The Glass Casket (36 page)

“Give me my coin,” Merrilee growled, and with a hand on Tom’s shoulder, she pulled back and twisted, the bones shattering beneath her grip as Tom wailed in agony.

Jude turned and ran to his brother’s side. Enraged, he pointed his gun at Merrilee, but she pressed the knife into Tom’s flesh, beginning to draw blood.

“Put your gun down or I kill him. You have three seconds.”

Jude dropped his gun.

“Not just you,” she said, looking around. “Everyone throw your weapons over the side of the cliff. Do it now, or the boy dies.”

Shaking, Jude flung his gun over Lover’s Leap before gathering the other weapons and heaving them over as well. For a split second, he stared into the woods where Henry Rose’s gun now lay, but then he looked away and threw his arms into the air, though not until after giving Rowan a quick glance.

“They’re gone,” he said. “Now let him go. I beg of you; let my brother go.”

“You too,” Merrilee said to the duke, ignoring Jude. “You know the things I’ll do to you if you refuse me.”

His breath coming in raspy bursts, the duke tossed his weapon over the cliff, and the Greywitch turned back to face Fiona, a bright smile now on her face.

“The beast belongs to me,” Merrilee said. “It’s mine.”

There came the sound of branches twisting, snapping, as behind them something moved. And turning, Rowan saw it—back at the Mouth of the Goddess, at the outcropping of forest, the creature hidden among the branches and snow.

Merrilee narrowed her eyes and turned to see what it was that moved among the trees.

Carefully Rowan made her way through the snow to Fiona Eira, and when the girl saw her, her expression transformed from suspicion to surprise. Looking into each other’s eyes, the sisters suddenly knew each other. Fiona
held out her hand to Rowan. Rowan reached out as she’d done a thousand times before, only this time cold fingers reached back, and clasping at her warmth, Fiona Eira pulled her sister to her side.

Hatred burning inside her, Rowan stared at the child who had just killed her father. “I’m not frightened of you,” she said.

“Rowan,” the duke said, his voice shaking as he walked slowly through the snow to the Greywitch. “Don’t be stupid.”

Merrilee turned her focus to him.

“Are you frightened right now?” the Greywitch asked. “Are you frightened of what I might do to her?”

“Stop, Merrilee, please!” cried the duke. “You promised that no one would die. You swore to me that no one would die.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Promises have ways of getting broken. You think I don’t know about the promises you’ve been making to Rowan?”

He shook his head, terror transforming his features. “I haven’t …”

“I see,” she said simply. “This is why you bought me from my parents, why you took me from my home? So I could work the magic that you cannot, and then once you have my beast, you could abandon me?”

“I’m not abandoning you, Merrilee,” the duke said, his face pale with fear.

“You are,” she said, furious. “You would take
her
to the throne. I will not have it. I do not like your change of plans, and I am tired of hearing your voice.”

She turned her back to the duke and flashed a terrible smile at Fiona. “The coin,” she said. “Now.”

Rowan looked at the duke, who stared at her, pain in his eyes, and then he began moving slowly toward Merrilee. Rowan’s heart gave a start as his intentions became clear. Approaching from behind, unseen, raising his hands as if to catch a violent cat, the duke descended upon the Greywitch. For a moment, Rowan was certain that he would save them all, but then, with one swift motion, without ever taking her eyes from Fiona or removing her grip from Tom, Merrilee thrust the knife behind her, plunging it directly into the duke’s heart.

Rowan screamed as the duke’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head and then took a single step before falling forward into the snow, crimson rivulets spilling from him, feathering their way through the powder.

With the knife once again pressed to Tom’s throat, Merrilee drove her fingers deeper into Tom’s already broken shoulder, shattering it even further. Tom screamed as his arm seemed to tear away from his body, hanging at an inhuman angle. Rowan looked at her sister, and all at once Fiona’s expression grew calm. Any indication of the monster within seemed to melt away until only the clear, beautiful face of the living girl remained. She closed her eyes, and as if deciding something, she nodded.

Fiona turned to Rowan and squeezed her arm. Rowan stared into her sister’s coal-black eyes, and within them she saw longing and grief, the vast tragic emptiness that had
been the dead girl’s short life. And then Fiona smiled, and her dark eyes filled with tears.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

In one fluid motion, Fiona Eira tore the necklace from her throat and flung it high in the air, far out over the edge of the cliff, down to the frozen lake below.

Merrilee looked on in horror, and then ran to the edge of the cliff as behind her there issued the terrible noise of trees torn asunder. The beast, atop jagged bone legs, surged toward the cliff and the coin. Fiona pulled Rowan back and out of the path of the beast just in time for Merrilee to turn and see the gaping wounds of its eyes, and the needle teeth lining its mouth as it clamped down on her, and the two of them hurtled out and over the cliff, the beast intent on the coin that lay on the ice below.

Rowan could barely breathe as she ran to the edge of Lover’s Leap just in time to see the ice break beneath the enormous creature. To her shock, the starving water nixies—vast schools of them—swarmed upon the beast, pulling it and the Greywitch it held in its jaws down and down and down, their sharp teeth tearing and chewing as they went.

