The Woods

Chapter Twenty-One

When I awoke the next morning, I couldn't help but expect to be in the room I had in the Woods. It took me a few minutes to remember what had happened, and I felt my heart drop as everything flooded back. So much had happened so quickly that it was hard to take in.

Slowly, I sat up and glanced out of the window. The sky was dark and rain still poured down, but I could tell it was morning. Part of me wanted to go back to sleep and pretend everything was okay, but I knew the Head Representative was expecting me. And although I didn't specify a time, I knew he would become impatient quickly.

And so, I got up and fixed myself a breakfast of stale bread and a bruised apple I found in the kitchen. I would have to restock everything soon, but my mind was on other things. As I slipped into my black dress, I couldn't help myself from thinking about the meeting. What was I going to be asked? Would they return me to the Woods? And if they were in really bad moods, would I even be put to death? My stomach twisted at the thought.

I almost considered not attending at all, but I knew that would only make things worse. I could only use my father's death as an excuse once, and that had been done already.

One glance at the pouring rain told me it wouldn't stop any time soon, so I went rummaging through the storage cupboard to see what I could find. I found an old black shawl, which I shook the dust out of before wrapping it around my shoulders, and a parasol. The parasol was white, which made me hesitate to use it, but it had been made waterproof; something I really needed. With a sigh, I took it with me.

Despite the dreary weather, the streets were bustling with people in the market, as they attempted to sell to the people who wanted nothing but to get out of the rain. People seemed to avoid me, parting ways as I walked through the town square. It wasn't surprising; after all, they thought I was dead.

"Fida Clark." I looked up, not realising I had reached the Head Representative's house so soon. I looked up at him, not deigning to reply. "Come inside before you get sick."

I followed him, pausing as I took in my surroundings. To put it bluntly, the house was gorgeous. Being the richest man in town, he lived in luxury, having tall roofs and gilded silver columns. I tried not to look too impressed as he led me towards his office, where the two lower Representatives were waiting.

"Please, take a seat." I perched on the chair opposite him as he sat behind the massive oak desk. His subordinates stood on either side of him. "I must admit, I didn't think I would ever see you again."

"Disappointed?" I asked.

"There's no need for unkind thoughts, Miss Clark."

"Nor is there any need for unnecessary niceties. You ruled that out when you made me enter the Woods." His responding smile wasn't very kind. "Tell me, sir, why did you call me a fluke?"

He was silent for a moment, but replied, "Tell me about those who live in the Woods, and we shall see if I remember the details." I let out a chuckle, surprising myself.

"What would you like to know? I'm afraid some things have slipped my mind." A lie, of course; there was no way I was telling him anything of importance. "Besides, I heard the king himself came to chat." He paled, though his expression remained passive. I didn't bother hiding my smile.

"He certainly had some interesting questions about you, Miss Clark. Why you were chosen, if I knew why the Woods rejected you. Of course, why would I tell some pompous royal anything?" He scoffed, sipping his tea. I studied his expression, my brow furrowing. How could he not be terrified of the Fae? They could literally give you chills in an instant.

But, pushing the thoughts aside, I gave him an innocent smile. "Well, I heard that you weren't allowed to say anything. At least, Cain seemed to think so."

His eyes bore into me; cold and calculating. "So, it seems you became quite close to them. Did they tell you their secrets, Miss Clark? Did they answer all of your burning questions?"

I frowned. What was he getting at? It was obvious he was trying to hide something, or was hinting at something I didn't know about. Upon seeing my expression, he smiled, though showed only coldness.

"You are but a child. And a foolish one at that." I simply smiled. He was trying to offend me; to get a reaction. It was a childish game for such an old man. He understood my reaction and scowled, revealing yellowed teeth. "Get out of my house. You will be summoned in the near future to give details about the Woods."

A coldness bloomed in my chest at his words. "I am not to be summoned like a dog," I replied. With that, I rose and left them, the faint sound of his subordinates murmuring their advice getting quieter as I walked away.

The rain had stopped, so I dragged my parasol behind me. The streets were more crowded than before, drowning me in bodies as I headed to the heart of the market. I needed to find something to distract me, but first I needed food. I had become accustomed to different food in the Woods, so my breakfast hadn't done much for me.

I almost grinned at the sight of the pastry stand, despite the horrified expression of the vendor as she recognised me. It didn't stop her from selling me a dozen pastries, and she seemed quite pleased at the end of it.

When my arms were filled with fresh fruit, a bottle of cordial and the pastries, I made my way back home, feeling both pleased and nervous. I was quick to put the food in the cupboard, munching on a pastry as I thought about my next move.

I needed to check the supply room in the bakery before I did anything. After being gone for a month, there was no way to know how much of everything had been used. Not to mention sorting through any spoiled stock. I certainly dreaded that the most.

When I finished my pastry, I made my way down to the bakery, slipping into the back. It had three large wood-burning ovens and a large stone bench. Through one of the doors was the supply room, where I found several large bags of flour, a bag of pumpkin seeds, a wooden box of rotten berries and a tub of sour butter.

I gagged at the smell of the berries, staggering out of the supply room to get fresh air. For the berries to rot, it suggested Father had been sick for quite a while. I shook the thought away, taking a few deep breaths before grabbing the box of berries and running towards the back door, which led to the back alley. I was quick to dump the contents into one of the metal cans for collection, cringing at the splat of the berries as they hit the bottom.

The box was disgusting, but I knew it would be a waste to throw away, so I took it back inside and cleaned it before returning it to the supply room. I dumped the butter into the can next, knowing it was far too late to save it.

The flour and seeds seemed fine and the jar of yeast, which I found tucked away, had kept, much to my relief. I stared at the bags for a few minutes, knowing all too well what I needed to do. I needed a distraction, and it was perfect.

I got to work immediately, mixing the yeast with water, measuring out the flour, and kneading the dough. It had been over a month since I had baked anything, but it came back to me naturally. Ever since I was young, Father had prepared me to take over the business. I smiled slightly, remembering all the times I had gotten covered head to toe in flour and somehow managed to make bread that was both burnt and raw.

Within a few hours, I had half a dozen balls of dough resting on the counter, left to rise. While they rose, I scrubbed at the ovens before adding the logs. The ovens soon had blazing fires, warming the bakery and leaving my fingers with a pleasant tingly feeling.

One by one, I placed the balls of dough in the ovens before smiling at my work. It wasn't long until the scent of baked bread wafted from the ovens to fill the bakery. It felt so much more familiar than before; the warmth, the scent. It felt like home.

In the Woods, I had tried so many times to forget my roots. I had become too comfortable there, and I paid the consequences for it. But now . . . I was home. I could start over. Even if Father was gone, I had Delilah. I could follow in Father's footsteps.

But even my optimistic thoughts couldn't stop my tears.