"There has to be something else going on with Rook. No one is that good at hunting monsters. The man's uncanny. He must be cheating somehow. And why can't he brighten up a bit? You'd think he was an undertaker and not the most adored man in the country. Saints, I can't stand him. There's Rook, and there's the rest of us. It's not fair." — overheard in a Witherwell tavern, spoken by the monster hunter Gregory of the Road

~~~

Rook made his way up the mountain pass much slower than usual. He sat in the wagon with the reigns slack on his knee, his horses climbing at a crawl that was too fast for his mood. Dread was a feeling he was well-acquainted with, but today it was different. Today he felt like he was headed for certain death.

Princess Briar's freckled face kept coming into his mind completely unbidden. He imagined the soft lines of it contorting in accusatory rage, her wide green eyes sparking like flint.

He'd loitered in Alysgard a couple days longer than planned because he wasn't ready for it, for her. He wasn't ready to undergo the spirited earfuls, and he really wasn't ready for another generous helping of guilt to be added to his plate. Did he deserve it? Probably. But whether he did or not didn't matter. All the things he wanted to avoid were inevitable, and he'd lingered long enough. Time to get on with his plan, for which he needed the alchemy equipment in his cabin.

Rook packed tobacco into his pipe glumly and lit the dried leaves. Maybe he was stressing over nothing. Maybe the princess had escaped and never made it to Darkholm. Or maybe she, somehow, didn't know that it was him who came into her room and tainted her.

No. The princess had struck him as more intelligent than that. And the bounty in the wagon was enough proof of his receiving rich payment. Not to mention she would immediately know his killing werewolves was a lie.

The princess knew. And if she saw any of the paintings of him ridiculously peppering many Darkholm walls, then she was waiting for him.

Rook couldn't let his worries distract him too much, since his job— his years long quest— still wasn't done. It never was. Though he'd find out tonight if an end was finally in sight.
He watched the larch trees sway in the wind, the bright yellow needles stark against the blue-gray sky. A few stubborn leaves still clung to the bare branches of an alder tree, holding on by barest threads.

Rook could relate.

He liked this time of year best, when it was dying. It mirrored how he'd felt the last fifteen years— nearly dead, the last of his sanity dwindling. He was only thirty five, but felt a hundred years on the inside. His was an early waning. Slow. Arduous. Even his bones already ached like he had one foot in the grave.

When he crested the pass and turned the corner, he saw what he always saw. The three pine trees where he first caught side of Cerridwen far off. Barefoot and digging for clay, filthy from fingers to elbows. He still remembered how beautiful she looked. Warm brown hair swept up on top of her head, half-falling from its loose knot to frame her angled face. Cheeks flushed from the wind. Her toffee eyes rimmed with thick lashes. Her crooked smile. He'd known right away that he was done for.

Shoulders slumping, Rook pulled his eyes away from the spot. It was his destiny to be haunted.

He reached the Darkholm bridge, much to his irritation. The horses threw their heads as their hooves clopped across the damp wood, snorting in displeasure. They'd never gotten used to passing over the ward. Rook, on the other hand, barely noticed. The magic felt as normal to him as breathing.

Woodsmoke and mist mingled among the thatched roofs. It was morning, but the people were already milling about their work. Some spotted him and gesticulated with excitement.

Rook cringed a little. He never liked the attention they gave him. It was a mystery to him why they thought he deserved it at all.

Had the princess caught sight of him already?

He steered the wagon into town, garnering the attention of everyone in Darkholm who promptly dropped what they were doing and ran to see him. Familiar faces, lit with joy, came alongside the wagon and greeted him loudly.

"Hello, everyone, hello," Rook said, clasping scarred hands that were offered to him. "I come bearing gifts." Jumping from the wagon, he pulled back the wagon's canvas to reveal scores and scores of crates and casks. "You will dine like kings this winter."

A cheer went through the crowd.

Rook felt a heavy hand slap his back, and he turned to see the hardened face of Jack, one of his few real friends in the world. "Good to see you. Must have taken a job that paid well," Jack said, his eyes taking in the bounty.

Rook clasped Jack's shoulder. "Best I've ever been paid. Enough for many feasts."

Jack lowered his voice and leaned in. "Do you know that the princess is here?"

Rook blew out heavy. So she did make it to Darkholm. "I know."

He nodded in understanding, likely putting two and two together. "Unload the wagon," Jack said in a raised voice. "Stack it all in the store room of the longhouse. Joran, lead the wagon there."

Joran grasped the reigns of each horse in either hand and began leading the wagon up the hill. One of his hands was wrapped in a thick bandage. He looked even more disgruntled than usual.

"Hey!"

Everyone paused, craning their necks to see who the speaker was.

Rook grit his jaw. He didn't have to see her to know who it was. The bladed quality of her voice cut through him. He forced himself to turn.

The princess was standing outside Sven's house, her sopping gold hair leaving water stains on layered dresses that were six inches too short on her. The angles of her face were sharper than he remembered. Her eyes, ringed underneath with gray, were set on him.

Behind her, Sven stood on his porch, an apologetic look on his face.

She clenched her fists at her sides and shouted, "I have a bone to pick with you!"

