Emeline had never seen such a person.
When bad things happened—when cows stopped giving milk, or crops grew diseased, or loved ones grew ill—the people of Edgewood didn’t consider it the misfortune and unfairness of life. They considered it an unpaid tithe. They believed the Wood King was retroactively taking what was owed him.
Two winters before Emeline left Edgewood, a horse belonging to Cornelius Henrik was killed. It was dusk when Corny saw the shadow skin—a thing of nightmares—come out of the woods and sink its glistening teeth into the horse’s throat. By the time Corny ran outside, the monster had dragged its meal into the bare trees, leaving the snow stained red. The next morning, he found a pearl-like orb sitting in the horse’s stall: proof of a tithe paid.
At least, that’s how Corny liked to tell the story.
But it wasn’t what really happened.
Monsters didn’t come out of the woods to eat horses; starving wolves did. Emeline had grown up hearing their howls while falling asleep at night.
There were no such things as shadow skins. And the forest didn’ttakethings. Accidents happened. Sometimes cows went missing or entire cornfields came up rotten. But these were just misfortunes. There weren’t malicious forces behind them.
Emeline tried not to begrudge her old neighbors their fairy tales. Believing in monsters gave them something to blame when senseless disasters struck.
Just like she tried not to be angry with her neighbors now, for putting superstitious objects in Pa’s room. The hawthorn branches, the tithing bowl—these were coping mechanisms. Ways of processing grief. Because Ewan Lark, their neighbor and friend, was slowly losing his mind. And in losing his mind, they were losinghim.
Emeline wrenched herself back to the present. To the bedroom and the task at hand: finding her grandfather.
She was about to step back into the hall when she saw the object glinting on Pa’s pillow.
Emeline stepped back towards the bed, her eyes narrowing on the tiny orb resting in the center of the pillowcase.
She picked it up.
The orb was smaller than a marble, but bigger than a pearl, and it was unnaturally cold to the touch. Opal-like colors swirled beneath the surface: pale blues and greens and creamy whites.
Emeline stared for several seconds, feeling like she couldn’t breathe.Knowingwhat this was despite her mind screaming it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.
The mark of a paid tithe.
THREE
EMELINE STORMED THROUGH THEhouse, wanting to call Maisie. Wanting to call Tom. Wanting an explanation.
Is this some kind of prank?
But her neighbors weren’t pranksters. They were kind, sincere people. Cruel jokes were beyond them.
So what was the tithe marker doing on Pa’s bed?
What if they’re right?
She thought of her gig last night: the beetles swarming up her jeans, the moss crawling towards her while she sang.
What if it’s all true?
What would happen if she let herself believe it? That the woods were dangerous. That inside them lurked a wicked king. That she could leave Edgewood, but Edgewood would never leave her.
In a way, it would be a relief. It would mean she wasn’t going crazy.
It would mean she knew exactly where to find Pa.
Emeline flung open the back door of the house. The sweet-sour smell of the grapes greeted her. It was late September, and the fruit was heavy on the vine. Ripe for picking.
Ahead of her lay the woods.
The sun hadn’t gone down yet, but the air glowed gold asdusk approached, catching in the leaves of the trees up ahead. They rose to twice the height of the house, standing like sentries.
