Brahm sniffles but doesn’t say a word. Although I’m technically naked, I feel comfortable in his embrace. I keep my arms firmly wrapped around his neck until my body begins shivering from the shock.
“I’m…so sorry…about earlier,” my voice trembles as I whisper. “I never…want to hurt you.”
“Shh. Let’s get you dressed and warmed up by the fire. I won’t let Ferdinand or Willa near you.” He cups my cheeks and looks into my eyes. “You and I can even go somewhere else and make our own camp.”
I smile at him. “I’d like that…if you aren’t mad. If you don’t still need space.”
“I could never stay mad at you, Freckles.”
Brahm brings me my clothes and turns to face the cliff. I slip the white dress over my head and step into my boots. After Brahm throws his damp, green blouse back on, I rise on my toes to kiss his cheek. Brahm closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and smiles.
“Are we alright, Brahm?”
“Yes. I’ll always be here to catch you.” He pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry this has been a rough day. Let’s stick together. You and me. We’ll find the crown. Speaking of crown…”
Opening his satchel, Brahm retrieves the floral one and places it on my head. “There. My beautiful goddess.”
My heart skips in the way only Brahm can compel it. He doesn’t know, but the walls around my heart are already crumbling for him.
After we climb the cliff, everyone watches our approach. I glare back at both Willa and Ferdinand. The fog fills in from behind, trapping us in the circular camp with the other Offerings. My stomach sinks. Brahm and I stare into each other’s eyes, knowing we can’t go off on our own. While we reluctantly warm up by the fire, Brahm doesn’t take his eyes off Ferdinand.
Willa and Ferdinand face in opposite directions with Gunther sitting in the middle. Ferdinand presses his shirtsleeve against his bloody nose and scratched face, while Willa sobs into her knees.
“Ferdinand promised to behave,” Gunther says, red in the face. “And I promise to keep my eye on him.”
“Thanks, Gunther,” Brahm says, leading me to sit at the base of a tree on the other side of the fire.
He kisses my cheek before strumming his lute to the tune of Freckles. I lean my head against the tree trunk and let the music wash over me. Brahm’s music helps melt away the sharp pain of anger in my head.
My headaches haven’t been this bad since the day Wil died. I try not to think about it, but my tears betray me. Something hits my leg. I glance to find Willa’s iridescent comb.
She mouths the words, “I’m so sorry.”
I roll my eyes and pick up the comb. I have half a mind to snap it in two and throw it into the fire but decide to untangle my hair instead. I toss it back to her when I’m done. Ferdinand and Willa both lie down while Gunther remains completely alert.
When the song is over, Brahm sets the lute aside. “Will you sleep in my arms again? I’d feel much safer if we stay close together.”
I grin and crawl between his legs. We snuggle under my blanket as Brahm’s fingers play with my damp hair. I feel mostly relaxed, but one thing keeps pricking my mind.
“Brahm?”
“Yes, Freckles.”
“Um…why do you think my eyes have been going black when I get angry? Do you think something’s wrong with me? Do you think I’m evil?”
“Not possible. You may be a little bitter at times, but I’d never say you’re evil. You’re a good person. The priestess mentioned the fog; it could be because of that. We’ll be extra careful from now on. I won’t let you become evil.” Brahm presses his warm lips against my cheek again.
“Thanks. Goodnight, Brahm.” I close my eyes.
Before I can succumb to exhaustion, an odd, high-pitched giggle comes from the forest. Brahm and I search for the source. The other Offerings sit and turn toward the sound as well.
“What’s that?” Ferdinand whispers.
“Shh!” We all hush and glare at him.
A short, no more than three-foot-tall man with large ears waddles into our camp. Willa shrieks. She and the other two rush to huddle behind Brahm and me. The little man hums and enters the light of the fire. We all gasp at his appearance. His skin is a greenish-gold, and his nose comes to a sharp point. He’s either sweating or glowing, I can’t tell.
“Hello, Offerings! Such a lovely night,” he screeches.
His bulbous black eyes scan us as he circles the fire.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Gunther asks.
“Oh, I am a friend of the goddess herself!” The imp giggles and grins his sharp teeth. “But no friend of yours.”
We all huddle a little closer. When I draw up my dress to retrieve the dagger, the imp licks his lips and stares at my leg. Nausea strikes me in the pit of my stomach. Brahm fluffs out my dress and tugs at the blanket to cover me.
“I have for you a simple game—a question.” He chuckles. “If one of you answers correctly, you will all live, and I shall give to you a gift. But, if no one answers correctly, the goddess said I may take one of you.”
Brahm squeezes his arms around my shoulders.
“The question I have for you is: What is the infamous Crown of Bergot made of?”
“What?” Ferdinand asks.
“Tis no trick. A simple question, indeed. If you get it correct, you win. If you get it wrong, I win. What material or substance is the Crown made of?” He points at Brahm. “You first.”
Brahm twirls his thumb around my shoulder as he thinks. He shrugs and says, “Gold?”
“Nope!” The imp squeals and claps before pointing to Willa.
“Um…” She pauses and shakes her head. “Silver?”
“Wrong!” The imp hops and points to Gunther. “You there, big man.”
“Well, the priestesses light the fire on Bergot’s statue. So, my answer is fire.”
“No.” The hideous creature shakes his head and points to Ferdinand. “You, pretty boy?”
Ferdinand shrugs. “Jewels?”
“Wrong again! Oh, how exciting for me!” The imp’s huge eyes travel to me, and he laughs. “Last one, my dear. I shall gladly take you with me when you get it wrong.”
Dread falls over my skin like a thick layer of ice. I shudder at the thought of what this creature would want with me. I turn my gaze to Brahm’s hand, gripping my arm as I think. My mind is blank. Think of something, Gisela. What other substance? What could it be?
The hallucinations. The dreams. It’s the best answer I have.
“Bones,” I whisper.
The imp narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw, seething deep breaths through his tiny teeth. “She cheated!” he screams and grunts.
“I did not!”
“Not you! Bergot! Did she tell you?”
“The goddess? No. It was the fog. I hallucinated about a crown of bones.”
“What?” The imp charges for me.
I ready my dagger, and Brahm clenches his fists. Before the little man reaches us, the priestess appears from a cloud of mist before him. The imp skids to a halt and kneels. The priestess is wearing white tonight; her dress and wrappings are made with shiny gossamer fabric, and each layer glistens in the moonlight like a delicate moth wing.