“Winning the challenges gives you the right to own me. I would belong to you completely. I’d be your possession.”
“I simply phrased the oath in a way most advantageous to me at the time,” he said. “I don’t want to own you, Rose. I want you to want me. And I think you do.”
She couldn’t let him derail her. “I understand why you’ve done it that way. But the fact remains that I have to trust you completely to let you win.”
He raised his arms. His tone grew cold. “Do you want me to marry you right now, is that it? If that’s the only way I’ll have you, I’ll do it.”
She winced. “That’s exactly what I don’t want.”
“What do you want?”
She held herself straight. “I want you to sign three writs of citizenship for myself and the kids. I’ll go with you into the Weird. You’ll introduce me to your family and friends. If in one month’s time you still want to go through with the wedding, I’ll marry you.”
He stared at her. “What would be the purpose of that?”
“You’re giving me the power to take the writs and vanish once we reach the Weird.”
“Are you afraid I’ll mistreat you?”
“It’s about trust, Declan. I will trust you to take me to the Weird, to not kill the children, to not sell me to the highest bidder, to not turn me into your mistress only to be abandoned when some noblewoman catches your eye. And you will trust me to come with you and marry you of my own free will, not because of some dumb challenge.”
His face snapped into glacial calm. “Is that what you think of me? You think me the kind of man who would murder children and take advantage of you?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t. I want to be with you, Declan. I love you very much. But your family might hate me, and you might change your mind. If you do it my way, you’ll have an out. You’ll lose nothing.”
“So you want me to trust you, but you don’t trust me,” he said.
“This is the challenge,” she said. “Three writs, thirty days. I won’t back away from it.”
His expression didn’t change. “George, there is a wooden box in my room. Fetch it. You’ll have your writs,” he said. “Start packing.”
IT took them the whole day to pack what little belongings they had. They had to travel light, no more than they could carry. Rose packed a couple of changes of clothes for everyone. The kids took their toys and the three volumes of
Declan had transformed back into the Weird blueblood. The gray leather armor, the sword, the pack, and the wolf mantle were back. So was the haughty expression. He hadn’t said more than two words to her.
They said their tear-soaked good-byes to Grandma.
“Come with me,” Rose asked. “Please.”
Éléonore just hugged her. “I couldn’t have left Cletus even if I wanted to. I had no place to go and no means to cross the ocean. But you will have a choice. If it doesn’t work out, you can always come back here. Always, Rose. No matter what, no questions asked. Let me do this thing for you. I’ll sleep better at night.”
“We’ll come back to visit next summer,” Rose promised.
As they headed down the path into the Wood, Rose looked back and saw Grandma on the porch, a lost expression on her face.
George sniffled.
“Next summer we’ll talk her into coming back with us,” she told him.
They walked for the better part of the day. The Wood grew darker and stranger with each step, the trees becoming thicker, branches more twisted. Odd creatures skittered among the canopy and bizarre flowers bloomed among the roots, like beacons of white and orange.
Finally Declan stopped. “The boundary,” he said.
The moment of truth. Either they had enough magic to cross or they didn’t. Rose held the boys by the hand and took a step. Pressure clutched her. She gasped at the sudden weight and took another step, then another and another, and then they were through.
An incredible lightness filled her. The magic pulsed within her, vibrant, strong, and she laughed softly at the simple happiness of it.
Declan reached into his leather and produced a small whistle. A shrill sound sliced through the Wood. Magic pulsed from the whistle. A rapid thudding of a horse answered, and a large animal pushed through the underbrush. Thick, stocky across the shoulders, with a deep chest and powerful legs, it looked like a cross between a Budweiser stallion and a wild ram. It dipped its head, crowned with two steel-capped horns, and nuzzled at Declan.
“His name is Grunt,” Declan said.
The mount grunted in reply. They packed their belongings into saddlebags, loaded Jack and George onto Grunt’s back, and set off.
Two days later, they finally made it out of the woods and onto the road. Declan pushed them, and by nightfall, they came upon a settlement.
It was a small town, poised about a paved road running up a hill. Two- and three-story houses climbed up the slope, cushioned in greenery. Some were whitewashed, some built of pink and yellow stone, most roofed with reddish orange shingles. Here and there streetlamps sparked with magic. Some buildings showed odd cupolas; others had peculiar hieroglyphs scrawled on their walls in flowing script.
A small carriage slid by them, heading up the hill. It had no horse.
Declan led them up the road to a wide blocky building, marked by a tall post with a glowing green lantern atop it.
A dark-haired boy ran out to take Grunt’s reins and bowed deeply. “My lord!”
“Quiet,” Declan told him, pointing at the two boys passed out on Grunt’s back. He tossed a coin to the boy. It looked a lot smaller than the doubloons with which he’d paid her. “Family suite, top floor. And a dinner for four.”
They had two adjoining rooms connected with a door and situated on the end of the second-floor hallway. The rooms were clean and beautiful. For some reason she had expected a smoky medieval tavern, but instead the rooms were almost modern, except for the absence of electric outlets, TVs, or anything else that was meant to plug in. The walls were a gentle peach, the floors golden hardwood. Each bedroom came equipped with a canopied bed and soft dark red chairs. Clusters of elegant glass bellflowers mounted on the walls spilled soothing light.
The innkeeper deposited Jack onto the bed in the right room and withdrew. Declan placed George next to Jack.
Rose went into the bathroom and saw a toilet, a double sink, and a shower with a huge bathtub sunken deep into the floor. A robe hung on the hook, so ordinary she nearly laughed. Suddenly she realized she stank. She stripped and climbed in, wanting nothing more than to wash off three days in the forest. It took her a little while to figure out the contents of the twisted green and blue glass bottles, but in the end, she emerged, clean, smelling like tangerines, and wrapped in a fluffy cream-colored towel.
They didn’t appear to have electricity, but the water pressure was excellent and the water was hot. She’d have to ask Declan about it.
She tiptoed past the sleeping children into the second room and gasped when Declan pounced on her, sweeping her off her feet. His lips touched hers, and she melted. She missed him so much, she almost cried.
His voice was a husky growl knitted with need. “I missed you.”
She put her fingers on his lips. “Quiet, the kids . . .”
He glanced at the door and roared at the top of his lungs, “Kids?”
She gasped, expecting Jack or George to fly through the door. Declan reached over, swung the door open, and showed her the boys asleep in their room.
“Soundproof sigil,” he said, shutting the door. “We can hear them, but they can’t hear us. You can scream all you want.”
“So I’m completely at your mercy?” Rose laughed.
