. Everyone loved someone who had been Taken. Larkin glanced around the crowd. Had she managed to sway any of them?

  A few still argued to throw her in the crucible just to be safe.

  She had to discredit Maisy before she took Larkin’s whole family down. The fastest way to do that was to bring out her wild side.

  “Crazy Maisy’s mud and mites,” Larkin said in a mocking tone, the way children sang at Maisy under their breaths. “Ran from the forest in the daylight. While the other girls were stolen away, Crazy Maisy rolled in the hay.” It was a cruel song—the end referencing the way some girls slept with men in hopes the forest would spare them. As the town midwife, Mama told Larkin such things didn’t work, and if she were caught, her reputation would be ruined.

  Maisy shuddered, her countenance changing.

  Larkin felt a twinge of guilt, which she quickly shoved down.

  With a screech, Maisy lifted her fist and ran at Larkin, who took a startled step back and bumped into Nesha. Bane stepped between them, but before he could intercept Maisy, her face went slack. She dropped bonelessly into the mud.

  Sling in hand, a man rode from the shadows on an enormous horse—an ax, shield, and crossbow strapped to his saddle. His hair was wild and dark beneath his felt hat, his whiskers long and unkempt. He wore the black robe, open to the front, and tooled belt of a druid. His eyes were the pale blue of ice, his gaze even colder as it landed on Larkin.

  “Maisy!” a voice screamed from the crowd. Rimoth pushed his way forward and collapsed dramatically beside his daughter. He turned wild eyes toward the newcomer. “You will pay dearly for that.”

  The man kicked his horse closer, looking down at them from above. “It was only a knot of wood. She should live—might have a headache, though.” He contemplated Larkin. “You are the witness?”

  Larkin’s mouth was too dry to answer.

  Bane stepped in front of her. “And who are you?”

  The man reached into a pouch at his waist and took a fingerful of snuff, stuffing it into his bottom lip. “My name is Garrot of the Black Druids.”

  Larkin was trapped in Garrot’s dark gaze—the gaze of a Black Druid. Finally, Garrot released her, and she sagged, all the breath whooshing out of her. She and Nesha shared a loaded glance.

  The crowd had gone utterly silent. Rimoth clambered to his feet, bowing to the Black Druids with his arms outspread. “Deepest apologies, brethren. Had I known who you were, I never would have spoken so egregiously.”

  “Aren’t you the one who called us?” Garrot asked.

  “Yes, but . . .” Rimoth hadn’t expected them to come. To cover his embarrassment, the slimy druid bowed again, deeper this time. “I did not expect you so soon.”

  Ignoring the man, Garrot twisted in his saddle. The leather creaked as he studied the manor house on its hill. With his attention off them, some in the crowd edged toward town. He turned back to Daydon, and they froze again. “My fellow druid, Hunter, and I would sup with you, Lord. It has been a long journey.”

  Larkin noticed the man behind Garrot. With charcoal skin and broader features, Hunter was similarly equipped with ax, bow, and shield.

  Garrot surveyed Rimoth and then leaned over to spit into the mud. “Bring the girl,” he said without looking back. He kicked his horse to jump the fence, leaving deep gouges in the earth. “And this crowd will disperse!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  He didn’t need to say it. Everyone scrambled toward their homes. Daydon immediately hurried after him.

  Rimoth’s maid, Gilla, lifte
d Maisy’s matted head out of the mud, her fingers coming away brown and red. “I’ll need someone to carry her to the rectory,” the young woman said.

  “After you’ve seen to her, clean out the guest rooms,” Rimoth said, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

  “It will take hours—”

  “Then hire more girls!” Rimoth spat. “There’s a famine going on—someone will want the work. I want the rectory gleaming by the time I return.”

  Head down, Gilla nodded.

  Rimoth motioned to Horace and Horgen, pointing at Maisy. “Carry her home. And be quick about it!” Frowning, they reached for Maisy’s wrists and ankles.

  Bane leaned into Horgen and said under his breath, “Best stay until you know she isn’t going to go rabid on anyone else.”

  The men bore her down the hill, Gilla trailing after them.

