This Be The End.

It's over. Not the book. Today is the last day of giving. I loved sharing the first eleven chapters with you. I'm working on getting this book out so you can finish the story. It's finished. I completed it a while ago.

Answers are starting to appear for Praya and Dacian in this chapter. What they discover changes everything, but you won't learn what it is until I get out the book. Hang tight. It'll happen!

I'm adding a few more pics from my Pinterest like I did with the last post. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, check out my post titled 12 Days of Giving. All will be explained.  Enjoy the last sneak peek! 

From left to right- Praya by the lake, chair and fireplace where Praya reads, the Washer Woman, Praya.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Getting back to the woods takes longer than I expected. I'm not as energetic as before, drained from the run home and the emotional toll from seeing my family.

The river leads me back to the cottage. The thatched roof, golden against the trees, gives me a second boost. Almost there. Relief doesn't hit me until I'm at the door. Thank the Blessed Ones. The cottage remains as charming as it was when I left. I must be in the clear.

Out of breath and clammy with sweat, I grab the door handle. My hand shakes as I pull it open, nervous about who I might find inside. To my relief and surprise, the clean, cozy interior is empty. No Dacian.

I fall to my knees and catch my breath. "Thank you," I say to the cottage. "I will not forget this or my part of the bargain. I promise."

Behind me, the floorboards creak.

My muscles harden to stone.

"Do not turn around," Dacian orders.

I wait for the cottage to darken and return to its dingy state. It doesn’t. Does that mean Dacian has no power over it? He often refers to himself as a prisoner to the curse. I don’t understand what that means, or perhaps I didn't want to believe him.

"You left." Bitterness floods his tone. "You tricked the cottage into making a deal with you, and you left without my knowledge—without my approval—after all I've done to help you."

His anger I deserve, but the hurt I sense behind it, hits me in a strange way. "I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left. It was reckless and stupid. I wasn't thinking. I won't do it again. I promise." I bow my head more furious with myself than he could ever be. "Does your mother know?"

Silence meets my request.

"Please forgive me, Dacian. I'll do whatever I must to earn your forgiveness. Please tell me there's still a chance for me to fix this, to fix everything."

More silence.

Did he leave and I missed it? "Dacian?" I turn my head toward the door.

"Don't," he whispers from close behind me.

"I thought you left. You're being so quiet."

"I thought you didn't grovel." His tone softens.

"When I'm wrong I do."

"I prepared myself for a fight with you, certain your cajoling the cottage and deceiving me would be justified in your eyes. I never imagined you'd be … sorry."

"Are you no longer cross with me?" Can it be this easy?

His laugh is low and wry. "Don't mistake my surprise for forgiveness. You betrayed my trust and I demand to know why."

"I had to see my family. I had to let them know I'm safe and that I love them, and I needed to tell my father I'm sorry for deceiving him. You're not the only person I've betrayed. There was a boy in the village. We were supposed to … my Father arranged for us to … for him to save me."

He hisses out a breath and tension builds in the air. "You left to see a boy? Who? A suitor? You're not married or else you wouldn't be here."

"No. I told you. I left to see my family."

"Then who is this boy? Were you engaged to be married to him? Did you love him?"

"Dacian, stop," I plead. "There is no boy. I was referring to something else. I shouldn't have brought him up. He is nothing to me. He never was." And now, I'm worried I said too much. The last thing I want is to implicate Father for what he tried to do. The curse could be as strict as the Council regarding this matter. It would make sense.

"Then why are we talking about him?"

"You keep bringing him up."

He groans, and a puff of air, carrying his clove scent, brushes my back as he clomps away. "I don't know what to do with these feelings. It's like a war is going on inside me. You defy me, mock me, and instead of punishing you, I feel compelled to keep you safe."

"Punish me?" I cringe. "You have control over that?"

"No. Not exactly."

"Am I going to be punished for leaving?" Dread twists in my stomach.

Seconds tick by.

"You should be." He lets out a frustrated breath and shuffles around the room. "Your arrangement with the cottage saved you from that. It favors you for some reason. I don't understand why it does to such an extreme, but then I have you to answer that. What did you do?"

I swallow. "Why? Are you going to punish me after you know?"

"You won't be punished. The deed is done. Over with. Now tell me how you got the cottage to release you. It's never helped anyone in that way before."

"I know."

"How do you know?"

I turn my head to the side, not enough to see him, and touch the arm of the chair. "The cottage told me."

"Amus told you?" he says, incredulous.

I snap my head forward and cross my arms over my chest, my blood heating. "Don't be mad at him. He didn't volunteer anything. I asked the questions, he answered."

"Unbelievable."

I want to say believe it. It happened. Instead, I ask, "Are you going to be this grumpy all the time now?"

He moves to stand behind me again, close enough for me to feel the heat from his body. "Tell me what you did?" It's a whisper, a warning.

"I made a trade. I said I'd clean and care for the cottage in return for time to see my family. It seemed fair and worth a try." I rub an itch on my arm and hiss. Not an itch, it's a cut from the bushes and now it stings. How had I forgotten? "Can I get something to clean this?" I lift my arm to show Dacian. "I have several." Suddenly, they all burn.

He gasps and touches my wrist. "You're hurt. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I forgot." I lower my gaze and twist enough to inhale his delicious scent.

"Are your eyes closed? I need to inspect you."

I close them at once. "Yes."

He steps around me and brushes my hair behind my shoulders.

It feels intimate the way his fingers graze the skin along my neck. My breath catches and I shiver.

A soft laugh leaves him. "That's a nice reaction. What's not nice are the wounds on your collarbone and face. I'm sorry I didn't notice you were hurt."

His apology draws a small smile to my lips. "It's all right. It's my fault." I bow my head again and for some reason crack open my eyes.

Black pants and black shiny boots are clear as day, but what steals my gaze is his right arm, dangling by his side. Visible from his fingers to where his elbow meets his white rolled-up sleeve, his skin is the darkest color I've ever seen. Darker than the men in the village who work in the sun all day. The smooth, unblemished texture of his skin says he's an indoor person.

I don't know where he spends his time when he's not with me, but even if it's outdoors, the woods are too shaded for him to get the sun needed to deepen the tone in such a way. Other than that, his body seems no different from the boys in the village.

"Come. I need to tend to your wounds." He takes my hand and guides me across the room. Wood scrapes against the floors. "Sit in the chair."

With my eyes sealed shut, I do as I'm told.

"I’m going to touch the cuts. I won't hurt you, though. Try to relax." His voice comes from in front of me rather than above or behind me. It makes me think he's down on bended knee.

The impulse to open my eyes and see his face has me wishing I were blindfolded.

"Hold still." He moves my hands to my lap and sweeps a feather-soft finger across the cut on my arm. The area tingles and grows cold but not painful. The sensation fades and Dacian removes his finger from my skin. "Feel the wound," he instructs.

Hesitant, I touch my arm. The skin is smooth. Thinking I missed the spot, I feel around for the cut. Nothing. "I can't find it."

"It's gone. Healed."

"You can heal people?" I ask in awe.

"Not people, just you. It's part of my duty in caring for the chosen maiden. Now keep still and keep your eyes closed while I do the rest."

He heals the cut on my neck, my collarbone, and my cheek, his cool touch as gentle as a breath. I sink deeper into the chair, relaxed in a way I haven't been for longer than I can remember.

"All better." His voice is a close whisper.

"Thank you." My head lolls forward. I could fall asleep so easily.

"Praya?"

"Hmm?"

"You're falling."

For him? "I know."

"On me." He touches my shoulders and nudges me upright in the chair. "You were about to snuggle your head on my chest." A hint of humor sounds in his tone.

Alert now, I snap to attention. Heat rushes to my cheeks. "Sorry."

"No harm done." He moves away with a spice-scented breeze. "Have you been reading the book?"

"Book?"

"The one in the cottage. Right here on the table where it always is." Two thumps sound like he's tapping the book.

Ah, yes. That one. Perhaps, I'm not as alert as I thought. "Yes. I've been reading."

"Did you learn anything helpful?"

"Not yet. I've read a lot about the queen and her sister."

"Then you're not looking in the right places," he huffs.

