Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(5)

Everyone is dressed in their nicest clothes. Polished boots, crisp linen shirts, pinned-up braids, delicately embroidered dresses. We’ve gathered like this is a celebration. And it is. At least, it should be. But in the line where we wait with our tithes, people murmur to one another anxiously. Around the square, more doors open. More villagers scatter salt over their thresholds. The healer has strung garlands of rosemary and sage across her windows.

“Have you heard?” A girl comes along the line, a pen and square of parchment in her hands. She has oak-brown skin and a cloud of beautiful curled hair, which she pushes out of her face before she scans the nearby people, unsettled. Her voice dampens to a whisper. “Lord Sylvanan is here. He’s come to claim the tithe.”

“Lord Sylvanan?” A nervous shudder runs through me. “Here? He never comes to tithe days.”

It was six years ago that we last gathered in Greymere, when it was our turn to pay the tithe to the Sylvanans, who own all the land in the valley. Then, there was nothing to fear.

The lord who came to the tithe day was older than Mother. He was tall and handsome, and wore his dark hair tied neatly back. He helped the villagers pack the wagon he’d brought to take everything back to his estate. Afterward he walked slowly through the square and looked appreciatively at the village. His eyes crinkled up when he smiled at Arien and me, running past amid a tangle of children.

But there’s a new lord now. His son. Because just after our last tithe day, the whole Sylvanan family died. All except for him, the new lord.

Because he murdered them.

His parents, his brother, his whole family. He drowned them one by one in the lake behind their estate.

They said his father was found laid out on the shore, white and still, as though all his blood had been drained. That his mother’s throat was snared in sedge grass, drawn so tight it cut her skin.

“Yes, he might already be here.” The girl pauses and scans the crowd around us, then drags her fingers across her chest. “My village is next to his estate. We have a name for him there.”

“Calathea?” A man comes through the crowd, crossing the distance in an easy stride. He has the same oak-brown skin and features, though he’s pulled his curls back into a knot, without even a single strand escaping. “Thea, what did I tell you?”

“Mark off the list. Don’t get distracted.” Thea ducks her head, chagrined. She peers into our basket and quickly scratches a few lines on the parchment with her pen. “Sorry, Father. They were the last ones.”

He sighs heavily. “You should have been finished already instead of wasting time. We still have to prepare all the tithes for transport back to Lakesedge.” He takes hold of her arm and draws her closer, his voice lowering. “I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary, not with him around.”

“I didn’t mean to take so long. I’ll help you load the baskets when they’re ready.”

“No. You can stay over there, out of trouble.” Her father starts to direct Thea away from us, toward a wagon.

“Wait,” I call after her as she leaves. “The name they have for Lord Sylvanan in your village, what is it?”

Thea turns back to us. “The Monster of Lakesedge.”

The sun is still high above the tree line. Sweat has beaded on the back of my neck, and there’s a stripe of sunburn across my nose. I’m hot and itchy, prickled by my woolen stockings. But when I hear that name, I start to shiver.

“Thea. Enough.” Her father mutters a warning in her ear, his expression tense. She walks over to the wagon with her eyes downcast, but when she settles herself in the seat, he pats her knee, comforting her.

A strange, sore ache fills my chest as I watch Thea and her father, remembering my father. His strong hands, weathered from work in the garden, but still gentle when he touched me. If he were here, he would keep us safe.

“The Monster of Lakesedge.” I say it softly, only a whisper, but the words taste like smoke and darkness.

Arien steps closer to me. “Can you see him?”

I stand on tiptoe to see past the people ahead. There’s a table set up near the altar, shaded by two tall pine trees, where the tithe goods will be laid out. A woman in a long, embroidered dress stands behind it. Her silvery hair is swept back from her tanned face in a braid that loosens to waves, cascading down her back.

“He isn’t waiting for the tithes.”

“Maybe he’s like a woods wolf.” Arien points at the forest, where the shadows are thick between the trees. “And he can’t come out in the daylight.”

“Those aren’t real. That was just a story I made up.”

But what happened at Lakesedge Estate sounds like a story, too. A house locked up and almost empty. A whole family murdered.

There’s a knot in my stomach. It tightens with each moment that passes. I can’t stop searching the crowd. As the sun dips, shadows from the pine trees at the edges of the square lengthen over the ground. Every shift of light and shade makes me jump. I expect to turn and see the monster right there, as if I summoned him when I spoke his name.

Beside me, Arien has stayed still and quiet. His face has started to turn pale.

“What’s wrong? Are you worried about Lord Sylvanan? I can’t see him. Maybe he’s not even here.”

“No.” He wraps his arms around himself. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”