Chapter Text
In the old tales, the ones told in grand halls by travelling storytellers, evil was palpable. It was foretold by prophecy; it made itself known by a cold chill, the failure of crops, a deep-seated feeling of wrongness.
But that’s not how it happened in Rosewood Forest. Instead, evil slipped past them with a disarming smile and some well-placed flattery. It wormed its way into the inner circle of Lord and Lady Rose, and no one realised the rot they had invited into their garden until it was far too late.
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From the moment she was born, David Rose took care of his little sister.
When Alexis was screaming and squalling, her tiny face scrunched up in fury, David would take her from the maid and walk around the room with her until she fell asleep, snuffling in his arms. When the wet nurse was done with her David would sit down on one of the ornate chairs in the nursery, the one that was set up for his parents on the rare occasions they visited, with Alexis in his lap as he told her a tale regurgitated with varying degrees of accuracy from one of the tales told around the fire in the great hall.
As they grew older, everywhere David went he was accompanied by a small, blonde shadow—reading in the library, sneaking food in the kitchen, even sitting by the lake to draw, there Alexis would be, quiet but ever-present at his side.
If their parents noticed this unusually strong sibling bond, they didn’t comment on it. But then, their parents were concerned with themselves first, the Rosewood second, and their offspring somewhere far down the list.
When David was fifteen, a new court advisor arrived. Seemingly overnight, he managed to charm his way into David’s father’s most trusted circle of advisors. Before David knew it Eli was at every strategy meeting, in every important discussion, always ready to murmur his opinions in Lord Rose’s ear.
David didn’t like him. He had cold eyes and his face was permanently twisted into a half-sneer, as though he thought everyone around him was beneath him. But neither of David’s parents would hear a word spoken against the man, and so rather than being forced to suffer through his presence David and Alexis started spending more and more time at the lake, Alexis holding up her skirts and David rolling up his trousers as they waded into the water together.
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The first time she ran away from home Alexis was twelve years old, David sixteen.
They all assumed, at first, that it was a kidnapping. But their neighbours swore up and down that they knew nothing of the Lady Alexis, nothing at all—and besides, why would they do such a thing? The peace in the region was too hard-won. David’s father was suspicious, but no ransom demand was forthcoming and so they had no choice but to expand the search further afield.
She had been gone six days when David woke in the night, shaking so hard his teeth were chattering despite the warmth permeating the room from the fire. His stomach was twisted, his whole body seized up with fear even though his chamber was empty, silent save for the frantic hammering of his heart. It took a long, long time for his limbs to loosen, and even longer to fall back asleep. When he did, he dreamed of his sister’s face, beauty marred by terror.
It was Eli who found her in the end. A messenger arrived for him, with a report of a couple of fishermen newly arrived in a coastal village with a blonde girl who looked like she had never done a hard day’s work in her life. David’s father sent out an armed guard to bring her home and when she arrived, she was ushered into a room with their parents before David could even get a good look at her. He tried to follow her in, but Eli shook his head at the threshold.
“Your father’s orders, Lord David. I’m sorry.” But he didn’t look sorry at all as he closed the door firmly in David’s face, shutting Eli and the rest of his family inside with David alone in the antechamber.
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David waited until after supper to go and see Alexis, piling a plate high with bread and fruit and holding it carefully as he took it up the stairs. When he entered her chamber, his sister was staring at herself in the polished silver; though she must have seen him reflected there, she still started violently when he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Ugh, David.” The comment didn’t hold any of her usual bite, her voice smaller and more weak than David had ever heard it. Something unnameable twisted in his stomach, and he held the plate out to her before he said something stupid like I was really worried about you or why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?
She took it from him with a small smile and sat down on her bed. David hovered for a moment before Alexis gestured minutely to the space beside her, and David took the unvoiced invitation to sit, shaking his head when she offered him the plate.
They sat in silence for a long time before David finally asked, “So, why did you do it?”
Alexis looked up at him, lips pursed. “Mom and dad asked me the same question.”
“Well, of course they did. You disappeared. They thought you’d been kidnapped.”