  How can I look in the right places when I don't know where to look? The book is huge," I fire back. "Why are you so angry all of a sudden?"

"You have to ask?" He shuffles over to me, his presence looming like a dark shadow. A warm hand slides over my tight fist. "It seems I’m not the only one who's angry."

I draw back my hand. "I'm reacting to you. What happened to the softer version of you? The healer. I like him better."

"I have the right to be upset. You left, remember?"

"I came back."

"You were by the river, weren't you? Did you see me and my mother?"

Is that what's really bothering him? "I used the river to get to town or else I wouldn't have found my way out of the woods. I didn't mean to cross paths with you or her, and I didn't see anything. The fog was too thick. All I heard were your voices. I swear."

He lets out a heated breath. "I don't know if I can believe you."

"It’s the truth." I stand and turn away since stalking across the room isn't an option.

"I've granted you things I've never granted any other maiden, and yet you still defy me by breaking the rules or finding ways around them. Is this how you are with other people—with your family? You said you deceived them. Did you do this often?"

"No. Never. I love my family and would do anything for them." Anything but Tristin. Maybe I don't love them as much as I thought—as I should. My shoulders sag, that deep ache returning to my chest. "I hurt them in the worst way and I'll never forgive myself for it."

"What did you do that was so terrible?" 

I can't tell him. We were not only deceiving the Council but the curse as well. Who knows how Dacian will react, or the cottage. He may not even know villagers used to do it to keep their daughters safe, until the Council ruled against it. The severe punishment for the offence stopped families from any attempt decades ago.

 Father was irrational to arrange such a thing, and I was so desperate to appease him, I agreed. At least I know Tristin didn't tell on us as he promised. If he had, Father and the twins wouldn't have been at home. They'd never be home again.

"Your reluctance to tell me leaves me to believe it was awful, too awful for someone like you. Now I must know. I fear I won't sleep until I do."

 His lighter tone surprises me as much as it delights me. It's another side of him I didn't know existed—a good side—and it gives me an idea. "If you tell me why I can't look at you, I'll tell you what I did."

"Ahh," he says with an amused sigh. "So this is how you work. A secret for a secret. How enticing. No wonder the cottage didn't refuse you. I'll agree to your trade if you agree to go first."

My bottom lip drops. "Absolutely not. If I go first, what assurance do I have that you'll keep your word? You could change your mind and tell me nothing."

"True. I could, but if you trust me, you'll know I won't." He comes up behind me, warming my back. His breath touches my ear. "Can you trust me?"

Tingles run through me and my lips part. Is he teasing me like this on purpose? Should I care? Before him, no boy had this effect on me. I was beginning to think it wasn't possible, that I'm broken. To know I'm not, is as wonderful as it is hopeless. How like me to be tempted by the boy who could be my demise, even if not by his choice.

He wants me to trust him. He thinks I don't. Maybe, he's right. I inhale a breath of courage and choose my words carefully. "I allowed my family to believe I mated with a boy in the village, so they wouldn't worry about losing me to the curse."

Silence. He stays behind me but must straighten away because his heat on my back lessons.

Knots twist and tie in my stomach. Confessing was a mistake.

"How did you lead them to believe this?" Tension rings his voice.

"Does it matter how?" I keep my tone cool. "I didn't do anything, or I wouldn't be here."

"It was a lie?"

"In a way. Yes."

"And the boy? Does he exist?"

I turn my head to the side, resisting the urge to glance at him. "Are you jealous?" It would be a first for me.

"I … I want you to answer the question and turn your head forward."

A small laugh escapes me, but I do as I'm told. "The boy is no one, a random name from the village."

"That's good," he murmurs as if to himself.

 "Now you go."

"Very well," he says with ease. "I am forbidden to allow others to look at me."

"Why are you forbidden?"

He doesn't respond.

"A deal is a deal, Dacian. I told you my secret now you have to tell me yours."

He touches my hair and slides his fingers to the end. "Not yet." Sorrow fills each word.

I want to be understanding, but I want my answer, too. "You promised."

"I didn’t promise, but I will promise you this. If you find what we need in the book and there's a way for us to end the curse, I will let you look at me."

I'm about to take my chances and blindly stomp away when his words sink in. "You'll let me look at you because it's within your control? If you decide I can see you, then I can?"

"Yes."

My thoughts spin with this knowledge. He's in control. He decides; therefore, he would be the one to punish me. I trust him enough to know he wouldn't hurt me. Knowing I could break the rule and only have him to deal with is beyond tempting. I could accidentally glimpse him. Once it's done, it's done. You can't take that back. I'll know what he looks like, but how will I react? If his face startles me in a way I’m not prepared for, I could respond in a way that hurts his feelings. I don't want that.

Something nudges my arm.

"You should read," Dacian says.

I take the cool, hard object that can only be the book. "Can you guide me to the chair by the fireplace?" It's much comfier than the wooden chair at the table.

I feel him bend to my ear. "I'll do you one better and leave so you can roam freely."

As much as I hate keeping my eyes closed when he's here, I'm not ready for him to leave. "Don’t go." It's out before I can stop it.

"You want me to stay?"

"Yes." Without opening my eyes, I turn around. "Please." Even though I can't see, I can feel his gaze on my face.

"Very well." There's no enthusiasm to his tone. He guides me to the chair.

I lower onto the plush cushion and rest the book on my lap. "If I bore you too much you don't have to stay." Hurts builds inside me like a dark storm. This is what comes with sharing feelings. "I only offered because I thought I could scan the book and tell you what I see in case anything stands out. But if you have something more important to do, don't let me keep you."

I raise my guard, shielding my emotions from further hurt. Being Stone Beauty is safer than being open. Nothing good can come from caring for Dacian. There is no future for us. There may be no future for me at all if I don't find a way to break the curse.

That needs to be my focus, not my feelings or what Dacian's face looks like. I don't even want to see it anymore. The desire is gone, completely faded.

"Tell yourself what you want," he says as if he knows my thoughts. "Do your best to shut yourself off and act like you don't care, but I know you do."

He strolls around the room as if tempting me to look at him. I don't look up, even though I’m aware of his every move. Instead, I open the book and follow my finger, using it to scan the words on the page for anything out of the ordinary.

"This is new between us," he comments.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." 

"There's tension between us," he explains. "I've never experienced it before. I like it, but I also don't like it, if that makes sense."

"It makes perfect sense."  

"How so?"

The sweet vulnerability in his tone reminds me of his innocence. Not that I'm experienced in any way, but I've seen how boys and girls act when they're interested in each other but aren't courting yet. "It's what people do when they like each other. They bicker. It's normal."

"But I've liked other maidens, and I never bickered with them."

My finger halts on the page. He liked other maidens? Jealousy burns in my chest. Uncertain if I want the answer to this, I force myself to ask, "Did you like any of them the way you like me?"

He draws in a loud breath the way I've learned he does when he's thinking.

With each second, I fear the worst. Is he making a list? How many were there?

Finally, he says, "Not at all, not even close."

I sigh with relief, and then laugh at myself for being so worried.

"You are pleased with my answer," he states, pride clear in his voice.

I shake my head and flip through a few pages. A picture catches my eye. I flip back to the page and gasp. "I don't believe it."

"What?" Dacian moves closer.

"It's my mother's brooch." My brooch. Why?

Only Two Days Left of Giving.

It went by faster than I thought it would. If you're new to the blog, I did 12 Days of Giving of one of my novels. FATED TO DIE. It's a ya dark retelling. The premise can be found on my novels page. If you're interested in reading the ten chapters that I have posted so far, start at the first one titled, 12 Days of Giving. I'm adding some pictures from my Pinterest that relate to this chapter. Enjoy!

Pictures from left to right - The river, the woods, the bridge leading to town, the manor (Praya's home), Praya.

 

                                               

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

The trees blur as I sprint through the woods. A few times, I slip on the marshy ground. The river trails to my left, never far from sight. I could move toward dryer terrain but I'm afraid of getting lost. Then I'll never find my way back—or out of the woods.