  Eyes gleaming with cruel excitement, Rimoth reached for Larkin. Bane pushed him back. “You will keep your distance, Druid.”

  “Garrot told me to bring her—”

  “I’ll bring myself,” Larkin said. If she could hide somewhere they’d never find her, she’d gladly take it. Such a place did not exist.

  Larkin’s skin itched with Rimoth’s stare. Nesha took a step closer, which caught Rimoth’s eye. “You can go home to your mama.”

  “I’m staying with Larkin,” Nesha said.

  Rimoth smiled, revealing a rotten mouth. “The Black Druids have come. They will force your tiny minds to show me the honor I deserve.”

  Taking each sister by the elbow, Bane pushed past Rimoth. “I don’t fear your Black Druids.”

  “You should.” Rimoth followed, so close Larkin could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “They are an army unto themselves, trained in the arts of torture and war.”

  Larkin picked up her pace, retracing her steps from earlier. She leaned closer to Nesha and said, “Where’s Mama?”

  Nesha looked out over the river. “I don’t see any light from the house. Maybe she went to the tavern to find Papa.”

  Larkin leaned into Bane on the other side of her. “Where were you?” she asked, low enough only he could hear.

  “Papa put me on watch,” Bane said. “I came when I heard Maisy call your name. When did you wake up?”

  “An hour ago.”

  Bane reached out, his hand briefly squeezing hers. “Are you all right?”

  A thrill leaped through Larkin at the contact. “Mostly just sore. I have so much to tell you.”

  Bane glanced back at Rimoth. “Later. I need to hurry back to the house and help Venna prepare for company.” Venna was his family’s maid. “You’ll be all right?”

  “Nesha and I can handle Rimoth.”

  He took off at a jog. Shoulders hunched against the rain, Larkin and Nesha skirted the town and turned up the hill toward the manor, firelight glinting off the windows that watched her like hollow eyes. To the right of the farthest window stood the stocks, the town beggar currently locked in by wrist and neck, his clothes sticking to his drenched body.

  Pulling his reins slowly through his hands, Garrot stood beside his horse and watched her climb the hill. She stiffened under his scrutiny. Just up the hill ahead of her, the lord called for two boys to care for the men’s horses. With wide eyes and eager hands, the boys led the horses behind the manor to the barn.

  Larkin hesitated to climb the steps, wondering if she could still run. Nesha breathed hard from exertion, her face tight with pain.

  “Are you sure you want to come with me?” Larkin asked.

  “You wouldn’t leave me.” It was true.

  “It will be all right,” Larkin said. The words gave her the strength to face the house. With her sister beside her, she entered the manor and took a single step into the large dining room.

  Inside, Bane waited for them beside the long table set before a fire. Venna spent hours every day polishing the wood until it shone. Garrot threw his sopping hat onto its gleaming surface, dragged a chair over to the glowing embers, and tossed in a few precious logs. Hunter shut the door behind Larkin and Nesha, causing them both to jump, then sat beside the other druid, tugged off his muddy boots, and held his wrinkled feet toward the embers. Rimoth stood like a dark shadow beside the hearth.

  Venna came in from the kitchen. Larkin had spent enough time at Bane’s house to know Venna fairly well. She was around Larkin’s age, a quiet girl who made the softest bread Larkin had ever tasted. She had cool-brown skin and tightly curled hair, her body soft and feminine.

  She didn’t hide the worry in her expression. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  Larkin could only shake her head.

  Garrot waved in Venna’s general direction. “Woman, some hot spiced mead would be certain to restore our constitutions.”

  Glaring at their muddy boots, Venna pushed through the door back into the kitchen.

  Daydon collapsed in a chair beside Garrot and tugged a blanket around his shoulders. He sneezed three times and then groaned. “Bane, get me a bucket of hot water for my feet.”

  Bane worked his jaw, clearly unhappy at leaving them but unable to deny his shivering father. He nodded and slipped into the kitchen.

  “Are you sick, man?” Garrot asked.

  “Half the town is. It will pass.” Daydon sniffed noisily. “Where have you come from?”

  “Landra, originally. We were in Hothsfelt when the druid house received your pigeon.” Hothsfelt was even smaller than Hamel, about a day’s ride north.