Alexis picked up a piece of bread and shredded it into tiny pieces before popping one of the pieces into her mouth. “I think they would have preferred that.”
“Alexis—”
“Well, then it wouldn’t have looked bad for them, would it? Someone else would be the villain that they could point a finger at, and they could play the grieving parents who were tragically victimised. Our daughter just couldn’t stand to be here anymore probably doesn’t make them look quite as good.”
David swallowed around the sudden ache in his throat. “So that was why? You just couldn’t stand to be here anymore?”
Alexis took another bite of the bread, chewing slowly. “I don’t even know how to explain it, David. It was just this intense feeling of run away, pounding and pounding in my head until I had no choice but to obey it.”
David tried to stamp down the cold feeling of dread in his stomach. “Alexis, that sounds like magic.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid, David. No one’s cast a spell on me. Is it really that surprising that I didn’t want to be here?”
David frowned. “I guess not.” He glanced over at Alexis again, taking in the slump of her shoulders, her drooping eyelids. “I’m going to let you get some sleep, okay?”
“Hey.” Alexis reached out, tapping him on the nose, a well-worn sign of affection from their childhood. “Thanks for checking on me.”
David gave her a little half-smile in response. “Any time.”
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He didn’t realise Alexis would take it quite so literally.
The second time she ran away from home was just three months later, but it only took four days to find her that time. She’d managed to convince a group of travelling musicians to let her join them, which was impressive not least because while Alexis had a number of admirable qualities, musical talent was not counted among them. According to the guards that found her, the musicians were shocked and delighted to learn that they’d been in the presence of nobility without realising it, and were already writing a song about Alexis when she bid them farewell.
Again, she had no explanation save for a deep-seated desire to run, and again their parents sent her to her bedroom in disgust.
The difference this time, though, was that when David went to see her, she dismissed him at the door.
“I don’t need you to bring me food and pat my hair, David. I’m not a child.”
“You are literally a child! You’re not even thirteen!”
“And yet I’ve actually gone out and seen the world, David. What have you done?” She slammed the door in his face before David could reply and he stood in front of it, gaping, for a long time before he finally retreated to his own chamber.
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Over the next four years, Alexis running off became a regular occurrence. The longest she stayed away without being found was a nerve-wracking seventeen days; the shortest just overnight. Every time, once at home, she would be dragged into a meeting with their parents and Eli, and every time she would emerge defiant, her chin tilted and eyes flashing dangerously. It seemed to David as though Eli took pleasure in keeping David out of those meetings, making it obvious at every turn that Lord Rose trusted his advisor more than his own son.
But David never went to her chamber to comfort her again. After the third time she ran away David stopped inviting his sister to go down to the lake with him—what was the point when she was gone half the time anyway? In retaliation, Alexis refused to let him help plan her thirteenth birthday party, a milestone important enough that their most important allies travelled from near and far to mark the occasion. By her sixth or seventh disappearance and return they barely spoke save when being in company demanded it, and the sting of his sister’s rejection never quite faded.
Still. David found other ways to occupy his time. There was always a steady stream of people more than willing to sneak away for a private moment with Lord Rose’s hedonistic son; servants and village people, travelling storytellers and the guards that accompanied important visitors. He grew adept in the arts of both pleasuring another person and taking his own pleasure, and his bed was never empty for long.
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Later, David would wonder whether his inability to sleep that night was natural, or whether something more sinister was afoot.
He was down in the kitchen, putting together a plate of food to carry back up to his chamber when a noise startled him and he whipped around to see Alexis, a cloak thrown haphazardly over her nightgown as she stared at David in surprise. At sixteen, his sister’s childhood prettiness had grown into a delicate sort of beauty, but in this moment she looked very, very young.
“Alexis, what are you doing down here?”
“Um, what are you doing down here, David?”
David gestured to the plate sitting in front of him, half-stacked with cheese and bread. “Getting a snack, obviously. Why are you dressed like you’re going out?”