This might be my only chance to see my family. Even though, the cottage let me leave, it doesn't mean Dacian will be happy. My guess is he'll be angry that I didn't tell him before I left. I would have, but, according to the plant, he was detained until later. If I had been able to tell him, he might have stopped me from going, and then I'd be angry with him.

Guilt slides through me over my actions and how he'll react—if he notices I’m gone. Hopefully, he won't. Hopefully, everything will be fine when I return.

Ahead, the white village appears through the trees. Although, my leg muscles and throat burn from exertion, I don't slow. If I do, I might stop and pass out, or worse, let fear send me back to the cottage.

The village bridge comes into view. Thick brush grows between the trees as if the woods wants to keep me from escaping too. Never slowing, I raise my arms in front of my face and plow through them. Thorny branches scratch my arms and hands. One nicks my cheek, another scrapes my neck and collarbone. My dress snags and tears at the hip.

I break out on the other side, ignoring the sting of my wounds and keep running. Instead of crossing the bridge, I tread under it to keep from being seen. Not that anyone is out in town this week. The only time people leave their homes is before dusk when they meet in the castle chapel to pray to the Blessed Ones. They ask for mercy and compassion, but no one dares to ask for the curse to be broken.

As the head Councilman, Mr. Winthrop opens and closes the service. He warns villagers not to become greedy, reminding us that greed is what landed us cursed in the first place. People worship him as if he were royalty. I suppose he's the closest thing we have, given his family has lead the Council since the day it was established.

Stepping stones aide my way across the river to the bank on the other side. Grass slopes down from the wall surrounding the village. I follow it the entrance of town, where another bridge leads to the manor.

Sweat coats my skin and burns the cuts on my body. Blood oozes from a few on my arms and hands. The wounds and my disheveled appearance won't help assure my family I'm doing well, surviving. Nothing I can do to chance it now.

My muscles scream for me to stop. My lungs feel like they've stopped working. Against my will, my legs slow to a fast walk. More than anything I want to lie down and sleep, after I guzzle a bucket of water. That can't happen though, not until after I see my family.

I come up from under the bridge that leads to our property and glimpse the white manor atop the hill in the distance. Home. Excitement gives me a second boost. I stride across the field, tall grass blowing under the sun, and start up the long driveway to the manor.

Magnolia trees line the way. At the top of the hill, I take a moment to catch my breath. I made it. I'm home. It seems unreal. Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back. They'll be plenty of time for crying later.

Colorful flowers brighten the gardens and perfume the air. The tops of blooming Crepe Myrtles sway in the breeze. Neighing sound from the barn at the bottom of the small hill. Does Daisy sense I'm back? I want to see her too, but I know there isn't time.

I listen for the giggles of the girls, frolicking somewhere on the property. This time of day they love to play outside. The manor is quiet. Too quiet.

My heart rate shoots back up, not that it had fully calmed. It had never fully calmed from racing to get here. I pinch the fabric of my dress, lifting it above my ankles, and race up the steps to the front entrance.

The big doors open with ease.

The foyer and winding staircase seem darker. The air is stuffy like the house has been closed up for the winter. Where is everyone?

"Father?" I call out, short of breath and cough.

No response.

"Girls? Girls! Where are you?" I take the stairs two at a time, my knees weak like they might give out.

No one replies.

On the way to their room, I pass Father's open bedroom door. He sits in the chair by the fireplace, his head hanging forward as if he's asleep.

"Father?" I inch toward him as a new fear takes hold of me. What if he's dead? "Father?" It comes out as a bark.

His head shoots up, but he doesn't look at me. His gaze lingers on dried-out wood in the fireplace. Deep lines carve a permanent frown on his weary face.

"Oh, Father." I drop down beside him and place my hands on his knee. What have I done to him? "Forgive me. Please forgive me."

Puffy blue eyes, streaked with red veins turn to me. "Praya?"

"I'm so sorry, Father," I cry, plead. "I don't know if you can forgive me, but I want you to know how sorry I am. I never meant to lie to you. I couldn't go through with it. Tristin was awful and I-I couldn't do it. I should have told you. I thought I would be safe. I never thought I'd be chosen." I rest my head on his knee and sniffle, tears flowing from my eyes. 

He doesn't touch me or move at all. "Is it really you?"

"Yes." I lift my head and squeeze his hand on his lap. "It's really me, but I don't have long." I glance at the clock again. Less than an hour. Oh no. I still need to see the girls.

He cups my cheek and wipes away tears with his thumb. "I thought I lost you forever."

Not yet, I want to say. Instead, I sniffle and cry a little more. "I'm still here, and if I can find a way to earn my freedom, I will." If I haven't lost it already. "Just know I love you and I'm fine."

His eyes seem to focus on me now, as if he’s just seeing me clearly. "You're hurt." He lifts his palm to the scratch on my cheek.

I take his hand in mine and kiss the top. "I'm fine. I promise. But I can't stay. I wish I could, but I can't."

"You can't leave." He clutches our joined hands and pulls me close. "I need you. The twins need you. We can't lose you, too."

Guilt, shame, and an achingly deep sorrow burrow in my heart. "I know. If I can make this right, I will. Trust that I will." I nod and swallow the lump of doubt in my throat. Am I spouting more lies? Aren't I already doomed? No. I can't think like that. "I have to go, Father." Slowly, I stand. "Be strong for me and for the girls. They need you, too."

He squeezes my hands, unwilling to let them go.

I kiss his forehead. "I love you. Don't ever forget that."

Pulling away from him takes all my strength. Once I'm free, I sprint from the room before he can protest or try to stop me. There's no time for long goodbyes. It won't change anything anyway.

Ignoring the pain in my heart, I race through the house in search of my sisters. Their room is empty. Seeing the rose patterned wallpaper and twin beds, their ribbon and bows, and their dolls tucked in their cradle—the cradle mother and I had been rocking them in the night she died—almost sends me to the floor.

What if I never see this again?

Forcing myself away, I check every room downstairs, mindful of the kitchen and laundry room in case the kitchen maid is working.

No one is here. With my time almost up, I check the back terrace. The twin's little voices catch my attention. I follow them to the garden on the side of the house.

Ivy covers every inch of the stone wall enclosing Mother's favorite retreat. The iron gate squeaks when I open it, but the twins don't notice. They stand by the fountain, arguing. Water speckles their apricot dresses like they've been splashing each other. Their golden hair hangs in messy curls down their backs and the sashes around their waists are tied in knots instead of bows.  Father's right. They need me, or else they risk sharing my same fate one day.

"Girls?" I step forward, warmth and love colliding with the hurt and guilt flooding my veins.

They freeze, and their already pale faces turn as white as the stone on the fountain. A moment later, they're rushing toward me, embracing me.

"You're free." Calyssa hugs me tighter.

"I knew you'd come back," Carys says, her face buried in my side. "I knew it."

I bend lower, enveloping them in my arms, wishing I could tell them everything is better and that I'm back for good. They smell of Plumeria and honey suckle, the best scents in the world. I drop a kiss on the top of their heads and force myself to straighten, or else I may never let them go.

The next words out of my mouth might be the hardest I ever say. "I am not free, and I don't have long, but I had to see you. I'm so sorry for what has happened. I’m sorry I didn't get to say goodbye before the ceremony, and for so many other things. If I could make it all better, I would—I will. For now, I need you to be strong for me. Help Father and help each other. Remember your manners and how to tie proper bows." I tease and tug at the sashes around their waists, while trying not to cry. "Be good and say your prayers at night before you go to bed. I'll be doing the same and thinking of you." I kiss their cheeks and fight the urge to hold them forever. "I love you."

"You're leaving again?" Heartbreak shows in Carys's green eyes.

"I don't want to."

"Then stay," she pleads, slicing a hole in my chest.

"I can't." My chin trembles. I’m barely keeping it together.

"Why?" She frowns and Calyssa takes her hand. Always the strong one, Calyssa lifts her chin, emotions darkening her teal eyes. "Why do you keep leaving? Where do you go? Father won't tell us. No one will." She stomps but her breath hitches, giving away her hurt. 

My sweet girl, defiant in ways that make me proud as well as fearful of her future. More than ever I want to break the curse, so she never has to know why I left, and why I'm leaving again. If I make it back to the cottage without being discovered, I will do whatever I must to free the village from this horror so my sisters can live whatever life they choose.

