Humming a too-familiar tune that left her throat raw, Cassie picked the crocuses that had sprouted across the meadow and wove them into a garland. They would have been the perfect crown for a small, golden head.
She carried the flowers closer to town, having no difficulty locating the spot where the villagers had buried Leora. In the midst of the forest she had loved to cause trouble in, but close enough that it would still be safe to visit. Gently, tenderly, she laid the garland on the spot, just over her heart.
It wasn't enough.
Cassie didn't stand there and cry. She had done that enough, and she had butchered the farewell song so frequently she had grown hoarse. For the first time, she sat down, pulled off her cap, and spoke.
"Once there was a little girl."
She waited, but there was no response. Her heart ached with the absence of the bright inquisitive eyes or the eager interruption.
"She was charming and beautiful, a little golden angel, but she didn't care about that. Instead, the little girl was always getting dirty. She would get in fights with the boys, run through the mud, and play with any animal she saw, because she loved to live."
Cassie's mouth was trembling too badly for speech. She took a deep breath and plowed on.
"Life had taken away her father, but life must have felt guilty for robbing such a wonderful little girl, because in his place life gave her a fairy godmother. Not many children get one, so she really was quite lucky.
"Since fairies are always invisible to mortal eyes, no one ever saw her godmother. However, everyone knew that she must exist, because fairy godmothers always give their godchild a gift when she is born. The little girl had been gifted with the most pure golden hair and most beautiful face anyone had ever seen for the last hundred years. She was also given the gift of love. She was utterly filled with it, so that every person who met her could not help but to love her. She was sweet and rambunctious, and excelled at everything she tried. She was given the gift of laughter and charm, and was a most precocious child.
"Her fairy godmother was very generous."
Warmth trickled down one cheek; Cassie swiped it away. She was tired of crying. She was tired of keeping this story in.
"She was also brave. One day she was crashing through the forest, as she always did, when she spotted a cottage. A nosey creature by nature, she quietly approached the unusual little house."
Cassie answered the question that would always remain unspoken.
"What made it unusual was its color. Instead of grey stone or brown wood, it was different shades of red, like you would see in a fireplace. In some places it was yellow, or even dark enough to be black, or the glowing red of embers. It was a house made of fire, but the fire did not move."
A nearby bird sang a melancholy tune, but Cassie ignored it. She bent down to brush some dirt away from the flowers.
"What sort of material the house was made from, the girl could not tell. It did not look dangerous, however, and when the girl placed her hand against the wall of the cottage, it was cool to the touch. Slowly she peeked over the windowsill, to see who lived here."
Cassie shuddered away from the memory of the first time she had seen Leora, with those bright eyes peering into Aldine's window.
"The room was empty of any living creature, but the wood in the fireplace was still smoking, and there was a rocking chair in the corner that was still moving back and forth. Someone had been there recently.
"Disappointed, the child turned around, and found herself face-to-face to an angry old woman. She realized that she had found the home of the mother of the dragon, the evil witch who has lived at the center of the forest since time began.
"The girl felt no fear, however. She knew that above all else, witches fear steel, so she drew her little dagger to protect herself.
"The woman surprised her by immediately running away. The girl had expected the witch to attempt to cast a curse or two, but she had simply fled. Delighted with her victory, Le—the girl shouted and gave chase. The witch did not get far.
"Her hair, long and matted, almost completely obscured her eyes and impeded her flight. Unable to see much in her path, she soon tripped and fell.
"When the girl caught up, she expected the witch to roll over and fight, but she didn't move. She had been knocked unconscious. Knowing it would be dishonorable to stab her in the back, the girl sat down beside the woman, and waited for her to wake up.
"While she was waiting, the girl noticed many things. The witch's grey hair had not been cut or brushed in a very long time, her dress was in ancient tatters, and the only clean spots on her face were the tear tracks through the grime.
"So when the old woman finally roused and looked up at her in terror, the girl did not threaten her. Instead, she—she offered to brush her hair.
"Her kind heart soon won over the lonely old witch, and they became fast friends. The girl helped to take care of her isolated cottage and watched after her. In return, the woman taught her the secrets of the world, including how to speak with the animals, and the secret language of the dragons, which had long been thought lost.
"The years began to pass and the little girl g-grew into a beautiful young wo-woman, but she still continued to visit her friend nearly every day."
Overcome by the empty pain in her chest, Cassie put her palms flat on the ground. Tears continued to slide down her cheeks.
"Don't—don't you want to know what happens next?" Her voice caught in her throat. "I do."
A sweet breeze ruffled the trees and brushed past Cassie. A voice answered her.
"She goes on many adventures, winning over her enemies with her loving heart, and conquering the dragons with her ingenuity and courage."
Twisting her head, she saw that James was behind her, holding a bouquet of peonies. He bent and put them in front of the garland Cassie had left.
"Wrong," Cassie said with a sniffle. "Not even the dragons could bear to do her harm."
"I don't recall giving you the day off," he said, trying to smile. He settled down on the ground beside her.
"I—I had to see her."
"These were always the best days, weren't they?" he said.
She knew what he meant: the three of them out here, with the flowers and the breeze, and the stories.
