The curse marks. The other place where I’d seen them—I remembered now. They were on the hourglass of my test.
IWAS STILL WIDE AWAKE AS THE SKY LIGHTENED TO THE BLUEof coming day, as the sun broke the very edge of the horizon. The night had been peaceful—no screams, no nightmares—but I was in turmoil. I needed to find out what that curse meant, and I could do nothing until Renaud left. As soon as I felt it was light enough, I grabbed my basket from the day before and crept out to the garden. I had to work quickly. Before Renaud woke and came to find me.
I let my mind settle into my memories of Dacia. They were worn and warm, like a favored dress. The light she brought when she’d stepped out of the crowd of girls to take me under her wing. The first time she touched me, her hand on mine. The lily and sweat smell of her skin, the first time she kissed me …
I thought of her and gathered rosemary and stole back into the house, shivering. Racing the rising sun, I sat by the fire and braided the sprigs.
The nuns would have called it blasphemy, but when I reached for words to give shape to the spell, it was my years at the convent that answered. The verse shaped itself so easily into a spell it was almost as if it were made for it.Dominus custodit te Dominus protectio tua super manum dexteram tuam.My fingers twisted and threaded. Per diem sol non uret te neque luna per noctem.I wound the braid into a ring.Dominus custodit te ab omni malo custodiat animam tuam Dominus.I got a needle and thread and sewed the spell tight.Dominus custodiat introitum tuum et exitum tuum ex hoc nunc et usque in saeculum.
God will protect you on your journeys—whether going or coming—from now until forever from now.I finished the ring only when the spell was finished, biting off the thread and the spell both just as the sun rose over the edge of the forest.
Once I got the ring to Dacia to keep her safe, I could find the origin of the curse whose roots spread from the foundation of the château to the foundation of my life.
XXX.
Master Key
With the spelled ring tucked safely inside my dress, I arrived at Renaud’s chambers, surprised to find him with his cloak on, already preparing to leave. “You’ve only just returned,” I cried.
He ignored me.
“Where are you going?” I asked, unable to stop myself, though I knew he would not answer.
“The business of Death,” he said. His tone was short and remote, but he glanced at me after his answer, as if waiting for me to pursue him, to plead with him.
“I have been waiting for your return. For your time. I have questions about curses,” I said instead, pulling out my work and pretending that I did not see this crack into his humanity, this insecurity that repulsed me.
“Curses?” he asked.
“I noticed some marks on the stones in the château hall that look very much like curse marks. You said this house was older than you. Was it always built for Death?”
He was silent for a moment, as if pondering how to respond to me. “This house is very old indeed. It was built in the heart of this forest, which is quite ancient. It has magic that can be tricky—the old kind always is. But cursed?” He seemed thoughtful, considering. “No, I don’tthink so. But you could bring me a copy of the etching, and I shall look over it for you.”
I nodded, relieved for his help. “I shall do that.”
He seemed mollified by my asking and kissed me once before leaving. But his earned favor did not feel quite the same as it had before—maybe it was only that my thoughts were already springing ahead, and only moments after the sound of his stallion had been swallowed by the forest, I was slipping out of my garden gate once again.
I walked for a long time, keeping the thought of the bandits and the hollow carefully in the forefront of my mind. Today the forest remained silent—uncaring. In some ways, this unsettled me more than its outright aggression the previous day. The sun crept higher, and doubt wormed its way under my skin. If the forest did not care, would my attention matter?
I began to touch the trees as I went, asking for their help without thinking deeply on it. I kept going, following the pull of the golden thread of knowing. Eventually, it led me to the edge of the narrow hollow, and I whispered my thanks.
Each time I found it, I was reminded again of the cleverness of the bandits, and the way the blanket of leaves had been woven over the forest to hide an entire camp from view. I picked my way down the slope and didn’t fight when the watchman grabbed me and hauled me forward, arrows drawn behind. “Tell Tobin the witch Perchta has a message for him.” As I said it, I felt the currents of magic all around me, a current that flowed past me, to Perchta in her hut, to Hecate in places I did not yet know the name of.
Tobin appeared, Jon trotting behind him. “Perchta,” he said with a short, respectful bow. “You have answered my call. What message do you bear for me?”
He’d called? I tried not to look surprised and betray my ignorance. “What did you need from me?”
“We have been faithful to the god’s command, searching for the women who have gone missing. We believe we know who has taken them.”
My heart raced, my own mission immediately forgotten. “Who? What have you found?”
“We believe, my lady, that the Baron himself is taking them.”
“The Baron?” I wondered, my mind whirring. I tried to think of him—but in my head all that I could see was a white stallion and Maxime, his bloodlust-driven captain. “Oh,” I said, rather unlike a goddess or a witch.
“What does the witch know?” Tobin asked easily.
It took me a moment to catch my breath. “Nothing. Lord Death holds the names of the dead sacred. I only know the ones left behind continue to live in terror,” I said. “Why do you believe it is the Baron? For what purpose would he …”