"It's better you don't learn about where I go," I say in the gentlest tone. "You have to trust me to know what's best and know I’m doing all I can to make it home to you."

Realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. I'm not making it better. I'm doing the opposite. Seeing them was selfish. If I truly cared, I would have stayed, followed the rules, and worked with Dacian to break the curse. Instead, I ran away to see my family at the risk of losing them forever and my chance to make a difference. The cottage said I could go, only now I'm not so sure it was the right choice.

"I'm sorry, girls. I must go. Remember how much I love you and how much I'll be thinking of you. Take care of Father for me, and Daisy. She needs you too." I squat to their level. "Can you do that? Please?"

Calyssa must sense my urgency because she doesn’t push back. She nods and Carys does the same. "We'll be good," Carys says.

I can't stop a tear from falling down my cheek. Quickly, I wipe it away. "You are good, so good." One last time, I wrap my arms around their little bodies and breathe in their sweet scents. "My girls. My beautiful strong girls. I love you with all my heart."

Straightening, I fight my sniffles and manage a warm smile. They don't know this could be the last time they see me. They don't know what might await them if I lose the chance to break the curse.

My legs feel weighted as I back away, my chest heavy with grief. Every part of me wants to stay and play in the gardens, tuck them into bed, and wake up with them tomorrow as if nothing has changed.  

I blow them a kiss and run for the woods, the cottage, and the consequences that might await.

"Hear me, Blessed Ones," I pray, "forgive me for my defiance and save me from having ruined my chance to break the curse. If you do, I vow to find a way to free the village forever, no matter what happens to me."

Only two days left of giving. It went by faster than I thought it would. If you're new to the blog, I did 12 Days of Giving of one of my novels. FATED TO DIE. It's a ya dark retelling. The premise can be found on my novels page. If you're interested in reading the ten chapters that I have posted so far, start at the first one titled, 12 Days of Giving. I'm adding some pictures from my Pinterest that relate to this chapter. Enjoy!

Pictures from left to right - The river, the woods, the bridge leading to town, the manor (Praya's home), Praya.

SLXLM

 

                                               

MXLLS

 

SLXLM

 

MXLLS

 

SLXLM

 

CHAPTER TEN

The trees blur as I sprint through the woods. A few times, I slip on the marshy ground. The river trails to my left, never far from sight. I could move toward dryer terrain but I'm afraid of getting lost. Then I'll never find my way back—or out of the woods.

This might be my only chance to see my family. Even though, the cottage let me leave, it doesn't mean Dacian will be happy. My guess is he'll be angry that I didn't tell him before I left. I would have, but, according to the plant, he was detained until later. If I had been able to tell him, he might have stopped me from going, and then I'd be angry with him.

Guilt slides through me over my actions and how he'll react—if he notices I’m gone. Hopefully, he won't. Hopefully, everything will be fine when I return.

Ahead, the white village appears through the trees. Although, my leg muscles and throat burn from exertion, I don't slow. If I do, I might stop and pass out, or worse, let fear send me back to the cottage.

The village bridge comes into view. Thick brush grows between the trees as if the woods wants to keep me from escaping too. Never slowing, I raise my arms in front of my face and plow through them. Thorny branches scratch my arms and hands. One nicks my cheek, another scrapes my neck and collarbone. My dress snags and tears at the hip.

I break out on the other side, ignoring the sting of my wounds and keep running. Instead of crossing the bridge, I tread under it to keep from being seen. Not that anyone is out in town this week. The only time people leave their homes is before dusk when they meet in the castle chapel to pray to the Blessed Ones. They ask for mercy and compassion, but no one dares to ask for the curse to be broken.

As the head Councilman, Mr. Winthrop opens and closes the service. He warns villagers not to become greedy, reminding us that greed is what landed us cursed in the first place. People worship him as if he were royalty. I suppose he's the closest thing we have, given his family has lead the Council since the day it was established.

Stepping stones aide my way across the river to the bank on the other side. Grass slopes down from the wall surrounding the village. I follow it the entrance of town, where another bridge leads to the manor.

Sweat coats my skin and burns the cuts on my body. Blood oozes from a few on my arms and hands. The wounds and my disheveled appearance won't help assure my family I'm doing well, surviving. Nothing I can do to chance it now.

My muscles scream for me to stop. My lungs feel like they've stopped working. Against my will, my legs slow to a fast walk. More than anything I want to lie down and sleep, after I guzzle a bucket of water. That can't happen though, not until after I see my family.

I come up from under the bridge that leads to our property and glimpse the white manor atop the hill in the distance. Home. Excitement gives me a second boost. I stride across the field, tall grass blowing under the sun, and start up the long driveway to the manor.

Magnolia trees line the way. At the top of the hill, I take a moment to catch my breath. I made it. I'm home. It seems unreal. Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back. They'll be plenty of time for crying later.

Colorful flowers brighten the gardens and perfume the air. The tops of blooming Crepe Myrtles sway in the breeze. Neighing sound from the barn at the bottom of the small hill. Does Daisy sense I'm back? I want to see her too, but I know there isn't time.

I listen for the giggles of the girls, frolicking somewhere on the property. This time of day they love to play outside. The manor is quiet. Too quiet.

My heart rate shoots back up, not that it had fully calmed. It had never fully calmed from racing to get here. I pinch the fabric of my dress, lifting it above my ankles, and race up the steps to the front entrance.

The big doors open with ease.

The foyer and winding staircase seem darker. The air is stuffy like the house has been closed up for the winter. Where is everyone?

"Father?" I call out, short of breath and cough.

No response.

"Girls? Girls! Where are you?" I take the stairs two at a time, my knees weak like they might give out.

No one replies.

On the way to their room, I pass Father's open bedroom door. He sits in the chair by the fireplace, his head hanging forward as if he's asleep.

"Father?" I inch toward him as a new fear takes hold of me. What if he's dead? "Father?" It comes out as a bark.

His head shoots up, but he doesn't look at me. His gaze lingers on dried-out wood in the fireplace. Deep lines carve a permanent frown on his weary face.

"Oh, Father." I drop down beside him and place my hands on his knee. What have I done to him? "Forgive me. Please forgive me."

Puffy blue eyes, streaked with red veins turn to me. "Praya?"

"I'm so sorry, Father," I cry, plead. "I don't know if you can forgive me, but I want you to know how sorry I am. I never meant to lie to you. I couldn't go through with it. Tristin was awful and I-I couldn't do it. I should have told you. I thought I would be safe. I never thought I'd be chosen." I rest my head on his knee and sniffle, tears flowing from my eyes. 

He doesn't touch me or move at all. "Is it really you?"

"Yes." I lift my head and squeeze his hand on his lap. "It's really me, but I don't have long." I glance at the clock again. Less than an hour. Oh no. I still need to see the girls.

He cups my cheek and wipes away tears with his thumb. "I thought I lost you forever."

Not yet, I want to say. Instead, I sniffle and cry a little more. "I'm still here, and if I can find a way to earn my freedom, I will." If I haven't lost it already. "Just know I love you and I'm fine."

His eyes seem to focus on me now, as if he’s just seeing me clearly. "You're hurt." He lifts his palm to the scratch on my cheek.

I take his hand in mine and kiss the top. "I'm fine. I promise. But I can't stay. I wish I could, but I can't."

"You can't leave." He clutches our joined hands and pulls me close. "I need you. The twins need you. We can't lose you, too."

Guilt, shame, and an achingly deep sorrow burrow in my heart. "I know. If I can make this right, I will. Trust that I will." I nod and swallow the lump of doubt in my throat. Am I spouting more lies? Aren't I already doomed? No. I can't think like that. "I have to go, Father." Slowly, I stand. "Be strong for me and for the girls. They need you, too."

He squeezes my hands, unwilling to let them go.

I kiss his forehead. "I love you. Don't ever forget that."

Pulling away from him takes all my strength. Once I'm free, I sprint from the room before he can protest or try to stop me. There's no time for long goodbyes. It won't change anything anyway.