Alexis shrugged. “I was just going for a walk.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“To… town? To town. I’m… meeting someone.”
“Mm. Isn’t the gate to town on the other side of the castle?”
“Ugh, fine, David! If you must know, I was just going to try and cast one teensy, tiny little spell.”
David inhaled sharply. “Spell? What spell?” He could hear his voice rising, but couldn’t seem to stop it. “Where did you even get a spell?”
“Um, relax, David, okay? The wise woman in the village gave it to me. It’s just a silly little spell.”
“To do what?”
Alexis dropped her gaze to the floor, her shoulders drooping. He almost couldn’t hear her when she muttered, “It’s a spell to heal a family.”
David’s stomach clenched. Somehow it had never occurred to him that Alexis might miss him as much as he’d missed her; that she would also feel the sting of their parents’ coolness towards them. He took in his sister’s downturned expression and made a split-second decision.
“Okay. I’m coming with you.”
Alexis’ head snapped back up, her jaw dropping. “What?”
“If you’re going to be messing around with magic, you shouldn’t do it on your own.” There were few things in this world that terrified David more than magic—not even the small winged creatures that fluttered around his chamber at night if the servants didn’t pull the shutters closed properly. Everyone knew that magic in the hands of anyone but a true practitioner led to danger.
And despite the distance between them, David wasn’t about to let his baby sister walk into danger on her own.
Alexis stared at him for a long moment before rushing forward, barrelling into his arms so hard David staggered back into the cupboard behind him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He hugged her back awkwardly, her touch unfamiliar after so long, and when she finally stepped back her eyes were red-rimmed but her smile was wide.
“Let’s go, David!”
“Okay, let me just…” He grabbed his plate—no point in letting the food go to waste—and followed Alexis out the door and towards the lake.
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Admittedly, David was somewhat unfamiliar with magic, but Alexis seemed to be getting more and more frustrated with nothing to show for it. The handwriting on the piece of paper clutched between her fingers was clear, and she was following all the instructions, but there was no puff of smoke, no thunder rumbling in the distance, no indication at all that it had taken effect.
“Maybe it’s a slow-acting spell,” David offered into the frustrated silence. “I mean, it’s meant to heal a family, right? Maybe that takes a minute.”
Alexis huffed. “It’s magic, David. It’s supposed to just happen.”
“Well excuse me for trying to be positive!”
“Why don’t you just—”
A snapping branch snatched Alexis’ attention from whatever she had been intending to say and they both turned to face the noise, David stepping forward to shield his sister’s body with his own. He reached for his hip instinctively, cursing under his breath when he remembered that he’d been ready for sleep when he went down to the kitchen and so had no dagger, no form of protection from whatever creature might be prowling the lakefront.
There was another crack, another rustle of leaves almost drowned out by their combined harsh breathing, and then a shadow appeared between the trees. As it stepped forward into the moonlight the figure revealed himself as Eli, holding an ancient-looking staff and smirking cruelly at them.
“You shouldn’t play with forces too old for you to understand, little girl.” He directed his sneer at Alexis. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” He laughed, cruel and knowing, when she simply dropped her eyes instead of responding. Something dark and ugly began to prickle in David’s stomach. “I didn’t think so. You know nothing of magic, nothing of the world around you—nothing of what I’m capable of.” He gestured back towards the castle, and David turned to look as two swans flew gracefully into the air. They swooped over the lake, close enough that David could see one had a stark black and white plumage, the other with a streak of red across the underside of its breast—and the dark thing in his stomach took shape as a bone-deep sense of foreboding.
Alexis’ voice was unsure and trembling. “I don’t understand.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Eli shifted slightly, his cloak falling back across his shoulders. With the movement, David could see that Eli bore no weapon save the staff—but that didn’t bring him any comfort. “You don’t understand the old ways, you don’t understand that every time you take, something must be given. But no! You just wanted to heal your family.” The last three words came out high-pitched and mocking, a cruel and wholly inaccurate impersonation. “Well, don’t you worry your empty, vapid little head. I have no problem making sure that you both spend a lifetime of lifetimes with your parents.”