She flinched away from his hand as he reached towards her, but he simply captured a strand of errant hair. It was beginning to grow out, the curls standing in every direction.
"She liked the braids," she said by way of explanation. "I—I wanted—"
He nodded.
"I should have known better. This curse—the darkness ruins everyone around me." She should have left Telyre long before it came to this. That even Leora had paid the price for her fear...how was she to live, knowing that? If she still had hair long enough, she would have torn it out by the roots.
"I think the real curse may be that you can't see the light that follows the dark," James said, gentler than she had ever heard him.
"What light?" Cassie asked bitterly. "It's all dead now." Even the sun itself was dimmer, and every day was tinged with sorrow so acute that it turned into sickness.
"I wouldn't say that, love. Look." He pointed to the ground in front of her, where a timid green leaf was poking out of the carpet of leaves.
With fingers that trembled, Cassie cleared away the fallen leaves until she could see the little plant better. She was certain that it had not been here when she first sat down, but here it was, with several new leaves unfurling. The dirt it sat in was damp.
She tested the ground a foot away. Not damp. The ground it grew in. Damp. Looking down at this little plant of Leora's, this new life, in wonder, one final tear rolled down her nose and dripped onto the dirt at its base. The thirsty ground soaked it up immediately. Was it her imagination, or was the little plant already standing a little straighter?
High up in the trees, a bird began to sing.
***
The next time Cassie went to visit Leora's grave, there was already someone there. Although she hesitated before approaching, she wasn't unduly wary. Several of the villagers brought flowers or came to talk by the grave, just as she did.
Cassie wouldn't bother him. She would come back another time to weed the spot. While it was nice to see nature reclaiming its own as flowers and vines crept back over the earth, Cassie drew the line at the weeds that threatened to choke the young and still-fragile plant that had sprouted on the grave.
But then the voice reached her. She knew that voice, heard it in her dreams. It dragged her quietly forwards, until she could just make out the words.
"I brought you some flowers," the rough voice said. "You were picking these when—well, I thought you might like them. I don't really care for the color, but—" Then a prolonged clearing of the throat—a throat that had not been cleared for a long time—then the voice resumed, sounding worse than ever. "They were the best I could find."
He was so absorbed that Cassie was able to get right behind him. He didn't even have time to react before her knife was at his throat.
"I never pegged you for a fool," she said, voice hard. "Repugnant, sure, evil, yes, but not stupid."
His shoulders dropped. "You again?" Longheirce said.
"I live here," Cassie snapped. "What's your excuse?" She glanced at the grave. "Came back to finish the job?"
Then looked again. The grave was cleared already, though it had been several days since the last time Cassie had pulled any.
"There were weeds," Longheirce said, and was silent.
His hand twitched.
Cassie immediately tensed, but he was dropping something, not coming up to fight.
A wreath of orange blossoms fell on the grave.
He had brought her flowers.
"What is this?" Cassie snarled. "Some sick joke?"
Longheirce shrugged, a restless jerk of his sharp shoulders. "She liked flowers."
"You wouldn't know anything about what she liked." Cassie could feel the cold fire of her hatred coursing through her body, like she had drunk it. "And thanks to you—" She couldn't go on.
He made no move this time. "It was an accident."
"No," Cassie said coldly. "You were an accident. A plague that never should have been released. This—this was—"
"You flatter me," he said, his voice flat. "Not even I am capable of willingly killing a child."
"Why bother denying it?" Cassie was not going to pity him. She was not. "We saw you—"
Both flinched, as though hearing that earth-ending crack again. It haunted Cassie's nights; she didn't need more reminders of it waking.
He gestured limply, a grabbing at the air. "I wasn't looking," he said. "I was just trying to get her out of the way."
Cassie clenched the handle of her knife more tightly. She couldn't hear any more about that day, that moment.
"Quiet," she ordered him harshly.
She was going to do it. She had him in her power, she had just cause, and most importantly, she had a blade. She was going to kill him.
She saw his shoulders rise and fall in a small, noiseless sigh.
"You think I should spare you?" she demanded. Foolish mistake. He wasn't worth sparing. All he was worth was one swing of the executioner's blade.
"No," he said simply. Then it came, hard and flat: "I wouldn't you."
"I know."
How simple an understanding between them, so easily accepted by both. Given the barest chance, one would kill the other. And because he had been foolish enough to show his weakness, Cassie had gotten her chance first.
She kicked his feet out from under him.
Longheirce tumbled to his knees in the fallen leaves of that peaceful forest.
Without letting her knife leave his throat, Cassie stepped around to face him. She wanted to see him die. And she was going to enjoy it. The warm blood pouring from his throat, his face draining of color, the hard, sinewy body collapsing into the weakness of death. All of it.
His cold eyes matched hers for blazing hatred. He would not flinch—and neither would she.
Cassie grabbed his matted hair in one fist to hold his head steady and expose the throat. She had killed men before. This would be easy. Much easier, in fact, than the Citaken soldiers she had struck down in battle, because more than any other, this man deserved death.
She thought almost with relish of the deep blood that would pour forth in moments. At last, it would all be over. He would be a sacrifice upon Leora's grave, atoning for his crimes against this kingdom.