  “And why have you come?” Daydon asked.

  “We heard a girl escaped the forest.” Garrot’s gaze swept over the rest of them, catching on Nesha. With her dark auburn hair, glowing skin, and luminous violet eyes, she was easy to look at. “No point in lingering by the doorway.” Garrot’s voice was rough. “Come in by the fire.”

  Larkin cut a sympathetic glance at her sister. Nesha hated this moment—when men’s admiration slipped to pity and disgust. Nothing else for it. Larkin stepped forward, Nesha limping a step behind.

  Garrot’s head came up with something like surprise, and his eyes slid to her deformed foot. “What’s your name, girl?”

  Larkin stepped up to the table to block his view of Nesha, taking hold of the back of a chair to steady herself. “I’m Larkin. Your witness.”

  Garrot studied Larkin, with her frizzy red hair, layers of freckles, and plain brown eyes. “You went into the forest?”

  His words sharpened the longing inside her. She couldn’t help but glance in the direction of the trees, though there was only darkness visible through the wavering glass. Her wet clothes leached the warmth from her body, and she shivered.

  “Rimoth,” Garrot ordered. “Take her cloak and hang it by the fire.”

  Rimoth stiffened, clearly affronted to be asked to perform such a menial task, and took a grudging step toward her. Normally, Larkin would have been thrilled at anyone putting Rimoth in his place, but not when it brought him closer to her. Making a mental note to wash her cloak tomorrow, she shucked it off and held it over the table.

  Rimoth shook out her tattered cloak and settled it on a peg by the fire, where it dripped onto the wood floor, mixing with muck from the men’s boots into muddy puddles. Venna would be furious, though she’d never say a word.

  “Larkin, is it?” Garrot had ducked down to catch her gaze. She nodded. He leaned forward, his wide belt squeaking. “Why did you go into the forest?”

  “For my baby sister.”

  His brow furrowed in confusion.

  “She got away from me, you see.”

  Nesha shifted her weight nervously. Garrot’s attention strayed to her again. Larkin angled herself between them.

  “And your little sister came out too?” he asked.

  She nodded again.

  He turned toward Hunter. “That’s two of them.”

  The other man studied her, his brows drawn. Garrot got up and turned another chair toward the fire, gesturing for Larkin to join them. Not w
anting to leave the comfort of Nesha’s closeness, Larkin hesitated before moving around the table to sit, her shoulders hunched.

  Bane returned. “Water’s heating.” He came to stand behind Larkin, arms crossed over his chest, expression sullen.

  Venna came in with mugs of steaming mead and passed them out.

  Garrot accepted his, breathing in the steam and making a sound of approval. “I’ve heard of your cooking all the way in Cordova, Venna. My companion and I have been riding since early this morning. We’re looking forward to it.”

  Venna bowed and disappeared back in the kitchen without a word.

  “Would you help her in the kitchen?” Garrot directed the question at Nesha.

  Nesha blushed beautifully. Larkin knew her sister well enough to know she was humiliated at having the men see her limp. Still, she squared her shoulders and followed Venna into the kitchen. Garrot’s eyes trailed after her, his expression considering. Without looking, he handed Larkin a cup. She took it, the warmth bleeding into her chilled fingers. Her cloak steamed on its peg.

  “Tell us everything,” Garrot said.

  Larkin wished Bane wasn’t present to hear all of this. She tipped the cup to her lips. Her stomach curdled at the smell—the same smell her father often reeked of when he came home late at night. She forced herself to take a swallow. The spiced honey mead was rich, sweet, and heady at once. She cradled the cup in her lap, staring into the dark gold liquid inside. She considered lying—it would go down easier than the truth—but they needed to know. Everyone needed to know.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “There was a beast—like a giant lizard. It attacked my sister and me, but a man saved us. After, he played a tune on his pipes and . . . The music did something to me, made me willing to follow him anywhere. It’s magic, I think.” Larkin had felt like her tether had been cut, and she was floating, helpless to the wind.

  Garrot sat back, his expression revealing nothing. “Perhaps you should start from the beginning.”

  In a low voice, she told the men what had happened straight through. She even told them about last night—about sleepwalking to the forest and waking before it was too late.