Hunted(86)

Or perhaps they’d journey to the far eastern sea and strike out for the edge of the world, where there were dragons, and women with hair like wings, and birds that caught fire when the golden sun hit them just so.

Perhaps they would do all these things.

But before any of it, Beauty and the Beast walked together back along the river leading from the Firebird’s cave, with Doe-Eyes trotting at their side. They traveled through each mountain pass and saw that winter was fading away with every step, and when they arrived once again in the Beast’s valley they found spring had come and that the windows in the tower room looked out over a meadow filled with wildflowers that bloomed in every shade of red and gold and brilliant fire orange.

And from somewhere past the mountains that separated the Beast’s valley from those beyond, behind them, always to the north, the Firebird’s song drifted in the air, and called to them, and waited.





A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR


I dedicated this book to myself.

I’ve been writing Hunted since I was a child. In my head, in my dreams, in every retelling of Beauty and the Beast that I could consume. In gazing out the window on long car trips, in traveling the world, in those indescribable moments of completeness after reading a particularly beautiful book.

I wrote the beginning of this manuscript at the start of my career, as I waited to find out if my first book would catch a literary agent’s attention. (It did. Thank you, Josh Adams.) When that first book became a trilogy, Hunted was put on a shelf to gather dust.

It stayed there for five years while I wrote my other books and navigated the new, unknown waters of being an author. It’s an awesome job, but it can be all-consuming. It’s easy to start drowning without realizing what’s happening.

Fortunately, along came Kristen Pettit. My editor’s whip-smart advice, along with my agent’s encouragement, convinced me to dust off Hunted and really look at it again, and that’s when I realized that I’d left Yeva in limbo—much like I’d left myself. Neither of us was finished yet.

Though I’ve never lived with a cursed Beast in medieval Russia, this is my most autobiographical novel. Yeva’s dissatisfaction with her life was mine; her guilt over her restlessness, her tendency to pour herself into a single focus to the exclusion of everything else, her inability to fit into the world, her confusion about what she wanted and why she felt incomplete—all the things I’d carried with me the last five years.

So, to quote a favorite musical, I wrote my way out.

I’m blessed with an amazing network of friends, family, and fellow writers who gave me the courage—and, occasionally, the figurative kick in the butt—to keep going.

I owe an unpayable debt (for so, so many reasons) to my best friend and soul sister, Amie, who was this book’s first champion and who remains its biggest fan. I’m also forever grateful for my family, who’ve always encouraged me to tell stories, and my extended family of neighbors and friends, who were among my first fans. I can’t express how much support I got from my early readers, especially Cait, who’s been asking for this story since we were in high school together, and Stephanie, who has helped me immeasurably as a friend, confidante, and fellow writer. I also must thank everyone who helped me research this book, especially Erin, whose expertise in Slavic folklore was invaluable, and Grimm, who, when I wanted to interview him about archery, put a bow into my hands instead and introduced me to a lifelong passion. And to everyone at HarperTeen, I am so happy and grateful to be a member of your team.

It’s hard to admit that despite this network of support, it’s difficult to let go of this book and send it out into the world. This book is me, and I’ve kept it to myself for a long time out of fear. But stories change you, if you let them, and Hunted has changed me.

So while I dedicated this book to myself, it’s also dedicated to you. Male or female, young or old, if you’re reading this book, then you’re also that child reading by flashlight and dreaming of other worlds. Don’t be scared of her, that inner Beauty, or her dreams. Let her out. She’s you, and she’s me, and she’s magic.

There’s no such thing as living happily ever after—there’s only living. We make the choice to do it happily.

You are the Firebird. And above everything else, I’m most grateful for you.