Holly Black - The Darkest Part of the Forest

“No,” Hazel said. “Never. This is never your fault.”

“But Jack’s mother—what’s her name?” Severin asked.

“Eolanthe,” Jack said.

“I knew her, once.” Severin gave Jack a strange look, one that made Hazel think he knew her better than a little. “She’s very beautiful, very clever, but no swordswoman. If she managed to take Heartsworn from Hazel, whether by trickery or force or out of the generosity of her night heart, she would still need someone to wield it.”

“So, okay, play this through,” Ben said. “Jack tells his elf mother offhandedly about this girl he knows, maybe says she found a sword. So Eolanthe decides to, what? Persuade Hazel to break the curse on Severin? Free a sleeping prince of Faerie—but then not give him the one thing that would let him face his father and defeat Heartseeker?”

Jack nodded. He’d started pacing the floor, not looking at any of them, caught up in his own thoughts. “I might have said something about Hazel and her sword, when I was younger. And Hazel probably wouldn’t need a lot of convincing to break Severin’s curse.”

Hazel laughed. “Ben would need even less.”

Her brother made a face at her.

“Your mother doesn’t seem like the sort of person who’d ally with anyone,” Hazel said. “Least of all me. She didn’t like me much.”

“What about just taking the sword?” Ben asked. “Maybe she stole it and then left a bunch of cryptic crap to confuse us. Made us chase our own tails while she put her plan in motion.”

“So what about Severin’s curse, then?” Hazel asked. “Why bother breaking it?”

“It could be a distraction for the Alderking,” Jack said, looking over at Ben with a frown, as though they were making a particularly devious plan rather than guessing at one. “Plus it’s the proof that Hazel had Heartsworn. Only Heartsworn could smash the casket and break the curse. So no point in stealing a sword until you’re sure.”

Severin raised his delicate brows. “Then we are back to her needing a swordsman.”

Ben shrugged. “You said she was pretty and clever. Maybe she found someone who was good with a weapon and wanted to stop the Alderking. There have to be a few bravos at court, right?”

“Well, there’s at least one,” Hazel said with a snort that had nothing to do with humor. “I want to stop him.”

“There’s a way to send my mother a message,” Jack said, going to the cutlery drawer and pulling out a slender steak knife. “Blood summons blood.”

Hazel trailed after him as he went out the kitchen door to the backyard. “If she has the sword, I’ll promise her anything for its return. If she wants me, I will be hers. Whatever must be sworn, I will swear it.”

“Jack,” Hazel said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“It might not be her,” said Ben. “It could be someone none of us has ever met—it could be someone that none of us recall meeting.”

“Or it could be the person who hid her son from the Alderking and has good reason to hate him. Which is more likely?” Jack’s face was haunted. “If we don’t get that sword, Carter is as good as dead.”

“Jack,” Hazel said again, but Jack didn’t turn, didn’t flinch. He thrust the point of the knife into his index finger, lifted up a leaf and wrote on it with blood, the way anyone else might scrawl on paper with a pen. Then he whispered something over it and sent it swirling up into the air.

But Hazel had seen his offer: MOTHER, IF YOU HAVE HEARTSWORN, BRING IT TO THE HOUSE AT THE END OF RIVER ROAD AND WHATEVER YOU ASK OF ME WILL BE YOURS.

After the message was sent, they waited.

Ben thought he remembered the name Ainsel from somewhere and, taking his mug of honeyed tea, went to look through some of the books in the den to see if he could find the word in one of their indexes. Severin went out to the shed to collect Ben’s ax and see what other weaponry he could sharpen into usefulness.

Without her secrets, Hazel felt a horrible, anxious vulnerability. Shadows waited to flood in. To keep busy, she went to find all the iron and scissors in the house, all the salt and gravedirt, all the oatmeal and berries and charms. After Severin brought the weapons back inside, she spread some on every lintel and across each doorway.

When that was done, she sat down on one of the chairs and dozed. Whatever magic allowed her to serve the Alderking without sleeping seemed to be wearing off. Exhaustion overtook her.

She woke to find the sun going down in a blaze of molten gold. Upstairs she heard Severin’s voice, a low warm mumble, and then a bark of laughter from her brother.

“Hey,” Jack said softly, coming over to where she was. His jeans were hanging low on his hip bones, exposing a slice of warm, brown skin where his T-shirt rode up. She imagined resting her hand there and curled her fingers to keep from touching him. “I just came to wake you before you… changed.”

Hazel flinched. She’d nearly forgotten.

“None of this is your fault,” he said. “Just so we’re clear.”

“I lost the sword. I freed Severin. I made a stupid bargain. It’s at least somewhat my fault.” She began to finger-comb her hair and then braid it out of her face. “But I’m not letting her take you back if you don’t want to go.”

He gave her a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. “Eh, it wouldn’t be so bad. I wouldn’t have to study for the SATs or get a summer job or figure out my major. I can drink Elderflower wine all day, dance all through the night, and sleep on a bower of roses.”

Hazel made a face. “I’m pretty sure there are some colleges where you can do that. I bet there are some colleges where you can major in that.”

“Maybe,” he said, then shook his head. “It’s always been an elaborate game of pretend here in Fairfold, you know? Pretend you’re human. Pretend no one thinks it’s weird when Mom calls the relatives and tries to explain how she actually had twins, but one was really sick and that’s why she didn’t tell anyone about him. Pretend everyone believes her. Pretend that Dad doesn’t think it’s strange that I exist at all. Pretend no one in town stares. Pretend that I haven’t been sneaking off to the woods for all these years. Pretend I’m never tempted to leave. Pretend I can’t do magic. My life has always been a powder keg waiting for a match.”

“Well, hello, match,” Hazel said, pointing to herself with both thumbs, but she smiled as she did it, hoping to take the sting out of the words.

“Hello, match.” Somehow his snagged-silk voice gave them an entirely different meaning. She thought about waking in the forest, about the smell of the pine needles in the air and the feeling of his mouth on hers with the uneven ground rough against her back, and squirmed.

But they were far from the heady, pine-soaked woods.

And she still hadn’t told him the thing.

“I like you,” Hazel blurted abruptly, the words coming out all wrong, like an accusation.

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Why else would I say it?” Now he knew and now they could go back to talking about colleges or killing things or strategy or something— anything —else. Now they could go back to worrying about his being taken away to Faerie. At least he knew. At least she’d said it.

“If you like me, why do you sound so mad about it?”

“I’m not angry ,” she said. She sounded angry, though. She sounded furious.

He sighed. “You don’t have to tell me that you like me. Just because I am having a bad day or because I told you—you’re not obligated.”