Ignoring the pain in my heart, I race through the house in search of my sisters. Their room is empty. Seeing the rose patterned wallpaper and twin beds, their ribbon and bows, and their dolls tucked in their cradle—the cradle mother and I had been rocking them in the night she died—almost sends me to the floor.

What if I never see this again?

Forcing myself away, I check every room downstairs, mindful of the kitchen and laundry room in case the kitchen maid is working.

No one is here. With my time almost up, I check the back terrace. The twin's little voices catch my attention. I follow them to the garden on the side of the house.

Ivy covers every inch of the stone wall enclosing Mother's favorite retreat. The iron gate squeaks when I open it, but the twins don't notice. They stand by the fountain, arguing. Water speckles their apricot dresses like they've been splashing each other. Their golden hair hangs in messy curls down their backs and the sashes around their waists are tied in knots instead of bows.  Father's right. They need me, or else they risk sharing my same fate one day.

"Girls?" I step forward, warmth and love colliding with the hurt and guilt flooding my veins.

They freeze, and their already pale faces turn as white as the stone on the fountain. A moment later, they're rushing toward me, embracing me.

"You're free." Calyssa hugs me tighter.

"I knew you'd come back," Carys says, her face buried in my side. "I knew it."

I bend lower, enveloping them in my arms, wishing I could tell them everything is better and that I'm back for good. They smell of Plumeria and honey suckle, the best scents in the world. I drop a kiss on the top of their heads and force myself to straighten, or else I may never let them go.

The next words out of my mouth might be the hardest I ever say. "I am not free, and I don't have long, but I had to see you. I'm so sorry for what has happened. I’m sorry I didn't get to say goodbye before the ceremony, and for so many other things. If I could make it all better, I would—I will. For now, I need you to be strong for me. Help Father and help each other. Remember your manners and how to tie proper bows." I tease and tug at the sashes around their waists, while trying not to cry. "Be good and say your prayers at night before you go to bed. I'll be doing the same and thinking of you." I kiss their cheeks and fight the urge to hold them forever. "I love you."

"You're leaving again?" Heartbreak shows in Carys's green eyes.

"I don't want to."

"Then stay," she pleads, slicing a hole in my chest.

"I can't." My chin trembles. I’m barely keeping it together.

"Why?" She frowns and Calyssa takes her hand. Always the strong one, Calyssa lifts her chin, emotions darkening her teal eyes. "Why do you keep leaving? Where do you go? Father won't tell us. No one will." She stomps but her breath hitches, giving away her hurt. 

My sweet girl, defiant in ways that make me proud as well as fearful of her future. More than ever I want to break the curse, so she never has to know why I left, and why I'm leaving again. If I make it back to the cottage without being discovered, I will do whatever I must to free the village from this horror so my sisters can live whatever life they choose.

"It's better you don't learn about where I go," I say in the gentlest tone. "You have to trust me to know what's best and know I’m doing all I can to make it home to you."

Realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. I'm not making it better. I'm doing the opposite. Seeing them was selfish. If I truly cared, I would have stayed, followed the rules, and worked with Dacian to break the curse. Instead, I ran away to see my family at the risk of losing them forever and my chance to make a difference. The cottage said I could go, only now I'm not so sure it was the right choice.

"I'm sorry, girls. I must go. Remember how much I love you and how much I'll be thinking of you. Take care of Father for me, and Daisy. She needs you too." I squat to their level. "Can you do that? Please?"

Calyssa must sense my urgency because she doesn’t push back. She nods and Carys does the same. "We'll be good," Carys says.

I can't stop a tear from falling down my cheek. Quickly, I wipe it away. "You are good, so good." One last time, I wrap my arms around their little bodies and breathe in their sweet scents. "My girls. My beautiful strong girls. I love you with all my heart."

Straightening, I fight my sniffles and manage a warm smile. They don't know this could be the last time they see me. They don't know what might await them if I lose the chance to break the curse.

My legs feel weighted as I back away, my chest heavy with grief. Every part of me wants to stay and play in the gardens, tuck them into bed, and wake up with them tomorrow as if nothing has changed.  

I blow them a kiss and run for the woods, the cottage, and the consequences that might await.

"Hear me, Blessed Ones," I pray, "forgive me for my defiance and save me from having ruined my chance to break the curse. If you do, I vow to find a way to free the village forever, no matter what happens to me."

The Fate of Chapter Nine

It's time for chapter nine. You'll get the whole one in this post. The chapter isn't long like the previous two-part post. 

I don't know about you, but I'm enjoying this. Who'd have thought posting chapters to one of my ms's would inspire me to do more writing. It might be the new year, or sharing this fun read with you but creative juices are flowing. 

This chapter is filled with action and, of course, strong emotions. This novel is filled with both, which is uncommon for me. LOL  I'm learning.

Anywho, enjoy the new chapter! 

CHAPTER NINE

Cold fear slices through me like a blade made of ice. I dig my heels into the gravel. The door is mere steps away, but I can't stop. No matter what I do or say, the shirt tugs me forward, closer to its victim.  

"No! Not here! Not this house!" The words rip from my throat, raw with panic and desperation. "Dacian?" I call out, searching for him in the darkness. He's not with me.

Light shines in the upstairs window of the manor. In his night robe, Father peers out, his face ashen, his wrinkles deeper than I remember. He's straining to see me, but it's too dark.

"Don't come out!" I shout to him, trembling and straining against the pull. "Stay inside. Don't open the door!" This can't be happening. Not again. He's suffered enough. Why more? Why now?

Rage engulfs me. I let out a warrior scream and throw my body backward. I'll run off a cliff if I have to, but I won't deliver this. The shirt doesn't surrender, not even an inch. Tears blur my vision and stream down my cheeks. To the night, the curse and the Washer Woman, I beg, "Take me! Take me instead!"

I shoot upright in the chair. My throat burns, and sweat coats my face. I'm in the cottage, not back at home with Father’s blood-stained shirt.

My heart races. I put my hand to my chest and urge myself to calm down.

"It was only a dream. Only a dream," I murmur until the panic and fear leave me.

When I open my eyes, the cottage is different.

It's not grimy or pristine, it's somewhere in between. Light oak panels make up the walls and floors. The furniture is sturdy yet slightly worn, like the furnishings at home in the manor. Soft light filters through the windows and warm oats sweeten the air. Breakfast is waiting for me on the table.

"Thank you," I tell the cottage, my voice still weak from my cries.

I stand and flatten my hand over my rolling stomach, still sick with worry. The last thing I am is hungry, but I don't want to offend the cottage by not eating.

At the table, I sit and nibble on blueberry and cream oats. I drink some orange juice, too. Neither eases the tension inside me. Nothing will make me feel better, except for seeing my family.

"All I want is to know they're all right." A tear slips down my cheek, then another. I don't wipe them away. One falls to the floor, darkening a small part of the white wood.

White?

The cottage is back to its cozy, clean self. Does it feel sorry for me? Does it know my pain?

Standing, I address the cottage. "Would you be so kind as to summon Dacian for me, please? I need to speak with him."

If I beg, he might take pity on me and help me get a letter to my family. I can't go on without communicating with them somehow.

"Please." My voice breaks.  

Nothing happens.

Instead of getting upset, I drag myself over to the chair and sit. My body feels heavy, weighted by emotions I’m not used to experiencing. Tucking them away is my specialty. Taking control and forging on, no matter the obstacles.

That's why I refuse to believe this is it for me or for my family. Determination fueling me, I pound a fist on the chair. There must be something I can do to change things in my favor. Something other than reading that book.

I glance at it on the table. It's too thick. If I had a month, I might be able to do it, but seven days is hardly enough time.

"Please help me." I look up to the Blessed Ones. "Help me to find a way."

Movement by the door snatches my gaze. A fat leaf falls to the floor.

Is the plant ill?

It appears to be healthy. The leaves hang in a relaxed manner. The coloring seems as vibrant as ever. Even the leaf on the floor is green. Gold writing glistens from it.

I snatch it up and read. Dacian will not be visiting until this afternoon.

"You can communicate," I gasp, even as my shoulders slump. Now I’ll have less time to convince Dacian to reach out to my family.

