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After relieving myself and eating the last of the bread, I dig through my pack. A small piece of paper flutters out, and I catch it before it hits the ground. It seems the Crone has left me a note. A grin spreads across my face.Yes.My shifting ability has been returned.
Quickly undressing and tossing the clothes in my bag, I shift, reveling in the power running through my body. Stepping out of the cave, I stretch my wings and roar, the echo carrying for miles around.
Moments later, I’m in the sky, heading back to the little village and the Jolly Roger.I’m coming, Snow White.
Chapter 16
Snow White
Ten Months Later
Standingnakedinfrontof the patinated mirror, I slowly run my gaze over my body. Rays of sunlight stream through the open windows, accentuating the shine of my newly grown hair, now reaching just past my chin.
The claw marks on my cheek have faded, but are still visible. My cheeks have rounded out slightly from the hollowed craters they were when I arrived here. My bowtie lips are as red as ever, while my eyes betray the suffering I’ve endured, no longer sparkling with life as they once were.
The rest, care, and nutritious food I’ve had with the sisters have transformed my emaciated body into a healthy one. Turning to the left, I peer at my back over my shoulder, wincing at the sight of the hundreds of scars crisscrossing it. At least they have healed now, but I hate having to bear the constant reminder of what Morana did to me.
It doesn’t make sense. All these years later, it still confuses me. Morana may walk around calling my father her love, but I know she has no real feelings for him. She cares for no one. She knew he violated my body and stole my innocence—the most heinous act a parent can inflict on a child. She had to know I didn’t want him to touch me.
How could she place the blame at my feet? Why was I punished and tortured? Was it because I was with child when she had none? Was it jealousy over my beauty? By the gods, I wish I were ugly. Perhaps then my father would have left me alone, let me be the child I was supposed to be. And maybe Morana would have turned a blind eye to my existence.
After my mother died, Cassian was the only one I could truly count on. He knew me better than myself, was the keeper of my secrets, and the owner of my heart. Long before I even understood what that meant.
But he betrayed me. He left me behind almost four years ago to suffer unimaginable pain. The torture, the starvation, the bitter cold, the loneliness . . . the descent into madness. It was the sisters’ care that brought me out of the nothingness and restored me to life.
I don’t know where he is. He’s most likely forgotten about me, perhaps off having grand adventures. Or maybe he’s fallen in love and has a family. My eyes flash gold as the anger bubbles up. I slam them closed and breathe deeply, settling the rage down. He doesn’t deserve my anger, nor my tears. Cassian made his choice, and it wasn’t me. The feelings I might have once had for him have been burned to ashes, blown away on the breath of my screams. He left my heart with a gaping wound, and I have gleefully filled it with hatred.
Wherever he is, he better stay there.
Once I’m calm, I turn away from the mirror and sit on the edge of my bed, pulling on fawn-colored hose, then slipping on sturdy leather boots. Yanking a cream oversized tunic over my head, I then wrap a belt around my waist, pulling it tight. Lastly, I tie my hair behind my ears with one nod toward femininity—a red bow.
As I tuck knives into my boots and add another to my belt, I consider how much I have changed. Gone are the frilly dresses and intricate hairstyles. I no longer dance in meadows or read books by the fire.
Now, I train.
When I had settled into the cottage and started gaining my strength, the sisters regaled me with stories of their past. Once upon a time, they were mighty warriors known as the Valkyries. They towered over most men, and one of their missions was to collect the souls of the bravest warriors, escorting them to Valhalla.
We had all been sitting around the fire in the common room, tears streaming down the women’s faces as Hilda recounted the story. Even the deer had come to listen, sticking their curious noses through the open windows.
They told me of Baldr and their mission to collect Ravensly’s soul for her alleged role in his disappearance. How she had ensnared their horses, whisking them away. The sisters sobbed as they explained they were almost as one with their horses and removing them also eliminated most of their powers.
In revenge for coming after her, Ravensly, who was Morana’s ancestor, turned the Valkyries into dwarfs. They were swept up on a foul wind and deposited—none too gently—in Monarch Glen. Using the last of their magic, they summoned the cottage into being and threw up a shield that would block the majority of prying eyes from being able to find them.
Very few knew of their location, and only a very powerful oracle would be able to breach the shield.
Only the return of their horses, should they even still exist, would restore the Valkyries to their former selves. They prayed often to their god, Odin, for his help, but either he wasn’t listening, or he too could not find the horses.
So, for now, the sisters train me. Every day begins with a run, followed by breakfast. Then I spend the rest of the morning with Selma, working on various weapons skills. Although the Valkyries favor spears, I prefer a bow, but knives are also my forte. After lunch, I’ll either practice horsemanship with Nissa, hunting with Runa, or tracking with Linne.
But it is what comes after the evening meal that I love the most. We gather in the common room, talking, laughing, telling stories. It took me several months to join in with them, too traumatized and nervous to contribute. But one day I giggled at a particularly hilarious story, and since then have opened up more.
For the first time since Momma died, I have a family. One that I will protect at all costs.
“Good!”Selmashoutsasmy knife finds its target in the dead oak tree. We don’t practice on living trees, as you never know which one is home to a dryad. The shy nymphs are tied to their trees, and we don’t want to damage them. “Now see if you can hit the same mark again.” She stands off to the right, her dark-blonde hair tied up in intricate braids, eyeing my posture and aim. I jog over to the tree, grab the knife and return to my starting point. Flicking my wrist, I send it flying. It lands about an inch from the first mark, and I purse my lips in irritation.
“It’s close enough, Snow.”
“Close isn’t good enough,” I growl back at her. Retrieving the knife, I go again, and this time, it embeds itself in the first mark. Selma gives me a cheer, and I reward her with a satisfied grin.