~~~

Rage bloomed in Briar's chest. Rook didn't even flinch as he returned her gaze. He carried no penitence in his demeanor. No apology in the stony lines of his face. Only a brazen grimness that irked her to no end.

She felt for her knife at her belt only to find the tooled leather sheath was empty. Her heart fell. 

The knife was at the bottom of the lake with the dead marrow. Not only did she have no talisman, she now had no way of defending herself.

She didn't falter, though. The realization only succeeded in steeling her resolve and stoking the flame of her anger towards him.

All of it was his fault.

Rook's expression didn't change as Briar stormed at him, her jaw set and her fists clenched. She was going to give him a hard slug to his face and break his nose.

Just as she was about to descend on him with her wrath, Jack took hold of her arm and held her back. "Easy," he warned.

Briar struggled against him, annoyed at the amount she was being manhandled lately. "Let go of me, Jack!"

"Not until you calm down."

"I can't calm down," Briar retorted. "He tainted me! It's his fault I got sent up here!"

Rook sighed. "Let the lady go."

Briar yanked her arm away just as Jack eased his grip. She glared up at him before reeling at Rook. "You came into my room the night of my brother's dance and gave me a tainted cut." She took another step toward him. "Do you deny it?"

His wintry eyes jumped on hers. "I don't deny it," he said at length.

Her fist flew up and hit him hard in the cheek. He took it, making no effort to avoid the blow.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. Briar felt dozens of hateful eyes on her, but she wasn't paying attention to them. Her attention was solely on Rook.

"You ruined my life," Briar said once his eyes met hers again. "How could you?"

"Your brother offered me what I needed, so I took the job."

"And what about me? Had you no thought to how it would affect me?"

"You are not my concern," he said.

"I confess that I liked you when I met you," Briar said, "but I misjudged you. Now I see that you're nothing but a cold, unpleasant bastard who cares more about money than others."

"You speak to me of caring more about money than others?" He shook his head. "Your family has been holed up in your trove of wealth for decades, raising taxes, making the poor poorer. Forgive me if I didn't have a thought for the continuation of your spoiled life when I took a job that would feed the people your family abandoned." He spread his arms out. "Welcome to the real world, Princess. Where eating is a privilege and you have to work for it. Where survival is never guaranteed. You've had your retaliation," he gestured to the bruise beginning to bloom under his eye, "and now I'll hear no more of it. We all have work to do, you included. Joran, bring the wagon up."

A dozen more accusations and questions rose to her tongue, but Rook's long strides already bore him away.

"This isn't over!" she shouted.

Everyone turned to glower at her, except Rook who walked ahead of the crowd and stared straight ahead. Jack gave her a pointed look to shut up.