Another idea arises.  If my intuition is correct, the cottage and plant, maybe even the Blessed Ones, have taken pity on me. If I play my cards right, I might be able to use it to my advantage.

I draw in a deep breath. Please don't let this backfire on me.

"Might I offer you a trade? I'm worried about my family," I say, careful of my words. "I have younger sisters, twins who are lost without me. If I could be granted permission to let them know I’m all right, that I miss and love them, I would gladly clean and care for you in return for your kindness."

Moments pass in silence. When nothing happens, I gather the bowl and cup into a neat pile and use the napkin to wipe the table.

"You see? I'm quite good at tidying up. I have much practice caring for the home where I've lived for several years now."

Please work.

Next, I take the cloth napkin to the mantle above the fireplace and wipe it clean, though there isn't anything to clean off. Then, I fluff the cushions on the chair. I'm about to wipe down the small table when another leaf falls to the floor.

I squeeze my eyes closed with a silent prayer—please let it be good news—and bend to pick up the leaf. Gold words glint from one side.

You have been granted two hours. Do not be late.

I can leave? I can't believe it. I don't know what I was expecting but this—wait. What if it's a trap, like the bird.

The door isn't opening like the window did. And this came from the plant inside the cottage. Dacian said the cottage will protect me. Does that mean I can trust it to leave?

I don't want to upset the plant, afraid he'll take his offer away, but I need to be safe. "I hate to ask but is this a trap?"

The top leaf shifts to the side. A shake of the head?

"And I won't be punished?"

The leaf moves to the other side.

Still, nervous, I press in the gentlest way. "How is this allowed? Is it something other maidens have been granted or just me?"

A moment passes then another leaf falls to the floor. I pick it up and read the gold script.

No other maiden asked. Ask the right questions, get the right answers.

Dacian said a similar phrase to me. He also said the other maidens spent their time crying and begging to be set free. Perhaps, they never asked if they could leave and come back, or perhaps, my kind gesture of cleaning and trading favors made the difference.

Another leaf falls.

Go now.

My pulse jumps. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you so much." I put the leaves in my pocket and open the door.

Fear seizes me and I struggle to move. When my feet touched the ground outside the window, it turned black and tried to suck me under. Heart pounding, I glance at the plant. Its green leaves fall in a relaxed position. Does that mean it's safe? I hate that I don't know. I hate that I'm scared. This could be my one chance to see my family and I'm wasting time.

A nervous squeal bursts from my lips. The plant does nothing to assure me. I grip the door frame and ease one slippered foot onto the mossy ground outside. It remains solid under my weight. With my hands still clutching the door frame, in case I need to pull myself back in, I step down with my other foot and wait. No bird chirps. The woods don't darken, and the ground doesn't disappear.

 Two urges strike me, leaving me torn. Jump back into the cottage, or take off through the woods. Mother used to say, "If you think for too long, you often think wrong."

My legs and arms shake with my nerves. The plant hasn't moved, as if it’s sleeping. Shoving my fear to my toes, I let go of the door frame and run.

In my haste, I slip a few times on the marshy ground and bang my shin when I jump over a fallen tree. Panic keeps me going until I realize I don't know the way out of the woods. I've never spent time on this side of the forest. By my house, the woods get darker and thicker the deeper I go, and thinner where the trees meet open land.

Here, I don't see a change. Everything is thick and dark. I need to stop and check my surroundings. No matter how afraid I am to slow down, if I don't, I'll never find my way out.

My heart hammers and my faster breathing dries my throat. I'm not sure how far I ran, only that I can't find the cottage. To keep moving, I walk around trees, surveying the area. Nothing looks familiar. Panic builds inside me. How do I get anywhere from here? I'm lost. Lost.

My eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall. I did this to myself. My breath hitches and a familiar scent fills my nose. The river. I can smell it in the air. I must be close.

If I can find it, I can follow the direction of the current. It will lead me to the village.

Relief transforms my fear into determination. Following the scent, I round trees and hop over roots jutting from the ground. The air grows moist and rushing water sounds ahead. 

A long row of hedges blocks my view, but I’m certain the river is on the other side. With no end in sight of the fortress-like shrubs, I choose to cut through them. Most likely, I'll get scraped up, but it will save on time.  

At the hedges, I search the leaves for a thinning area. Mumbled voices sound from the other side. For a moment, I think it's villagers, even though they never venture into the woods during the week of the Summer Solstice. I think they're here to save me, no matter how preposterous the idea. Then the air turns cold and dread seeps into my bones, alerting me to who is talking.

"You should be more cautious about visiting, child," the Washer Woman says, her voice dripping with such sorrow and pain, I physically ache.

Warnings fire inside me, screaming for me to leave before she catches me or lightning strikes the rocks, but my legs are frozen, my feet anchored in what feels like blocks of ice.

Like a lasso around my neck, my head jerks toward a small break in the hedges. Fog rises from the river like plumes of smoke, masking two figures. Their dark silhouettes appear to be standing on the surface of the water. Both are tall and human in shape. Who is this other person?

"You know why I come." Dacian's voice rings clear.

Panic and terror blasts through me, melting the chill from my skin, and still, I can't force my legs to move. What if they hear me? What will they do?

"Praya," Dacian says.

My heart lodges in my throat. They know!

"She's not like the others," he adds, and I can breathe again. "She's smarter, braver, and irrational in a way that works to her advantage. We talk. She asks questions. She pushes the limits and it’s changing things. It's making me stronger. I can influence my powers in ways I couldn’t before." 

"This is not for my ears, Dacian. You know better." Anger grates in his mother's voice. The fog darkens to a stormy gray. "I cannot stop the consequences if we're caught."

Caught? By who?

"Then help me," Dacian implores. "Tell me the right answers to seek. She could be the—"

 "Silence," she bellows. Lightning strikes in the fog, bright and blinding.

The hair on my arms stand. I shiver and cover my ears to lesson the loud boom that often follows a bolt like that. It never comes.

From the hedge, a black snake slithers around my feet. It's orange tongue flickers from its mouth with a hissing sound. The tail brushes over the toe of my slipper. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from shrieking. It circles back into the bush, leaving me in tremors—part from the snake and part from the situation.

I need to run away. I want to, but they might hear me.

Footsteps trudge over debris, drawing closer. I squat low to the ground and hold my breath. The snake could be beside me in the bush, waiting to strike. The Washer Woman could enslave me for a year after my service for breaking the rules. This could be it for me. The end.

"What is it, my dear?" the Washer Woman asks, the endearment sounding off in her glum voice.

The footsteps stop on the other side of the hedge. "It's a snake," Dacian replies so close that if I stuck my hand through the shrub, I bet I could touch his leg. "A big black one. We're fine."

"We are never fine." His mother declares. "Stand back so I can kill it."

Dacian's shoes scuffle away.

I need to go. Now. Rising, I lift the hem of my dress and run.

Light flashes through the woods. Thunder clashes and a whoosh of air sends me stumbling forward. I fall and throw out my hands to catch myself. My arm and cheek scrape against a twig sticking up from the ground.

Water gushes behind me, like the falls at Mount Loras. I glance over my shoulder, terrified its rushing toward me.

A wall of water crashes over the hedges where I was squatting a moment ago. I blink, not trusting my eyes. Like a flood, the water sweeps away the hedges and recedes to the river.

I jump up and push my legs to go as fast they can. My heart pounds. Every part of my body shakes. I can't breathe or think, but I keep going, afraid any second the Washer Woman will call for me and I'll be forced to greet her.

Happy New Year

Wow. I can't believe another year is gone. Time really does seem to fly by as you get older. It's freezing in Florida. My blood is too thin for this weather. #Floridagirl 

I hope you had an amazing New Years Day! Stay warm, friends!

CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

Dacian straightens to his full height, and I imagine a huge smile is on his face.

We pass under the arched branch and step into a small clearing. Wisteria trees surround the area, perfuming the air with its sweet scent. White flowery vines wrap around the trunks of the trees, and the ground is covered with a thick layer of floral shrubbery. My slippers sink into soft flowerbeds as we move to stand in the center of the small meadow.

Dacian stops and faces me. Excitement radiates from him. I can feel it charging the air. "What is your favorite color?"