Stunned, Rowan backed away from the carnage below. She turned, then nearly fell to the ground as she took in the devastation before her. Her father—his body—lay lifeless in the snow. Gone from her so soon. Tom sat broken and in pain, staring up, terrified, at Fiona Eira beside him.

“What have you done?” he cried. “What have you done?”

“It’s better this way,” she said, and Rowan could see her
sister’s once-lovely skin pull in on itself as Death began to suck the life from her. “It’s better.”

“No!” he howled. “You can’t leave me. Please, no!”

But she only held a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” she whispered, and then she closed her eyes.

Rowan watched as Fiona faded before her, shriveling, twisting as if burning from within, and then an awful cloud of smoke rose from the ground, and Rowan had to turn away and cover her mouth to keep from choking on the fumes. When she looked again, Fiona Eira was gone, now nothing more than a mound of white ash piled atop the snow.

Reaching into the ash with his good arm, gasping at the pain, Tom swept his hand through it, looking for something, anything. And then, collapsing completely, he curled into a ball. Hands to his face, he wailed, a cry that would ring in Rowan’s ears for years to come.

A
FTER PLACING THEIR
cinnamon at the Mouth of the Goddess, Rowan and Jude made their way down Cairn Hill to Seelie Lake. It had been three months since Rowan had laid her father to rest, and still she experienced the pain of his loss as if each day he were torn from her anew.

They were leaving Nag’s End, invited by the queen herself to the palace city. Rowan, hesitant to leave her village, had promised her brethren that they’d return shortly, but Jude had a sense that the journey that lay ahead of them would bring a grander adventure than either could anticipate. He, like Rowan, was hungry to see the world, and so certain was he that her destiny was larger than the limits of
Nag’s End that he was simply happy to go where the winds might take them.

Hand in hand, they made their way along the banks of the crystalline lake, their boots slipping through the fresh green shoots of grass. Above them, the trees were waking, stretching out beneath the warmth of the vernal sun.

Tom was healing well, and walked now with the help of a staff, but still Jude worried for his brother. The villagers, sympathetic to the plight of the broken boy, had helped him build his own small cottage at the base of Lover’s Leap. He was intent on the spot, for it was atop that fated slate rock, where nothing ought to grow, that there had come to sprout a bright green sapling. It grew fast and it grew wild, and already rich red roses blossomed upon it.

As soon as Tom’s cottage came into Rowan’s view, Pema burst out of the front door. Eyes glittering, tongue wagging, and bounding across the fertile banks of the lakeshore, she threw herself at Rowan and licked her face.

A moment later, Tom appeared, shuffling toward them with his walking stick, and Rowan couldn’t help but feel he’d aged a lifetime since Fiona’s death. It wasn’t just his injury. The eyes that looked out from that now-wizened face were those of a man who already knew things about the world that most people never learn.

“Heading off now?” Tom called.

“We are,” Rowan said, rubbing the dog’s head. “You and Pema getting along well, then?”

“Aye,” said Tom, turning back toward his cottage. “Birds of a feather.”

Pema, spotting a large crow, set off after it, and Jude and Rowan followed Tom to his cottage. Inside it was pleasant and warm. On the small wooden table, Tom set out tea and lemon cake, and together the three ate and enjoyed one another’s company.

When they’d had their fill, they said their farewells.

“Take care of each other,” Tom said.

Rowan felt a stab to her chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder who would take care of Tom. And then something caught her eye.

“There’s a white one,” she said, pointing up to the rose tree.

“What?” Jude asked, trying to see what she meant.

“On the rose tree,” she said. “Among the red blossoms, there’s a single white rose.” And as soon as the words graced her lips, she understood.

“You’d better be off now,” Tom said, looking at Rowan with the smile of a man who has had his fill of adventure and is now eager for his friend to have hers.

She hugged him close, her heart breaking for the boy he’d once been. And then, letting go, she took Jude by the hand. Together, the pair set off through the trees.

From the front of his cottage, Tom watched the lovers go, his spirit filled with joy. He looked up at the young rose tree that arched over the edge of the cliff, and he closed his eyes. There are some men who love only once, and Tom Parstle was such a man.

A turn in the weather caused Tom to open his eyes just in time to see the solitary white rose among its red sisters drop a single petal. Caught on a breeze, it flitted through the air, dancing in the morning light before landing in the palm of his hand. Tom smiled to himself, and gently folded his fingers around the petal. Then, slowly, with the solitude of a man whose tale was never told, he went inside, closing the door behind him.

Enormous thanks to:

Krista Marino, the most astoundingly brilliant editor a girl could dream of having. This book is every bit as much her doing as it is mine. To Beverly Horowitz, Angela Carlino, and the rest of the amazing Delacorte Press team. To Kate Garrick, Brian DeFiore, Madelyn Mahon, and everyone else at DeFiore and Company.

Thanks to all the writers, teachers, and friends who helped with the book: Keith Abbott, Duncan Barlow, Jocelyn Camp, Julie Caplan, Camille DeAngelis, Sam Hansen, Patricia Hernandez, Kristen Kittscher, Jay Kristoff, Jennifer Laughran, Alex Raben, Isak Sjursen, Teddy Templeman, and Andrew Wille.