Sybil matched her stride. "I know you can't see it now, but he's a good man."

"He's an arcane," Briar said, giving her a look of doubt. "He probably has all of you under some sort of spell."

Sybil laughed softly.

"Do you know that he's a monster hunter in Alysgard?" Briar asked. "He tells everyone that he kills werewolves."

She shrugged. "A ruse to keep people off his scent."

Briar watched Rook take the first crate from the wagon, setting an example for everyone else to follow him. "I don't understand why he's here," she murmured. "Why he helps you."

"Again, you will have to ask him that," Sybil said. "Let's help unload. Come on."

~~~

The sun was gone and Rook sat in his house, finally able to relax a bit. Jack and Sybil sat across from him at his table, sharing a bottle of strong apple cider that Rook brought back from Threldale. Rook himself didn't partake of spirits, but he was content with the strong cup of coffee warming his bare hands. The gems embedded in his palm clinked against the earthen mug as he brought it to his lips. Cerridwen had made the mug for him, etching three pine trees into the clay. The three pine trees she was under when he first saw her.

Rook settled back in his chair. "So, has the princess been causing trouble?"

"Yes," Jack said.

"No," Sybil retorted, shaking her head affectionately at her husband. Sybil was Rook's sister by marriage, and the person he loved most in the world. Her gracious disposition showed that she was the only one in Darkholm who hadn't let the place turn her bitter. "The princess has been fine," she continued. "She's been handling herself very well considering her situation. She's had a rough go of it, but she works hard. Even Jack can't deny that."

"It's true," Jack said. "She works harder than most, even if she doesn't have much to show for it. She's not entirely useless."

"In time, I'm sure she'll prove herself invaluable," Sybil said.

Jack scoffed but patted his wife's hand. "I wouldn't go that far, my love." He swirled the cider in his cup. "What the hell was going on with her last night?"

"I asked her about it, but she wasn't keen on explaining," Sybil said. "She's been especially sullen and quiet since then. Well, until Rook showed up."

"What happened?" Rook asked.

Jack and Sybil exchanged a look. "She was walking through town screaming last night, like she was insane," Jack said.

Rook masked the concern he felt with a shrug. "Maybe she is."

Sybil shook her head. "I really don't think so."

Rook sighed. "Well, I'm expecting another earful from her at anytime. Whatever happened last night is probably something she'll blame me for." He paused. "If having her in your house is too much, I can move up to the trapper cabin full time and she can stay here.""I would like nothing more than her being gone from my house," Jack said. "But it would look like you were favoring her and that wouldn't go over well."

"You're right. Guess we'll just build her a small house come spring," Rook said, though he hoped that none of them would still be here come spring.

"It's no trouble," Sybil said. "She only bothers Jack because he insists on being bothered."

Jack raised his cup to her. "That I do, my dear."

Smiling fondly, Sybil clinked her cup with his and they both downed the rest of their cider. 

"Thank you, Rook," she said as they got up. "For the cider, and for everything else. You brought all the supplies I needed and then some."

Rook inclined his head. "You deserve it, sister."She smiled at him and he saw Cerridwen for the briefest moment as he always did. The way their lips curved was the same. Their eyes were the same, too, though Sybil of course only had one after an accident on a new moon.

Rook clasped Jack's arm in parting. "Do me a favor and tell the princess I'm not to be bothered tonight? Got some serious business to attend to and would rather not be disturbed."

Jack nodded. "Say no more."

"Thank you. Goodnight, my friends," Rook said.

"Goodnight," they returned. Pulling on their mittens and shrugging their hoods closer, they left Rook's hearth and stepped into the crisp night, leaving him alone.

Rook sighed heavily. Draining the rest of his coffee, he chewed on the filmy grounds that always accumulated in the dregs. He felt more at ease than he had in days. The job was done. The book was his. And now the initial confrontation with the princess was over. He thought of her, face flushed with anger, the golden strands of her wet hair sticking to the sides of her face. She'd looked ready to fight him to the death if she had to.

He touched the tender black of his eye and almost had to laugh. The sight of her small fist coming at him wasn't something he expected. She had some grit, he had to admit. 

Remembering his harsh words to her made him grimace, but it didn't matter. He had to harden his heart.

Rook's eyes trailed to his shelf of alchemy equipment. A clay alembic, which looked like a round bowl with a concave lid and a long spout, for distillation. Green glass bottles with round bases and narrow corked stems. Various sizes of cast iron pots. A mortar and pestle.

Now that all the disagreeable stuff was out of the way, the real work would begin. The work outlined for him in The Arcana.

His body cried out for rest, but instead of giving in to sleep he would make another coffee or two. He had all the ingredients he needed. It was time to make his own black tourmaline stone and bargain with an ancient deity.