Eli raised his arm, the one holding the staff, and David followed his instincts, diving behind the large willow tree on the shore, tugging Alexis behind him as he leaped for the safety of the ancient trunk. At the last moment her hand slipped from his, a small noise of terror ripped from her throat as David scrambled to find her hand—but it was too late. With a ripple of the air around her and a ruffle of feathers she was gone, transformed and airborne, a tint of pink to the tips of each of her feathers as her swan’s wings stretched out and soared over the lake in pursuit of the other swans.
Eli laughed, mocking and cruel. “Three down, one to go.”
David didn’t stop to think, didn’t stop to scream, didn’t stop to make a plan.
He just ran.
He could hear Eli behind him summoning the energy to try again as he fled, running faster and father than he ever had. He took advantage of the years spent at the lake with Alexis, playing hide and seek with her, trying to find fairies—but he could not think of his sister right now, lest the grief overwhelm him. He needed all his energy to run. Still, he had the advantage of knowing the area and he weaved his way through the trees, took a nonsensical path, changing direction and doubling back until he hoped he was untraceable.
David had never been one for physical exertion, save in the bedroom, but his grief and his rage and his terror fuelled him. He stopped just long enough to avoid a rabbit warren that might have broken his leg; just long enough to crouch down by a running stream, scooping the cool, clear water into his mouth with cupped hands like some sort of animal; just long enough to get his bearings, listening intently for the sounds of pursuit that never came.
He ran for three nights and three days, snatching the briefest of sleeps only when his body refused to stay awake another moment. By the end of the third day dehydration was clawing at his insides, his head spinning and stomach crying out for food. As the sun was setting David slumped against a tree, his vision turning black at the edges before the darkness overtook him entirely.
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When David blinked awake, the first thing he became aware of was the ache in every muscle of his body.
The second thing was how comfortable he was.
He jolted upright, a crocheted blanket slipping off his chest as he looked wildly around. He was in what appeared to be a cottage, smaller in its entirety than David’s bedchamber alone, but cosy for all of that. There was a spinning wheel in one corner, all manner of plants hanging upside down to dry on the walls, and on the other side of the room an auburn-haired woman was standing in front of a fire, tossing herbs into a crucible balanced over the flames as she hummed a tune unfamiliar to David. She turned around at David’s movement, a soft smile on her face.
“I’m glad you’re awake. Here, don’t try to speak yet.” She reached for a ladle, scooping some of the concoction into a smaller bowl and bringing it over to David along with a spoon. “I made you some soup. Eat up. Regain your strength. There’ll be plenty of time for talking after.”
David nodded, accepting the bowl from the woman with as much of a smile as he could muster—which, he was well aware, wasn’t much. He wondered briefly if trusting this stranger was a mistake—there was every chance she was one of Eli’s spies, sent to poison him—but his hunger was so overwhelming that the risk seemed worth it. Their fingers brushed as she handed him the spoon and the woman gasped, her eyes taking on an unfocused, faraway look and her jaw slackening, the spoon falling onto the bed.
Before David could say anything she blinked, shaking her head slightly as her gaze sharpened, peering at David with eyes full of concern.
“Can I take your hand?” She didn’t wait for permission, grasping the hand that David wasn’t using to hold the soup bowl. Her eyes filled with tears and a deep, deep knowledge that terrified David. Before he could open his mouth to ask what she saw, and not entirely sure he wanted the answer, she spoke in a quiet, far-away voice.
“Your family is gone. Cursed.”
David gaped at her. How could she—
The woman smiled sadly at him. “The old magics leave a mark, visible to those who know how to read them. Magic runs in my veins. I can feel what happened to you, David Rose.”
David started in shock at hearing his name come out of a stranger’s mouth, and she must have noticed, because she added: “I’m Twyla. It’s nice to meet you.”
David nodded, then frowned as the rest of her words sunk in. Nothing happened to him. It was his parents, his sister, who—
Twyla continued speaking gently before David could voice any of those thoughts. “I know what happened to your family. The man that did this is evil. But evil can be undone.”