Ever since Mother died, I've answered that question with yellow, but the color I love more than any other belongs to the Plumerias that grow in the gardens at the manor.

"Bright pink," I tell him, eager to see what he does.

"Close your eyes."

I scan the green and white scenery one last time and then do as he says.

"Now open them."

The leaves, the vines, the thick shrubbery on the ground are all pink, bright glorious pink. The color is everywhere, except for some green leaves sprinkled throughout and what little bark you can see.

Beaming, I twirl and take it all in. "How did you do this?"

"Do you like it?"

"I love it!"

"Pick another color." His breath is as heightened as mine.

Thinking of the girls, I blurt, "Lavender. Do I have to close my eyes again?"

"No. Just the first time so it would be amazing."

He lifts his arms to the side. The fog swirling his body turns lavender. Then he snaps his arms at the elbows as if to release the color into the air. In a blink, everything is lavender.

I giggle, smile, and come so close to shedding a tear. "This is the twin's favorite color." It makes me miss them even more.

"What are their names?" Dacian asks.

"Calyssa and Carys." Before I can stop myself, I babble, "Calyssa is headstrong and too curious for her own good, while Carys is as soft as a summer breeze but loyal to her sister to the point that she'd follow her anywhere." I make a soft laugh. "They have so much of my mother in them, like they each took half of her personality."

"You loved your mother dearly?" he asks as if this puzzles him.

"Of course, I did." I shrug. "Don't you love your mother in some way?"

He draws in a deep breath, and the color fades from the trees, returning to white and green. "We should go."

Worried I upset him, I don't dispute his need to leave, even though I want to stay here longer.

The trip back to the cottage seems shorter than it did on our way to the wisteria garden.  The sun stays hidden behind clouds the entire way. The straw roof comes into view first. Though dirty, the yellow color stands out against all the greenery. The wood framing of the exterior looks as gloomy as it did when we left. I assume the inside is the same.  

Dacian stops at the door, mist swirling his tall form. "This is where I leave you."

"What? Why?" I blurt, only then realizing how dramatic I sound. "I mean, why are you leaving now? We just got back, and I thought we could read the book together, or rather, I could read it to you."

"It's easier if I leave here. I'm cloaked, so you don’t have to keep your head down," he explains with a lift of his shoulders.

"Is it because of what I said about your mother?" I’m convinced this has something to do with his sudden desire to part ways. "I meant no harm by it, no judgment. She's your mother," I say with compassion. "You must have some emotional connection to her, whether you want to or not."

He doesn't say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me. To know their color would be wonderful. Maybe he could tell me.

"Dacian?" I reach up to touch his face.

He catches my wrist, his grip soft yet firm. "Read. Rest. If death chooses another victim, I'll come for you at sunset."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I'll see you in the morning."

I force my feet to stay in place when he walks away. He follows the big tree to left like he's headed for the back of the cottage.

"Thank you for today!" I call out before he vanishes from my sight. "It was kind of you to share that with me."

Again, he pauses but only long enough to say, "You're welcome."

Then he's gone.

The woods are quiet and dim like the sun has set, even though it hasn't. In the summer, an orange glow always appears before it does. Part of me wants to explore the area and see if I can find where Dacian goes. Does he visit his mother? What does she do during the day? Hang out by the river, or return under the water until dusk? Perhaps these are the questions Dacian referred to and the answers are in the book.

When I turn to enter the cottage, the door is open. Fear flashes through me but fades when I notice the inside is light and cozy. The cottage is happy with me again. Why? Because I'm calm, because I want to go inside, because I was kind to Dacian and thanked him?

It's all such a mystery.

"Thank you," I tell the cottage as I climb the step and cross the threshold.

Everything inside appears clean and new. A fire crackles beneath the stone hearth. Even though it's summer, the warmth is nice, not too hot.

On the table, a glass of juice, a cup of tea, bread, and a bowl of soup wait for me. My nose tells me it's chicken soup, and my stomach rumbles.

Something shimmers on the other side of the room. The gold etching of the book ripple as if calling to me. I bring it to the table so I can read while I eat.

When my stomach has had more than enough of the delicious food, I move to the chair and nestle into the soft cushions. The lights dim slightly, making the room even cozier.

I set the brooch on the table and continue reading. So far, I haven't found anything new about Bretta and her jealousy for Queen Alys. Even as a child, Bretta acted spitefully toward her older sister.

The next page shows a portrait of them. The original hangs in the castle hall. I saw it from a distance long ago when Mother and I were in town.  

It must have been hard for her, looking so different from everyone.  I imagine it didn't earn her any favor with the people. Maybe that added to her bitterness toward her sister.

My mouth opens wide with a yawn. I rub my eyes. How long have I been reading? Outside the window, it looks black. Night has fallen.

Dacian never came for me. No one will die this evening. I should be relieved, but tomorrow is a new day with the chance of another victim, and I've yet to find anything in this book that can help.

I let out a frustrated groan and slam the book closed.

The lights flicker and turn off, leaving me in the dark.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean it. I'm frustrated, and I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me."

The cottage remains dark. I can't even see my hand in front of my face. I could apologize again, beg for forgiveness, but it wouldn't be genuine, and I'm certain the cottage would know.

The truth is, I'm tired, homesick, and desperate to see my family. And now I can't even read more because this overly sensitive cottage is angry with me.

A chill spreads through the room. I shiver and draw my legs close, huddling in the corner of the chair. It no longer feels soft and cushy. The cottage must have turned back to its rotted self.  Will I ever be enough to please it? Is that even possible?

Instead of working to charm the cottage into its cozy state, I accept the punishment as payment for not being honest with my family about Tristin, for allowing them to think everything would be fine, and for not being there now to take care of them, like I had promised Mother I would.

SAY THIS FIVE TIMES FAST

Five days left of the twelve days of giving. Say that five times fast. LOL

It's crazy that I've been able to stick with this given how tired the holidays makes me. It could be all the extra carbs and candy. What goes up (my blood sugar) must come down. The cold weather is not helping, either. I want to live in my furry jammies 24/7. Yes, I said cold even though this is Florida. Next week it will be in the thirties at night. What? That's cray! Cray!

Anyway. (Not trying to rhyme) Here is the next chapter. It is long so I cut it in half, a little more than half. If it is a little less than clean, I apologize. It was either proof it, again, even though my eyes water everytime I focus on my laptop's glowing screen, or post it. The alternative--miss a day. Would you forgive me?  

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Hope?" I ask and twist on the floor until my body faces the sound of his voice.

"Let's take a walk," he says.

"Where? The cottage isn't that big."

"Outside."

"Outside of the cottage?"

"Yes."

"Outside in the woods?" I ask in disbelief.

He laughs softly. "Yes, Praya, in the woods."

I sit taller. "Can we do that? I thought it was against the rules."

"I told you, there are some things I can control. Now remember, no peeking." Long fingers curl around my hands and pull me to my feet. "Get dressed. I'll meet you by the front door."

The new lightness to his tone fills me with warmth.

I suspect I'm the reason for his happiness, but I don't know if the pride running through me is warranted. For all I know, this new emotion of his could work against me and go against his mother's rules. The curse’s rules. I don't want to take it away from him, though. To have never laughed is such a sad thing. I want to hear him do it again, harder and louder, so he can experience one of the best feelings in the world.

The bedroom door closes with a soft thud. I open my eyes. As soon as my vision clears, I spy my white dress on the hook. It's freshly laundered, the butterfly brooch clean and safe in the pocket. The cottage is clean, too, the ragged condition it changed to now gone.

The wonders of the place. "Thank you," I murmur to the cottage.

I slip into my dress, put on my beaded slippers, also clean, and hurry to the bedroom door. Before opening it, I bow my head, staring only at the wood floors. 

Dacian's boots are visible when I approach the front door. "You look lovely," he says.

I touch my hair, aware of how messy it is and wonder if he's teasing me. But Dacian doesn’t tease.

"I forgot to pull it back." The strands hang loosely around my face, the curls at my waist, frizzing at the ends.

"I like it," he says, a soft smile in his voice.

"Is this allowed, us leaving?" My muscles twitch.