~~~

Briar had the perfect view of Rook's house from her window. Lantern burning bright beside her, she peered out at the warm glow coming from his windows. The incessant dark outside turned her stomach sour. She was running on no sleep, but had entered that certain threshold of exhaustion where she felt wired and overly alert. Besides, she wanted to put off sleep as long as possible in hopes that the potent throes of weariness would cause a dreamless sleep. It had never happened before, but there was a first time for everything.

The front door opened, followed by the sound of boots being wiped on the woven mat. Jack and Sybil had gone to visit Rook. She wondered if they had spoken about her.

"Hey, Princess," Jack called out. "I know you want to go storm the wizard's house, but don't. He's busy."

A likely story, Briar thought with resentment.

"Did you hear me?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"You'll listen to me if you know what's good for you. Goodnight."

"Night."

Briar chewed on the inside of her cheek and strained her ears. Eventually their footsteps and low murmurs died down until the door of their bedroom closed.

She knew that Jack fell asleep fast. All she had to do was wait to hear his steady snoring and then she was free. How could he hear her tiptoeing over such obnoxious snores? She had no idea if Sybil was a light sleeper, but it didn't matter. Sybil wouldn't do anything if she heard Briar leave.

She was going to Rook's house. The rush of adrenaline would help her stay awake and avoid nightmares, and she might get more answers out of him.

Briar had been too caught up in her rage to ruminate on Rook being an arcane. The handsome man, not much older than her, who'd saved her on the road to Alysgard, had been an arcane all along. An arcane had walked the corridors of her castle. No wonder she'd sensed some wild power about him. He had elemental gems embedded into his palm, the chaotic magic ready to be used at will— which, Briar realized, was probably why he always wore those leather gloves. In the distant reign of King Godrick, the practice of magic had become illegal after inexperienced wielders caused a slew of accidents, including an entire city being toppled on itself. The next king, Thorn, was more lenient with magic, his focus more on eradicating monsters. From what Briar understood, the people of Oloria were now merely wary of magic. It was a gray area. And probably why Rook wanted to keep the fact he practiced it hidden.

Jack promptly started snoring. She waited a bit longer for good measure, then got up and carefully tiptoed from the house. The oil lantern swung and creaked in her hand.

The darkness hit her like a wall. Her throat grew tight. A cold sweat broke all over her body.

Holding the lantern out, she made a beeline for Rook's door.

Once on his stoop, she gave three urgent raps. She waited, staring into the lantern light, her hurried breath fogging out.

The door opened a crack, revealing the tired face of Rook. He drew in a ragged breath and let it out in a sigh. His eye was an obvious mottled violet now. "Princess, I'm busy. Please. Can't we hash this out at another time?"

"I will be civil this time," Briar said evenly, then pushed her way past him.

Rook's house was warm. The table, well-lit with lanterns, was covered in odd equipment and ingredients. A full shelf of books sat beside his bed near the glowing hearth. The room smelled like coffee and something burnt.

Briar turned to him. He was looking up at the ceiling, as if beseeching the gods for patience. He cast her a deadpan look before shutting the door. "What can I do for you, Princess?"

"I don't understand you," she said.

