Serpent & Dove

My throat is weeping.

Not tears. Something thicker, darker. Something that bathes my skin in scarlet, streams down my chest and soaks my hair, my dress, my hands. My hands. They scrabble at the source, fingers probing, searching, choking—desperate to stem the flow, desperate to make it stop, stop, stop—

Shouts are echoing around me through the pines. They disorient me. I can’t think. But I need to think, to flee. And she’s behind me, somewhere, stalking me. I can hear her voice, her laughter. She calls to me, and my name on her lips rings loudest of all.

Louise . . . I’m coming for you, darling.

Coming for you, darling

Coming for you, darling . . . darling . . . darling . . .

Blind terror. She can’t find me here. I can’t go back, or—or something terrible will happen. Gold still flickers. It lingers on the trees, the ground, the sky, scattering my thoughts like the blood on the pines. Warning me. Leave, leave, leave. You can’t come back here. Never again.

I’m lunging into the river now, scrubbing my skin, washing away the trail of blood that follows me. Frantic. Feverish. The slash at my throat closes, the sharp pain receding the farther I run from home. The farther I run from my friends. My family. Her.

Never again never again never again

I can’t see any of them ever again.

A life for a life.

Or I’ll die.

I woke with a start, my eyes darting to the window. Flushed and agitated, I’d left it open last night. Snow coated the ledge in fine powder, and occasional gusts of wind blew snowflakes into our room. I watched them swirl through the air, trying to ignore the icy fear that had settled in the pit of my stomach. Blankets weren’t enough to warm the chill in my bones. My teeth chattered.

Though I hadn’t heard all of Madame Labelle’s frantic words, her warning had been clear.

She is coming.

I sat up, rubbing my arms against the chill. Who was Madame Labelle, really? And how had she known about me? I’d been naive to think I could truly disappear. I’d lied to myself when I’d worn my disguises—when I married a Chasseur.

I’d never be safe.

My mother would find me.

Though I’d practiced again this morning, it wasn’t enough. I needed to train harder. Every day. Twice a day. I needed to be stronger when she arrived—to be able to fight. A weapon wouldn’t hurt either. In the morning, I would search for one. A knife, a sword. Anything.

Unable to stand my thoughts any longer, I swung from the bed and dropped to the floor beside my husband. He breathed, slow and rhythmic. Peaceful. Nightmares didn’t plague his sleep. Slipping beneath the blankets, I pressed close to him. Rested my cheek against his back and savored his warmth as it seeped into my skin. My eyes fluttered shut, and my breathing slowed to match his.

In the morning. I would deal with everything in the morning.

His breathing faltered slightly as I drifted to sleep.