"We won't be long." Now his tone is deep and direct, so different from a moment ago. He takes my hand and opens the door.

"We don't have to go for a walk," I say. "I'm fine with staying here."

"I wasn’t talking to you. I was telling Amus, so he doesn't worry or act out while we're gone. He can be quite loud."

"Who?" Is there another person with us? Should I be concerned?

"The plant." Dacian says.

We step outside. Soft grass cushions my feet and a cool breeze caresses my skin. The day is picnic-perfect. I want to take in the surrounding woods. Instead, I keep my head down and focus on my slippers as he leads me to a narrow trail on our right.

"The plant has a name?" This is bizarre, but then so is everything about this situation.

"I gave it to him. He's the closest thing to a pet I've ever had, no matter how annoying he can be."

I can't help but laugh. "He annoys you, too?"

"Only when he lets out that obnoxious squawk. Since it's his job, it might be unfair of me to hold it against him."

"What do you mean, his job?"

Fallen leaves and twigs crunch beneath our steps.

"Rousing my mother's attention. It's why I first made friends with him. I trained him to report only to me. It's worked for years, though I still get nervous, knowing he can alert her."

I stop. "We should go back. I don't want you to get in trouble—or me."

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "We won't. There are things I want to say that should not be spoken in his presence. It's why I suggested the walk. That and I wanted to show you something, which reminds me you don't have to avert your eyes. We're outside. You may look where you please." The smile returns to his voice.

I lift my head. His misty hand clutches mine, the outline of his dark form cloaked in fog like a cloud. I wish I could see his face, to know the curve of his lips and the glint in his eyes. I suspect he has both features, though I also suspect they are not normal, hence his need to keep them hidden.

"You choose to look at me when there is a beautiful forest around you," he says. "It is quite lovely in the daytime. I would think you'd want to see it with all the darkness around you lately."

An unfamiliar and incredibly delightful feeling stirs inside me. I smile at his hazy face and then glance around. Sunlight filters through the tall trees, glinting off the different shades of green like gold. The breeze sets everything a flutter, like the wings of a butterfly. Birds chirp from somewhere to my left, and twigs snap to my right. Is it a bunny, a squirrel?

The forest is most lovely during the day. I feel I've been away from it for too long. Was it just the other day I had been taken? It seems much longer.

"Thank you." I sigh, so grateful for this.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen the best part."

Dacian and I walk farther down the trail. At some point, he got ahead of me by a few steps. I use the opportunity to study him.

Sunlight filters through the trees and shines directly on him. It makes the mist hugging his body near transparent. His shoulders aren't too wide, just enough so that his torso tapers into a trim waist, creating a nice "V" shape. His legs seem strong and in proportion with his body. Nothing appears deformed or unusual. Perhaps, his skin is disfigured. The back of his head is dark with about half of his neck visible. Either he's wearing a bulky hat or his hair is black and grown out.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" I ask, assuming we're far enough away from the cottage for anyone, even a plant, to hear us. Maybe he's going to tell me why he hides himself from me.

"Have you read more of the book?" He brushes a low branch out of the way.

"Not since the other day. Why?"

He glances back at me. The fog shifts ahead, leaving a trail. "The book has answers to questions you've yet to ask." 

"What kind of questions?"

"I am not permitted to say. When you learn information from the book, you can ask me about it. I can't open the dialogue to you."

So he follows rules, too. Interesting. "How would that have worked if I were still bound to the rule of not speaking unless directly spoken to?"

"It wouldn't have. It's taken me decades to learn what I can and can't get away with, even longer to try them for fear of retribution."

I'm about to say from your mother but change it to, "From the curse?" 

He stops and looks at me. "You're finally understanding."

"Not as much as I'd like to." I catch up to him, hoping to glimpse the mask or something of his features through the mist. Other than a blurry outline of his head, I can't see much.

He doesn't turn away. Is he studying me the same way I’m examining him? Heat crawls across my cheeks.

A bird swoops low, close enough to touch my hair. I flinch and watch as it soars toward the sky. It's small with bright yellow feathers, Mother’s favorite color. Most of her dresses and skirts were of that shade. It was bright and cheery like her personality.

A deep ache fills my chest, as if a dark cloud were swallowing my heart. How are Calyssa, Carys, and Father handling things? Are they angry with me?  Does Father hate me? When we lost Mother, Father drowned his sorrows in jugs of ale. It took the staff and me weeks to sober him up. Is he back to drinking, and if so, how are the twins holding up? Surely, they blame me. I didn't get to explain what happened. I didn't even say goodbye.

"What's the matter?" Dacian asks.

"Nothing." I lower my head.

This is why I don't think about them. It's too painful.

He places a misty hand under my chin and lifts my face. "You don't need to keep your feelings from showing."

"That's not what I'm doing." I turn away.

"It wouldn’t be the first time I've seen a girl cry. I have experience in comforting maidens."

My head swings back to him. "You comforted them?"

What is that stirring in my stomach? It's dark and deep, and I don't like it.

A tiny chuckle escapes him.

I glare. "Are you laughing at me?"

"I’m surprised." A smile is evident in his voice. "I’m always surprised by you, Praya, who is stronger than anyone I've ever met and doesn't need comforting when she's sad."

He means it as a compliment, but instead of lifting my spirits, it has the opposite effect. For the first time, I feel wrong for the way I protect my emotions.

"You are like your mother in that way," he says, tone soft and reassuring.

My breath freezes. "How would you know?"

"I was there when she was chosen. I always accompany the Messenger."

It's as if the world disappears. My heart pounds in my ears, and a few moments pass before I find my voice.

"You saw her?" It comes out in a shocked whisper. "All this time I could have asked you what happened, if she was scared, if she felt pain, why she was chosen?" I step back. "You should have told me when we first met."

"That would not have been a good first day for you. The first day is hard, the second day even harder. I wasn’t sure what to make of you, either." He lifts his face to the sky and murmurs, "The girl with eyes of the grass and sky will end the curse before she dies."

 "That's an odd saying." I tense a teeny bit. "What does it mean?" 

"It's a rhyme I learned long ago." He picks up a fat leaf, green with yellow veins, and twirls it in his fingers. "I thought it was about your mother, and I thought it died with her. I'd only glimpsed her eyes a moment before she touched her clothing. I would have saved her if I could have, despite the consequences, whatever they would have been. I would have done it to be free. So we  could all be free." He pauses. "I thought it was over. But then you were chosen as Messenger, and I realized you could be the girl in the rhyme."

Ending the curse, now that I hear it might be possible, must be my focus on so I can get back to my family.

But for me to do that, I need to know one thing about the death of my mother. Hopefully, it will pacify my aching heart. For now, anyway.

"Is she at peace? My mother. After they go, are they all at peace?"

He's quiet for a moment, as if he's searching for the right answer, or perhaps, he doesn't know. Please let him know.

Finally, with a confident nod, he says, "I believe they are at peace."

I smile, and my eyes fill with tears. Even though his answer isn't the yes, they're in a better place I hoped for, it's enough. Dacian may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them. If he believes those who have been Fated to Die are at peace, then I will, too.

"Thank you." I let out a shaky breath, the pain in my heart easing a tiny bit. Then I do what I do best, tuck the emotions away and focus on what is important. "Tell me about the rhyme. Is there more to it?"

He shakes his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"What about the book in the cottage? Could it have information?"

"I don't know. I'm forbidden to read it. I leave it for the maidens, hoping they'll come across something of importance, but I've never been able to talk to one of them like I do you. They feared me, blamed me, or wanted nothing to do with me."

"Sounds familiar," I murmur, reminded of how the kids in the village always treated me. I give his hand—the leaf still in it—a squeeze. "Now you have me. We'll figure this out. Together. All right?"

He sighs with a hint of awe. "You really are something."

I can't stop my lips from turning up. "We should head back and get started."

"But we're here." He uses the leaf to point out white bushels of wisteria, cascading toward the ground. One of the full branches curves, creating a shadowed archway.

"It won't take long," he adds. Quiet excitement hums in his words. "I really want you to see it. I've never been able to share it with anyone."

It'd be cruel to deny him this, and I suppose I am a little curious. "Show me then," I say.