A Ruin of Roses (Deliciously Dark Fairytales #1)(10)

“About Dash…” Hannon said.

I finished what was in the mug and set it beside the washbasin. I’d completely forgotten about Dash. I’d only managed a couple hours of sleep last night, and anything not relevant to everlass completely slipped my mind.

“Yes, what was that about?” I asked.

Seriousness stole over Hannon’s expression. “One of his friends knows the location of the field. I guess you’re not the only one who uses it occasionally. He took Dash and another friend. I guess the kid goes with his older brother to collect the leaves.”

The blood left my face. “Are they insane? Why would they risk a ten-year-old boy?”

“They go at high noon, I guess. The least dangerous time. They sacrifice the potency of the leaves in the elixir for the safety of the kids.”

I was having a hard time processing this. To risk the children at all. Children! They were all we had. They were the most important resource in this village. It was why Dash and Sable were pampered more than they probably should be. Overprotected. Watched more than was probably healthy. We needed the kids to keep up our numbers, or we were in danger of fading away.

“We have to do a better job of watching him,” I said, mostly talking to myself. “He’s going to get the spanking of his life. I don’t care how old he is. I will put the fear of the Divine Goddess in him so that he never does that again.”

“You were fourteen…”

“Four years older than him, and I was Nana’s only hope. Not that it helped. Dash has no reason to be out there.”

“I know,” he said softly. “We do need to talk with him.”

I let out a breath. “Well. Now we know. And we have plenty of leaves to keep us going until spring. We’re good.”





Not long afterward, I walked down the sunny lane to the little village market in the square. It mostly held produce and trinkets, some furniture, and one or two hides or pelts. We used to have much more, I remembered, back when I was a kid. Travelers would come to our market, bringing their special skills and wares, and the villagers created finer arts and crafts to sell to the outsiders. I used to love wandering by the various stalls, looking at the beautiful hand-blown glass, the fun designs on the needlework, and the art and sculptures. I would help my mother run our booth from time to time, offering some flowers I’d grown or pelts I’d helped Father cure. I’d say hello to the traveling people and watch their juggling on the grass in the square.

But our kingdom had disappeared from the hearts and minds of the magical world. No one could come here even if they wanted to. Worse, no one could leave. Many had tried over the years. Or so I’d heard. I had been too young to witness any of this firsthand.

Some had attempted escape through the communal forests to the east and south of the village. That land technically belonged to the royal family, but it had been allocated for the use of the village. As a result, it had not been directly cursed, like the Forbidden Wood, and no everlass grew there.

Regardless, a group of villagers had set out to leave that way. From what I understood, they made it a certain distance before they could go no farther. The air crystalized before them, scorching those who tried to push past it. Killing those who continued through the pain.

After that, the survivors—desperate, enraged, and frightened—set out for the castle. They carried pitchforks and bows, spears and torches, intent on demanding their freedom.

Not one of them returned.

That very evening, the demon king appeared in the village square. He announced that if anyone set foot in the Forbidden Wood, they would be punished. Steal, and they’d be hanged. Just like in the days of old.

He remained true to his word, or so people said. It was unclear if people were punished, hanged, or eaten by the beast or one of the other creatures, but in those early days, anyone who ventured in never came back.

We were trapped in this lost and forsaken place, shifters unable to shift. Unable to even feel the animals inside of us. Magic mostly kept beyond our fingertips.

It wasn’t as bad for people like me, since I’d never known my animal and didn’t remember much from the old days. I’d never known the primal power and strength and extra abilities that came with shifting. Someone older and more experienced was supposed to guide a young shifter through the change on the first full moon after their sixteenth birthday, but our powers had been suppressed long before my coming of age. I didn’t know what I was missing.

For our elders, it was such a grievous loss that they wouldn’t talk about it anymore. At all. I didn’t know who used to turn into what animal. I didn’t know details of a shifter’s life, or what it felt like to change. I didn’t know much of anything about what I was supposed to be.

I had learned one thing: a demon’s offers always had strings attached. Their sugarcoated words had a sour aftertaste. Whatever deal our mad king had been trying to make, the one he’d eventually accepted damned us all. In suppressing our animals, the demons had also suppressed our ability to heal quickly. Our strength. Our fighting prowess. They’d cut us off at the knees. The nobility had tried to resist after the mad king’s death, but they were cut down. Most of the army went next. Without their ability to shift, they were easy prey. Almost overnight, the kingdom was an island, all six villages and the castle at the center cut off from the outside world and at the mercy of the demons. What a wonderful life.