She blinked, trying to clear her vision. When that didn’t work, she reached for the painful bump at the back of her skull—only she couldn’t. She was standing upright while thick, scratchy rope bound her wrists securely above her head.
Whoever had tied her hands had also gagged her. The fabric dug into the corners of her mouth, muffling her voice.
Slowly, the room came into focus. The blur moved to the edges, leaving Emeline staring into a pale face with blue-green veins running like rivers beneath translucent white skin. Bloodshot eyes peered at her, and the same rotten smell of the Stain issued out of the creature’s mouth.
The Vile.
My mother.
Her stomach turned over.
In one bony hand, the Vile held a jagged dagger. Dried brown blood crusted along the edge, rusting the steel. In the other, she held a sharpening stone.
Realizing what was about to happen, Emeline struggled, pulling at her bonds. Trying to yank herself loose.
Wait. Where was Grace?
Her gaze swept the cavern until it settled on a crumpled form several paces away.Grace.She was curled up on the floor, her wrists bound tightly behind her back.
As Emeline feared the worst, her breath came out panicked and choked—until she saw the subtle rise and fall of her friend’s chest.
She’s alive.
But Emeline’s relief was short-lived.
“How familiar this feels.” The Vile’s voice was like wind scraping stone as she studied Emeline, who tore her gaze away from Grace. “His flesh and blood, bound and trapped. Unable to use that pretty voice.”
Fear crept down Emeline’s spine.
“I made a mistake when I killed him.” The Vile lifted the sharpening stone and slid it slowly over the rusted knife. “I forgot that wretched voice of his. He cursed me with it as he died. Meandthe forest.”
The words shocked Emeline.The curse is the Song Mage’s doing?All this time, she thought the Vile responsible.
“I won’t make that same mistake a second time. When I spill your blood, you will have no voice to hurt me with.”
The Vile smiled, and it was an eerie, monstrous thing. Emeline saw rows and rows of teeth so sharp, they reminded her of icicles.
“By killing you, I’ll silence him forever.”
You would kill your own daughter for the sake of revenge?Emeline wanted to ask. But the rope held her fast and the gag muffled her voice. Besides, there was no recognition in the Vile’s milky eyes. It made Emeline wonder if she’d gotten it wrong. What if Rose Lark didn’t hate the sight of her daughter—a reminder of the Song Mage’s horrors—but, rather, didn’t remember she had a daughter at all? What if, in transforming her into a monster,the Song Mage’s curse made Rose forget her former self, remembering only him and the things he’d done to her?
The thought sickened Emeline. To live life knowing only the worst that had happened to you and never remembering the best …
Maybe there’s a way to help her remember.
Emeline looked beyond the Vile to the massive seed suspended in a web of roots. The Heartwood pulsed, sluggish and exposed beneath the earth, trying to pump life up into the dying trees above.
If the Song Mage had cursed Rose here, in the heart of the forest, using nothing but the magic in his voice, could Emeline break that same curse using nothing but the magic in hers?
My voice is nowhere near as powerful as his.
But her father hadn’t always been powerful; he’d had to pay a price for it. He’d tithed something precious to the woods, and the power of that sacrifice poured out of him whenever he sang, transforming him into a Song Mage.
The Wood King’s reign was prosperous when the Song Mage was the court minstrel,Grace had told her. It was a golden age.
She glanced to her friend’s unconscious form and remembered the locked door they’d come in through. One that wouldn’t open until a tithe was given.
An idea was blooming through Emeline. Threadbare and tenuous, like the first line of a brand-new song.
