Nya kept the forbidden book in a dead tree stump outside the village.

No one ever forbade her from reading it, strictly speaking. It was just like any other book on Alene's shelves, and she had borrowed them from the old wise woman before. Sometimes she even asked beforehand. But somehow she never got around to returning this one, then Alene had died in the spring.

It was the sort of book that was forbidden because whoever read it would simply know. Any wise reader would have closed it and put it back on the shelf where it belonged. And they'd be missing so much, Nya thought to herself. It was full of such fascinating stories, and when she had it in her hands she never, ever felt alone.

She was walking home after reading one evening when Finch stopped her along the road.

"You're late for supper again," he said, shaking his head like a grown-up. "Your mother won't be happy. She won't even have any leftovers for you."

"I don't see what business it is of yours." She fixed him with her hardest glare, but he just laughed.

"I need to know these things. I'll be responsible for the whole village soon."

That was true, she supposed. Finch wasn't much older than her, but he was gifted. Most people in their small sylvan village learned a trade from their families and chose whichever path in life they desired, but every generation had a few who were blessed with Imaera's gifts. They would discover, perhaps, that the spirits of the air responded to their music, or that they could mend a grievous wound by praying to suffer it upon themselves. And some, like Finch, were given the strength and wisdom to lead.

That didn't mean she had to listen to his lectures. "Go and be responsible for someone else then, and leave me alone," she said, brushing past him.

"Wait."

She wasn't going to stop, but something about the way he said it made her pause.

Finch cleared his throat. "Look, you're welcome to come over to our house. We haven't had our meal yet, and there's a spot at the table if you'd like."

She stared at him. "You told my mother already. That's how you know she didn't leave any for me."

He tried not to grin. "You're quick."

"If you ever--" Nya stopped herself. By all rights she should be furious at him, but she couldn't muster up the anger. And now that food was on her mind, she really didn't want to go hungry. "Fine, have it your way this time, but don't even think of trying that trick again."

"Oh, I hope I won't have to."

Summer passed, then a quiet autumn. She spent more days with him because it was expected of her, but on occasion she'd still sneak out to the stump in the woods. She'd say that she was learning to hunt and needed to practice alone. It wasn't a lie, not entirely anyway. She'd even bring back a dead hare sometimes for proof, though they were getting more shy as the cold weather came.

Finch would give her curious looks when he saw her heading out. "You're not... seeing anyone out there, are you?"

"Not if you aren't," she said, and went on her way.

It did feel quite like a secret tryst though. The book never told her she was beautiful or witty or wise, the sort of compliment that vain hens liked to hear. It called her the hawk of the high mountains, the nightingale in the shadows, the winged fire at the end of time. It made her see the chains all around her, and promised to guard her against them. And in return she kept reading and learning from it whenever she could, from sunrise to sunset, frost to thaw.

At the spring festival, Finch draped a garland of wildflowers around her neck and asked if she would stay with him for the rest of her life.

No, she wanted to say. I don't want to be your forest lass and grow old together, to learn patience from crying children, to be respected and revered by a small village in the woods.

"Yes," she said, looking into his expectant eyes. He smiled.

She thought about it for a long time that night.

When he saw her again in the morning, the easy grin faded from his face. "I've never seen you this tired. What's wrong? If this is about--"

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "I could use some company today though, if you'll come out with me."

He searched her expression. "You've never asked before."

"Today is different." She offered her hand.

"You're right," he said, relieved. "It is."

They went to her secret corner of the woods amid the drifting foliage and chatted a little along the way about small gossip and simple things. She tried not to sound nervous, but even without meeting his eyes she could tell he knew. When they sat down, she was quiet for a while.

"I wanted to talk about last night," she said finally, looking up at him.

He reached to her shoulder to brush off a stray fallen leaf. "If you need more time, I understand." He has such vibrant golden eyes, she thought suddenly, momentarily forgetting what she was about to say.

"It's not that." She collected herself. "How could you be so content to stay here for all your life as our families have, for century upon century until the seas turn to dust? Let's keep walking until the forest ends and see the rest of the world as we're meant to see."

"That is not our world," he said, sounding almost sad. "I remember what is out there. Twisted, corrupted things. Dreams turned to nightmares. Slavery and sorrow." She saw in those eyes the flickering of memory passed through a hundred generations.

"But surely you remember those who left as well," she pressed him. "Some good must have come from their travels when they returned to us with their knowledge."

"No, I only remember that we turned them away." He regained his focus and looked at her. "The broken bough can never rejoin the oak. I have to stay here and guide our people. It is my place."

"Well, what if--"

"Please," he said softly. "Stay here with me."

She might never have noticed. It was the gentlest of tugs at the back of her mind. For half a moment her doubt was gone, and he was so right. The world outside was full of unknown terrors, but here in the heart of the forest she was safe, and he would always protect her. Then the shadow-thing she had bound to her in the night lashed back at him. She saw him raise a hand, almost by reflex, in a warding gesture. And she knew.

The spell struck him with her full fury, flinging him away like a discarded rag. Before he even landed she hit him again, this time hearing the familiar snapping of bone.

"How long?" she shouted at him, advancing. "When was the first time?!"

He was curled on the ground, cradling his broken arm, his eyes glazed with shock. "I--I never--"

The next spell twisted. She walked up to him, turned him over so she could see his face, and waited until he stopped screaming.

"It was--was after I was chosen," he managed between sobbing breaths. "I only--only wanted to talk to you. I thought I'd never again--"

"You thought you wouldn't have to."

She stepped back and collected her book from inside the tree stump. Opening it to a marked page, she began weaving one last spell to remember her by. He gave a little whimper of fear, the way that the hares did before she'd break their necks.

"You'll live," she told him. "If you can crawl."