"You interrupted my work just to tell me that?"

"No, I want you to explain yourself," she said. "I think you owe me that, don't you?"

"I would argue that I don't owe you anything."

She raised her brows. "Then you are wrong."

"I let you hit me in the face," Rook said. "I thought that meant we were even."

"A temporary bruise doesn't equal a crown stolen and a life in shambles, Rook."

"I'm not responsible for that," Rook insisted. "Your brother is, or one could even argue that your father was."

"Did you kill my father?"

Rook's dark brows came together. "No," he said. "Your brother did."

Briar averted her gaze and gave a half-hearted nod. A violent image of her brother sinking his knife into the king's heart came into her mind. "That's what I thought." Sighing, she pulled back one of Rook's chairs and slumped into it. "So, ruining my life was simply a job for you. Fine. What I don't understand is why you agreed to it with the consequences to consider. Leith will be a terrible ruler, worse than my father was and much worse than I would ever be. I had plans, Rook. I was going to make the country better. My brother will run it into the ground and you gave him the reigns."

Rook dragged a hand across his face and crossed the floor to a steaming pot. Briar guessed it held the coffee she was smelling. "If he hadn't hired me, he would have hired someone else. This was all going to happen in some way or other, regardless of me." He held a thin piece of stained linen over the rim of his cup and strained out the grounds. "You have to understand that my sole commitment is to Darkholm. Not to you, not to the crown, not to Oloria. All my decisions are based on the good of the werewolves, and taking this job was good for them. I've never received so much coin before."

"Paid for at my expense," Briar reminded him with a cold stare.

"I told you," Rook said, his tone impatient, "it wasn't personal."

"Alright, fine." Briar rolled of her eyes. "But tell me this, why involve yourself with the werewolves at all? You're an arcane, for saint's sakes, and a monster hunter. Why do you have a home here? Why go out of your way to help them instead of kill them like people think you do?"

Rook sat in the chair opposite her. "A human cursed against their will is much different than a monster out for blood." He was quiet for a few breaths as he ran his thumb along the clay mug in his strong hands. It was glazed green and etched with three pine trees. She thought she saw the firelight catch a tear glint in his eyes, but he blinked and it was gone. "And I help them because they're good people and I owe them."

"For what?"

His eyes flicked up at her, this time not hiding his irritation. "I wasn't aware I owed you my entire life story."

"Fine," she said. "Don't tell me. I'm just trying to keep the conversation going."

"I don't want you to make conversation," he said. "I want you to leave. I thought I already made that clear."

Unruffled by his comment, Briar's eyes swept the table where a number of ingredients were spread out. A tin of charcoal. A jar of coarse black salt. Four ink cap mushrooms. A raven feather. A moon moth wing. A chunk of crystallized tree sap. A plain river stone. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Not your business," Rook said. "Stop being nosy and leave."

Briar's eyes fell on an open book at his elbow. It was the thickest book she'd ever seen, with tiny scrawled print and faded illustrations.

A gasp slipped from her parted lips. She knew that book. It was The Arcana.

"You stole that!" Briar said, getting to her feet and grabbing the heavy book in one swift motion. "You took it from my end table!"

Rook was on his feet, eyes wide and intent on her. "I didn't steal it," he said coolly. "It was part of the deal I cut with your brother."

"Well, it wasn't his to wager," Briar backed away from him with the book pressed to her chest. "The book belonged to my father, which means it rightfully belongs to me."

"Look. I need the book, Princess."

Briar lifted a shoulder. "And I need a hot bath and to get the hell out of Darkholm, but alas." She turned. "I was in the middle of reading it before it was so rudely stolen from me. I'll be taking it back."

"For the love of the gods, Princess, what could you possibly need with a book of magic? I am an arcane. You are not. Give me the book."

"Why should I?" Briar asked. "You took everything from me. Why should I let you keep this?"

Rook looked like he was about to pull his hair out. "Because I am trying to break the curse."