The tiniest ember of hope flickered in David’s chest.
“There’s an old way, but it’s going to be painful, I’m afraid.” The flicker in David’s chest guttered and spat. “I heard about it from a former lover of my father, who liked to tell tales of an evening. But tales always hold a little bit of truth in them. To break a curse like this, what’s been unknit needs to be remade. Yarn, spun thin as thread from firethistle pulled from the ground by your own hands. Firethistle is an unforgiving plant, and you must do the work yourself, with your own bare hands. Sweaters must be knit from the thread, love poured into every stitch.” David’s brow knit. He had no idea how to do any of those things, but if this Twyla woman was correct, he’d spend his life learning. “You have until the first sunrise a year and a day after their transformation, near to the place they were first transformed, to place the sweaters over their heads and they will return to you, happy and healthy and whole.”
David opened his mouth, ready to start straight away, but Twyla pressed a finger to his lips, her eyes sad. “I’m afraid there’s a second part. What is yours to fix is yours to fix. You cannot speak until this task is complete. No word can escape your lips, and furthermore, you cannot tell a soul about this task—not in writing, or in pictures. If you utter a single word, if you tell anyone who you are or what happened to you, it will be too late. They’ll be lost to you, stuck in their swan forms forever.”
David stared at her, hope and grief warring for place in his chest. I can save them, I can save them, I can save them was rattling around in his head, but…
Could he? He’d never done anything like it. And there was the other thing. Firethistle is an unforgiving plant, Twyla had said. What did that even mean?
He got up, shoved the bowl blindly into Twyla’s hands, and ran out the door.
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He only made it as far as Twyla’s garden before his grief overwhelmed him.
Slumped on the ground, David cried as he hadn’t cried since he was a child: for his parents, unsuspecting until the last possible moment; for his sister, the fear on her face as her hand had slipped from his; for himself, alone and voiceless in this strange place. He cried until he couldn’t cry any longer, his throat burning and head pounding before he finally sat up, hugging his knees to his chest as he ran his eyes idly over Twyla’s small, tidy garden—
—and there along the edge, labelled in a sweet little handmade sign, was a row of firethistle, almost like a moat. He reached out to pluck one from the ground, and his fingers barely brushed the stem before a white-hot jolt of pain blazed through him. He yanked his hand away, biting back a curse before he reached for it again, testing. Once again, touching the leaf of the plant was agony, fire in his fingertips, flames licking up the inside of his arms, his elbows, all the way to his shoulders. David sat back as the full weight of the task settled low and heavy in his stomach.
That was where Twyla found him, cradling his hand with tears slipping down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry, David.” She brushed her hand along his shoulder and he flinched away from the touch. Twyla didn’t seem offended, though.
“Take as long as you need, okay? Come inside when you’re ready.”
He couldn’t bring himself to go inside until the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, too caught up in the magnitude of what he needed to do to save his family.
When he finally entered the cottage, there was a plate on the table and Twyla had retreated to the corner of the room. He washed his hands to try and ease some of the lingering sting of the plant before eating unthinkingly, barely paying attention to the food. Once he was done Twyla appeared at his side, picking up the plate and steering him none-too-gently back towards the bed.
“Get some rest, David. Everything will look more hopeful in the morning.”
He nodded, climbing wearily under the covers. It wasn’t until he was slipping into sleep that he realised not fulfilling the task had never once occurred to him.
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David had never been an early riser, so it wasn’t a surprise when he awoke to sunlight already streaming through the cottage. Twyla had prepared breakfast, a simple fare of eggs and toast that David nonetheless wolfed down greedily, his body finally ready to make up for the days of neglect.
Once he had eaten, Twyla sat down next to him at the rickety table.
“I’ve paid for you to have a room at the local inn. I’m sorry I don’t have room for you here, but I will do everything I can to help you. I promise. I’ll keep my firethistle as plentiful as I can, and I'll teach you how to knit.”
