Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(66)

More voices join the chant. The melody is discordant at first. But voice by voice, word by word, the litany weaves together like threads made into stitches. Soon the air is alight with song. The fire is on my cheeks, and petals wreathe my hair.

When my thoughts turn back to the night our cottage burned, I don’t try to push them down. Instead, I let myself remember my parents. The garden my father made with his alchemy. The firelight across our hearth. My mother’s voice, low and lulling, as she sang to Arien. How it felt to fall asleep beneath my patchwork quilt to the sound of my father’s stories.

My family is smoke and ash, and their souls sleep far in the world Below, but these memories inside me are vivid. They will never be gone.

I think of the magic that turns the world. I think of everyone I love, home and safe, once the Corruption is mended.

As the litany ends, the line breaks apart, and the crowd drifts out into the square. Arien catches hold of my hand and pulls me toward the table of sweets. I turn to look for Rowan, but he’s already gone back to the shadows beside the altar. Clover slips her arm around my waist. Thea is beside her, and she eyes me warily, as though she can’t decide if she wants to move closer or run away. “You’re … different, from when I saw you in Greymere.”

“Different?” I brush my hand over my skirts and laugh. “I have nicer clothes now, I guess.”

Clover shakes her head at the both of us. She looks at Thea and hesitates, then holds out her hand. “Come on, let’s go before your father sees us and starts worrying you’ll be Rowan’s next victim.”

Thea takes Clover’s hand and goes with her, wide eyed. Arien and I follow, laughing. The night passes in a rush of sugar and firelight, beneath a sky filled with handfuls of stars. Bonfire smoke laces the air, turns the world to a haze.

I’m tired and breathless, and everything feels like a dream. I find myself alone in the crowd. Clover and Thea sit together near one of the cottages, a platter of marzipan cakes between them. Arien is curled up beside Florence, his head on her shoulder and his eyes half-closed. I go back to the altar, where Rowan stands against the trees. He steps into the light when he sees me approach. Wordlessly, he takes my hand and leads me away from the crowd.

We walk past the fire and out of the square, into the orchard that encircles the village. We follow the rows for a long while, then finally stop in a space between two tall apple trees. We let go of each other’s hands and move apart. Rowan is still wrapped in his cloak, with the hood drawn down over his hair.

He picks a strand of leaves and starts to twist it through his fingers. “Thank you for singing instead of me.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“I always wonder if it would be better for me to stay away.” He gives the leaves a final twist then lets the strand drop. “I don’t care that they whisper about me, or think I’m a monster. Really, it’s better for them to fear me.”

“Yes. It would be a shame to let anyone get too close. A terrible danger.”

“Is this advice on being kind to strangers from the prickliest creature I know?” He arches a brow at me. “Perhaps you can skip the jokes about blood sacrifices next time.”

“You have to admit it was a little funny.”

He smiles faintly, then looks down as his expression turns serious again. “The least I can do is try to be a half-decent lord in my father’s name. Even if they hate me or fear me. If I give up, then it feels like he died for nothing. A waste.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

“No, it does.” I run my hand over a nearby branch. The bark is rough beneath my fingers. “It’s harder to stay, sometimes, even if that’s the right thing.”

“Yes.”

“So how did you lead the chant before I was here?”

“Before?” His mouth lifts into a distant smile. “Elan led the chant. He liked to sing.”

Oh. I move closer until our shoulders brush. “I hope he had a nicer voice than I do.”

Rowan laughs softly. Moonlight filters between the trees and catches the lines of his face. Absently, he touches the scars that cross his jaw. “Sometimes I feel like he hasn’t truly gone. I keep expecting to turn around and see him there.”

“Or you hear a sound. And it’s not a voice, but it almost could be.” Memories of my family dance under my skin. They have their own kind of magic. I think of a garden, a cottage, stories told in the firelight. “I guess they’re always with us, somehow. But it’s not the same, is it?”

“Not the same, no. When I see you and Arien together—the way you play and tease and annoy each other—it makes me miss Elan even more.”

“Hm.” I squint at the branches above, then smile at him. “If you like, I could climb into one of these trees and throw apples at you. Would that help?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about your ideas of help.” He says it lightly, but his eyes are sad, and soon the laughter is gone from his voice. “Everyone I care about has been hurt because of me. I don’t want you to risk yourself because of my selfish mistakes.”

“No one else will be hurt,” I tell him. “I promise.”

I step toward him, struck by how alone we are with the village far behind us. There’s only the night sky and the quiet orchard and the scent of woodsmoke. When Rowan strokes his hand gently over my flower-threaded curls, the distance between us feels all at once too much and not enough.