A Kingdom of Exiles (Outcast)
S.B. Nova
For Dawn,
Sister, friend, superfan. I’ll never stop being grateful that through a dream, we found our way back to each another.
And to all those who dream of the impossible. This is for you.
Prologue: Mother
They won’t tell you fairy tales
of how girls can be dangerous and still win.
They will only tell you stories
where girls are sweet and kind
and reject all sin.
I guess to them
it’s a terrifying thought,
a red riding hood
who knew exactly
what she was doing
when she invited the wild in.
~ Nikita Gill ~
Rain clung to the earthen floor of the forest as a light mist and white petals from the Mourning Roses scattered the edges of the grave. My eyes fixed to the willow casket where Mama’s body now lived. Heavy grunts filled the air as several men from the village lowered her slowly into the ground. She was being laid to rest beneath the ancient elder tree—it was our place. Then the keening and whispered prayers started around me. I was six years old.
Papa had explained it: death meant leaving and never coming back. But Mama had been the brightest of all flames, nothing could keep her from returning, so I didn’t cry as the casket hit the bottom of that deep dark hole.
Papa squeezed my hand. I looked up to see tear tracks marking his face. My heart twisted. He never cried. Yet here he was, his hand shaking as my mother’s best friend, Viola, sobbed as she threw dirt atop Mama’s grave.
Didn’t they understand? Didn’t they know she was coming back?
Papa crouched so that his watery eyes were level with mine.
“It’s time to go, Poppet. Mama’s resting now.”
He tucked a strand of loose black hair behind my ear. Only a few days ago, Mama had named a new color after it: raven’s wing.
I shook my head and bit my lip. “I don’t want to leave her alone.”
Papa grimaced and swept me up into his arms—his broad chest shuddering as he carried me away—leaving Mama in the barren, cold earth alone. My gaze closed on the grave and a raging beast awoke in my chest, clawing and fighting its way to the surface. I let out a strangled scream and beat against Papa’s shoulders with tiny fists. But he wouldn’t turn. He wouldn’t go back. I had no other choice—I’d have to return and free her tonight.
When Papa slept, I’d come back for her.
I waited, impatient for the shadows to fall and the distant light of the stars to flicker to life. A bright, full moon shimmered above, one that would help illuminate the path through the trees. So, when I finally crept downstairs and out the front door I didn’t bother taking a lantern, knowing it would only draw the dark things that prowled the night. I did wrap up warm in knitted gloves, a scarf, and a hat. That was the first thing I learned out here in the remote parts of the Gauntlet—the winter could freeze me solid if I wasn’t careful.
As soon as I was out in the open, I ran into the forest and that deadly cold. My breath came rushing out in large puffs of steam, my chest seized with icy air, but I didn’t slow down. Mama had been alone for too long.
The canopy thickened enough that the moon’s glow dimmed to a sullen light and I stumbled, scraping my knees against the gnarled roots. I bit down on my lip to stop a sob breaking free and pushed myself up. I had to keep moving.
The grave site wasn’t far. Papa had broken with village tradition and laid Mama in her favorite hollow instead of the local boneyard.
There. I spotted the ancient tree where Mama was buried; it had been blown free of snow and now lay bare and black. I’d know it anywhere. Skidding to a halt, I craned my head left and right. The hole wasn’t there. Instead, there was just a mound of freshly turned dirt.
I plunged toward it, clawing at the frigid ground. I made little progress, but I kept going until my cheeks were glazed over with frozen tears and my voice cracked with sob after sob. “Give her back,” I wailed. “Give her back!”
I wept and pleaded and beat at the hard earth until I was numb and only stopped when I couldn’t hold my head up; my cheek found the unforgiving ground. If the old gods and the earth didn’t want to give her back, I’d stay until they realized I needed her more than they.
A fresh snowfall whirred lazily overhead and kissed my face.
No sound pitched the air.
The whole sorry world seemed dead and still, and I didn’t fight when it faded from view.
I awoke to the sound of someone shouting my name. My eyes opened and dislodged the remnants of a snowmelt. A buttery shaft of sunlight had filled the hollow, warming me a little.
“Serena!”
I tried to cry out, but it came out as a hoarse whisper. “Papa?”
I coughed. My lungs were on fire and my head pounded. Before I could riddle out what was wrong, I sank back into darkness.
Raised voices snapped me from the dreamworld.
I blinked and realized I was back in my bedroom. The door was open a crack, enough to hear the conversation happening downstairs.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
Papa sounded furious. He never got like that.
“She has a wicked fever—she may not make it. If you’d just let me bleed her …”
It was Dr. Fagan. I recognized his voice from when he passed out sweeties to the other children in town. Mama hated him and called him more of a butcher than a doctor.
“You’re not touching her,” Papa hissed. “My wife didn’t approve of your methods, and neither do I.”
A loud, reedy sniff answered. “If your wife had listened to my advice, she might be alive and not tormenting that poor girl with her spirit.”
“Get out of my house before I do something I regret,” Papa demanded.
I tried to climb out of bed to continue eavesdropping, but my body wouldn’t respond to my commands. I was still in the fever’s grip and too weak to even raise my slender arms.
Dr. Fagan continued, “Let me bring someone who honors the old gods to the grave. He could drive out the evil spirits that linger.”
A hot flush of anger flooded me. Mama was no evil spirit.
“If you won’t walk out, I’ll throw you out.”
I shivered when I recognized that warning tone. Papa never used it on me, reserving it only for men in the village who’d leered at Mama or tried to cheat him at the forge.
The front door slammed shut causing the glass in my window to rattle something fierce.
I shut my eyes when I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. The creaking of a door, a shuffling sound, and then a cool cloth bathing my forehead. I tried to be strong, but failed to stop a pitifully weak groan from escaping.
“It’s just you and me now, Beansprout. Mama’s gone for good, and you freezing to death won’t bring her back, do you hear me?” Papa’s voice broke on the last word.
Shame and grief churned; my chest ached so badly I thought I’d burst.
“You must live, Sprout … for me.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Two shuddering gasps, then the tears rolled.
“We’ll be fine,” he breathed.
Papa sat on the edge of the bed and touched his forehead gently against mine. He repeated those three words into the night, as if they were a spell that could put everything right. How could they, when there would be no more falling asleep on her lap while she knitted by the fire, or licking the bowl after she’d baked something yummy, or listening to her gossip with Viola? That was gone forever.
And so, I now realized, was she.
Chapter 1
The Blacksmith’s Daughter