Cassie raised the knife.
But even if he bled and died here, what would that serve? Would it make her a murderer—like him?
It wouldn't be murder if he deserved it! Justice must be served. She raised the blade higher so that it glinted in the dappled green light. Cassie didn't know much, but she knew that justice must be meted out here. For the safety of all.
But he had brought Leora flowers. He had risked his life to do it, and this was the repayment for his troubles.
She gripped the hilt tighter and tighter, until her fingers ached and the leather cut into her palm. Silence fell around them, except for the pounding fury in Cassie's head and Longheirce's controlled breathing. He did not wince, he did not beg, but he had closed his eyes and braced himself, waiting for her blow.
Cassie slowly lowered the knife.
This land had seen enough blood.
He felt the shift, his eyes opening. "You didn't kill me." He looked up, disbelieving.
Cassie stared back, unflinching, stubborn, and ashamed. "It's nothing personal," she said. She would love nothing better. "Today isn't the day." She could not do it. She could not kill him. Not here.
"Do it," he said, breath coming fast.
"You want me to kill you?"
"I will not be in your debt." His lip curled.
He did not want to owe her his life, because it would mean he would not be able to kill her the next chance he got. "Don't worry," Cassie said, releasing him. "I'm sure you'll come up with some other way to destroy my life." And the lives of everyone around her.
"I look forward to it," he replied, rising.
"But for today, get out of here. And don't ever come back," she commanded roughly. Not that it would do any good. She would see him again. He wouldn't give up. Still, she had to say it. It was the principle of the thing.
His eyes gleamed. "I will if I want to."
"You will if you want to die," she warned him.
"We'll see each other again," he said, low and soft. Of that, Cassie had no doubt.
But for now, Longheirce knew enough to melt back into the forest. Today was not the day to settle this. Not now, not here.
Nerves frayed, breathing hard, frustrated beyond belief, Cassie was not in a mood to be disturbed. A timid rustling in the undergrowth provoked an infuriated scream out of her. Birds took to flight from the treetops, startled at the noise.
She had had her chance, and she let him go!
Determined to hit something, she flung her knife towards the epicenter of the rustling. There was a squeak and a small animal scurried away. She had missed.
She hadn't just missed. The knife hit a tree—not even a close tree—handle first and spun off into the bracken. Cursing quietly, Cassie went to find it. By the time she had, the day was thinking of turning to night. Spent, Cassie turned for home.
Wynne greeted her when she returned. The baker was on her way home as well, business at the shop done for the day. On her hip was another basket for her uncle. She called a greeting to Cassie, who slowed enough for Wynne to catch up.
"I was starting to get concerned," Wynne panted when she was close enough. Moving quickly was not her forte. "Nobody has seen you since midday."
Cassie gestured vaguely. "I was in the woods."
"Oh." Wynne's eyes lit with sudden understanding. "You were visiting—?"
She gave a jerky nod of assent. It was easier to not say some words.
Wynne nodded sympathetically and looked to continue on her way to Landon's, but then—"Are you well?" Her friend peered anxiously at her. "You were gone for a long time, and you look—" Wynne hesitated briefly, searching for words—"a little wild."
"Um," Cassie produced. "Yes, I suppose."
Now was the time to tell what had happened in the forest. The words were in Cassie's mouth, ready to explain, ready to justify. "At the—" she began, then finished rather lamely, "there were a lot of weeds."
What if she had made the wrong choice in letting the bandit go? She didn't need them to know what a fool she was. If only she had brought someone with her in the first place! She never knew what to do. And sure as dragons, she had made the wrong choice yet again.
"I do think I should lie down," she said faintly. "Give my regards to your uncle." Not staying to receive Wynne's parting words, Cassie ducked into a side street and jogged home.
Finally, when she was huddled in her bed in the dark, it was quiet enough to think. Should she have told Wynne after all? She felt certain that it was better to have not. Wynne didn't react to unsavory news well. She had learned not to upset Wynne with unnecessary information. But perhaps someone else should know?
Would anyone understand her decision? They would think that she had put them in more danger by staying her hand and shown weakness in showing clemency. At the moment, Cassie was inclined to agree with them.
She pounded her pillow into a more pleasing shape. Stupid. Stupid. It had been moronic of her not to kill him. She had had at the mercy of her blade the most dangerous bandit in the three kingdoms, and had done nothing. She was the worst kind of fool.
What about James? Surely he would understand. He had often been stalwart in times of duress. He had even supported Cassie in protecting and caring for an enemy soldier. All things considered, this probably wasn't the worst mistake she'd ever made, and James had a knack for remaining unfazed at the troublesome consequences of her foolhardy decisions.
Then again, if she told him what Longheirce had been doing in the forest, James might be inclined to mercy the next time he encountered the bandit, mistakenly hoping that the inhuman creature felt any form of emotion. And he would get away again. That could not happen. If any of them hesitated in the next encounter...hesitation would bring death. For James' safety, for her own, for everyone's, Cassie could not afford to tell even James. It would prove deadly.
There was nothing to do for it but stay silent. Let their world return to the natural order of enmity.