He always was a baby about taking his herbs. I'm not worried about the flavor as I sip mine, letting the warmth of the healing properties soak into my bones and dull the aches and pains. I am flooded with comfort as I munch on a handful of the nuts.
Pemba groans and stretches out his legs. “If we could bottle that stuff, we could find a village to sell it at and make enough to replenish our supplies,” he mumbles, and I shrug with a sad smile.
It's not our way to charge money for healing tinctures. It’s not the Ravenswyrd way.
He nods, knowing what I’m thinking without a word said between us, and ducks his head, a single dark curl falling over his brow.
“It's not our way to leave the forest either, but I think we're on the path to a new way, little one.”
My father's nickname for me falls from his lips again, and my throat closes at the sound of it. I can't help but be grateful for the comfort it brings, even as the wound inside me opens up once more. I don’t think it will ever heal fully.
He clears his throat again and gestures at the tree. “Go on now. Get some sleep. I'll tend to the fire before I come to bed too.”
I know he's going to spend half the night awake, looking out into the forest as he guards me, but the weariness that has taken over my body begs me to keep my mouth shut and do as my brother says.
I lie down in the hollow tree with my back wedged against the pack where I can feel the hard line of the scepter stashed in there, and as my eyes slip shut, I ponder the same question once more. What did we do? What did we do to lose our place as the Favored Children?
***
Good morning,croí.
The voice startles me awake, but the tone soothes me as though a warm breeze has drifted over my soul. I keep my eyes shut tight against the assault of the frigid morning air as I answer the voice in my mind.
Good morning, Donn.
I know that’s not his name.
When the voice first spoke in my mind, about six months that now feel like a lifetime ago, he’d refused to give me his real name. So when I held out on telling him my name, he’d chosen something instead.
I get butterflies thinking about his choice.
He always speaks to me in the early hours of the morning, as though I’m the first thing on his mind, which feels like a secret indulgence.
Plain ol’ Rooke, the first thing on this mysterious man’s mind.
It’s shocking how quickly I’ve grown accustomed to the morning greetings from the smooth voice that knows exactly what to say to me to set my blood on fire. The sultry and seductive tones never fail to awaken the woman within me, no matter who else is around me. I shift slowly, carefully, so I don’t wake Pemba and embarrass myself, because my cheeks are flushed already and Donn has barely even spoken a word to me.
There was a part of me, when it first started, that was scared, because surely hearing a man's voice in your mind—a man who whispers secrets to you in the dead of the night and wakes you with a silky caress across your consciousness—can't be a normal thing.
When I had very cautiously and cryptically approached my mother about such things, she had reassured me without truly knowing why I was asking.
“Someday, Rooke, if the Fates decide that you have a mate out there, you might hear him in your mind. It's a very old sort of magic, very powerful, but you are the Maiden of the Ravenswyrd witches. Someday, when I become the Crone and you take on the mantle of the Mother, you will channel a lot of power. I won't be surprised if the Fates grant you a mate and not just a life partner.”
A mate. Someone who would be given to me by the Fates themselves as the perfect partner and lover to walk our life-paths together. My heart clenches at the memory of my mother's words, the melodic timbre of her voice still so clear in my mind. It’s soothing, the way it’s always been.
The smile she gave me was knowing. I wonder now if she’d guessed that I was hearing Donn, but I was an adult in her eyes then, old enough to decide if I wanted to tell my mother about the man whispering soft promises and gently coaxing me toward him. I didn’t have words to describe it then.
I still don’t have words.
Are you safe, croí?the voice asks, and my brows furrow.
I hold myself still, because Pemba is only a few inches away from me, the steady sound of his breathing echoing in the hollowed-out shell of the tree. I don't want him thinking I'm having nightmares. It's hard enough getting my brother to relax and get some sleep; if he becomes more concerned about me, he’ll forgo it altogether.
Does Donn know about the attack?
He knew the moment we found our coven burning. My grief was all-consuming and there was no way I could stop it from bleeding through the connection we share. It was the first time he'd reached out to me during the day, his voice panicked as he’d demanded to know where I was and what was happening.
I couldn't tell him.