David nodded, still having to bite back the instinct to answer with words. He had no idea why she was so willing to help him like this, but for once he made the choice to be trusting of someone showing him kindness.
They spent the rest of the day in Twyla’s weaving corner, David learning how to strip the fibres of a plant into yarn, how to run them through warm water gently, to clean away the dirt without knotting the fragile fibers. She guided his burning fingers and they fumbled to start the drop spindle, as they started to catch the rhythm as the hours passed. Once he had something passable as yarn, she made sure he was the one to soak it, snap it, twist it in on itself to dry over the slowly dying coals in the fire. They practiced, of course, with plants that were far less painful to the touch, and then Twyla sat close, gently correcting as David slowly, painfully formed yarn out of the batches of firethistle he’d pulled from Twyla’s garden earlier.
While he proceeded to practice, Twyla grabbed a set of sharp wooden needles from a shelf next to the door. She pulled some rough wool out of a pocket and showed David the next steps, the looping and pulling through of loops that, through an alchemy he didn’t yet understand, began to produce something like a thick, squishy fabric, rough to the touch but infinitely warm. She rolled up all the tools he would need for his task, bundling them into a small travelling pack before the two of them walked into the village.
The local inn was surprisingly charming beyond its rough exterior. The walls were richly decorated, and the fireplaces dotted strategically around filled the whole room with a warm, rich glow.
“The owner’s probably in the back; we arranged all this this morning.” Twyla squeezed his arm briefly before letting go. “Wait here.”
David nodded, watching her disappear behind the bar before returning his gaze to the room.
“Hey there. Welcome to the Wobbly Elm.” The voice startled David, and he jumped slightly as he turned around.
“Whoa, sorry.” The man raised his hands in supplication. He had warm eyes and an easy smile, and in another lifetime David might have enjoyed the challenge of seducing this man over a glass of mead. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Patrick.” He held out his hand and David took it, unable to hold back his wince as Patrick’s fingers closed over his own.
Patrick frowned, relaxing his grip, but instead of dropping David’s hand entirely he instead pulled it closer to his face, his gaze intent on the inflamed skin.
“You’ve been working with something that doesn’t agree with you.”
David twisted his lips to the side in a grimace. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes.
“You know, I never got your name.”
With his free hand David gestured to his throat, then shrugged helplessly as Patrick’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Oh, okay. Well, can I recommend a poultice of jewelweed and plantain? That should help with this.” The pads of his thumbs brushed over David’s palms, achingly gentle, and his breath caught in his throat as Patrick just looked at him—
A thump from behind the bar made them both jump, and Patrick dropped David’s hand just as Twyla came through the doorway followed by a slender red-haired woman.
“David, this is Rachel. She’s the owner of the Wobbly Elm.”
David waved awkwardly, too far away to take her hand.
Rachel smiled warmly at him. “Welcome, David.” She didn’t seem to expect a response, which made David wonder exactly how much Twyla had told her—he suspected as little as necessary. She cast a glance over David’s shoulder. “Would you mind helping David with his bags, love?”
Love. David tried to ignore the swoop in his stomach as he turned back to look at Patrick, who nodded back at Rachel. “Of course.” He turned back to David. “Did you leave them outside, or…?”
David slipped the knapsack off his back and raised it, then gestured widely.
Rachel turned to Twyla. “I thought you said he was staying long-term?”
“He is. I’ll need to arrange for him to get some more clothes.”
Rachel and Patrick exchanged a look past David that made him prickle with annoyance, before Rachel just shrugged. “Okay, well, you’ve saved Patrick a job, then. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
David followed Rachel towards the staircase, not looking back even as Patrick spoke from behind him.
“It was lovely to meet you, David!”
The room Rachel led him to was more sparse than he was accustomed to, but as David kept reminding himself, he was no longer Lord David Rose, son of the lord and lady of the Rosewood—now he was simply David, impoverished and intractable, with no voice and no family. But. There was a bed that looked passably comfortable, and a spinning wheel set up in one corner, and enough room for him to focus on his task.
He had less than a year, to knit three sweaters and save his family.
It would have to be enough.