The men were careful not to touch anywhere that wasn’t covered in iron, as if they were afraid that even a Fey’s greatest weakness couldn’t stop her from destroying them.
She could only wish.
They whispered nasty things to her. They threatened to carve her pointed ears into round ones. They taunted her with words suggesting what had been done to her mother in that room.
Somewhere along the way, her twin brother joined her, wearing an identical helmet and iron chains that clinked as he shuffled along beside her. Another cadre of black-clad guards escorted him, their gloved hands clasping the hilts of their swords.
What happened next, she couldn’t say. It was as if she blacked out, though she had a vague memory of a wagon and an old forest, and she didn’t come to until they were standing in front of the Tyrrhenia River, the water roaring its way down a wide cleft in an ancient, snow-capped mountain.
This was a forbidden place. The air here thrummed with magic, and the trees—far taller than any she’d seen—seemed to whisper in the hollow wind. This river was said to be inhabited by an evil spirit; a…thingthat took pride in destroying anyone who dared set food in the waters.
Her brother stood at her right. To her left was a man dressed in black, the rings on his fingers shining in the winter sunlight.
The guard stationed just behind her spoke. “Should we remove the iron, sir?”
The man must’ve nodded, for the guard proceeded to take off their shackles and helmets. Once they were off, she realized how wrong they had felt—howheavy. Without the iron to quell the magic pulsing in the air, the earth seemed to swell toward her knees, and she struggled to stay standing as the whispers of the ancient trees grew louder. A trickle of blood slipped from her nose and over her lip, dripping to the leaf-covered ground.
Even with the iron removed, the effect of it lingered. She curled her fingers into fists and tried to summon a spark of her magic, but nothing was there. There was only a vast emptiness.
The voice of the man in black was a low growl as he said, “The river will swallow them up.” He passed him a blade that had a bone handle. “Be quick about it.”
And then he walked away, and the guard grabbed the girl and her brother as easily as he would dolls, one on each muscled arm. The river grew larger with every step he took toward the bank, and the girl’s heartbeat quickened. She considered putting up a fight, but she was so drained, she could barely keep her eyes open. She reached for her brother, her knuckles grazing his. Another step toward the river brought them close enough that they managed to intertwine their numb fingers.
This was it. The guard would now kill them. At least they would die together; perhaps their souls would remain entwined as they crossed the Great Divide, the chasm that stood between the world of the living and that of the dead. At least they would have each other.
But the guard sheathed the knife. He threw a glance over his shoulder, shifting their bodies as if to shield them from whomever might still be watching.
Even if the magic hadn’t drained from her system, she wouldn’t have had the will to fight as the guard threw her and her brother, their fingers still locked together, into the river.
~
The half-frozen waters seemed to speak as the girl and her brother plummeted down the mountain, spinning until they were dizzy, their fingers still intertwined. But the voice of the river spirit was not a roar but a whisper, as if debating whether to let them walk away from its territory unharmed.
The riverbed was armored with jagged rocks, but the twins didn’t so much as graze them; not even their clothes were torn. Fish frantically swam out of their way as they tumbled through the muddy water. The girl fumbled for something to grab onto, but weeds slipped through her fingers like shadows. Although she couldn’t breathe, the tang of metal and salt flooded her nostrils and coated her tongue. She knew that taste—it was magic.
She tried to glimpse her brother through the dirt-speckled water rushing around her, tried to find an answer as to why her ears were ringing, but she couldn’t see anything beyond his fingers grasping her own. She had the vague sense that they were nearly safe; that the violent river would soon end in calm.
And it did. The waters drifted into a wider, slow-moving stream that slithered behind a cornfield. The golden stalks swayed under a setting sun, and donkeys brayed merrily in the distance. On the other side of the river, a tangled forest rustled with life.
A raven wheeled overhead as they crawled out of the water, sopping wet, freezing, and gasping for air.
The girl looked at her brother, the question in her eyes clear despite that she didn’t say a word. She was asking him what had just happened; why in the gods’ names the soul-hungry river spirit had allowed them to walk out of that watery grave.
But he simply sat back on his haunches and wrapped his trembling arms around his knees. Her brother was a child of few words, and she knew better than to prod.
The mucky ground beneath her shimmered and lurched as she fought to remain conscious. Despite the river spirit’s decision to let them go instead of drinking up their souls, it still seemed to have enjoyed toying with them; she hadn’t been able to draw a single breath of air the entire time they were thrown about in the river.
The terror and rage that had gone so quiet in that burned room caught up with her at last, and she collapsed inches from the shelter of the forest, her eyelids slipping shut.
She awoke sometime later to see that the sun was still setting. Her brother was limp on the ground beside her, though his chest rose and fell with every breath he took.
There was a snuffling sound. An animal nose prodding into her numb palms and worrying at her clothes.
She held very still. Beside her, her brother stirred, mumbling drowsily.
Through the curtain of her damp eyelashes, she glimpsed gray paws spattered with mud, and ice glistening on a shaggy tail.
It was a wolf.
