Page 1 of A Kiss From a Revenant
1
NORY
It’s a mistake to be in the graveyard this late.
The Snowlands are dangerous in broad daylight. At night, there is a forbidding quality to the air. A sense that something dangerous lurks just out of view. Unease dances with the chill in the wind, entwining the two into one disconcerting mess. Despite it being mid-summer, the cold still lingers in the air, stinging my cheeks and nose as I look down at the familiar headstone.
It never changes, save for a few new cracks or a dusting of fresh frost. The sparse patch of grass cushions my knees as I wipe away the day’s dirt from the plain inscription.Mae Blynwood. Loved Eternally.I’ve read it hundreds of times since it was first carved. I hadn’t been sure what Mother would have wanted. The illness that claimed her life last year had come on suddenly and left little time for proper arrangements.
Lost in my own grief—and the seemingly endless amounts of work left in her wake—I had merely told the stone mason to do whatever was the cheapest. While my mother may have been the only seamstress in town, we were not a well-to-dofamily. After all the doctor's visits and the cost to bury her, the coins I had left could only afford the most basic inscription.
Still, I should’ve made sure to mention she was a mother. I have regrets about that.
Maybe that is why I come to visit every day. The guilt I feel over her passing has nagged at me. I have countless unanswered questions—lingering bits of conversation that will never come to pass. I wish to talk with her again, if only to ask for guidance and to absolve me of the guilt I feel for not being a better daughter.
My only solace is the steady stream of customers who need their clothing fixed. During the day, I can lose myself in monotonous work. The ghosts of my regrets remain trapped in shadow while I focus on the tasks at hand. Then the night comes, and the quiet stillness of the house is enough to make me go mad.
Moisture pricks at my eyes, and I hastily rub it away. Setting down the dreary-looking bouquet of roses, I touch the smooth stone. Without my mother here, I am truly alone—no husband to call my own. No father or extended family to welcome me in.
With all my current responsibilities, the idea of running my own household with a man of my choosing seems laughable. At twenty-four, many men in this town consider me well past the age of marrying. The ones that don’t, well, I’d sooner marry a wild animal than bind myself to them in matrimony.
My pride and stubbornness have always been in lock step with each other. It has only been recently, and in the deepest parts of my grief, that I wish I had someone to turn to—who would shoulder some of this burden even if I did not love them. I would not be the first woman in this town to settle into an unsavory pairing out of necessity.
Life in the Snowlands is not an easy one. Our provincial town is nestled between two mountain ranges and at the mouth of a frozen shore. It is remote enough that anyone wanting todisappear can. In the winter, the sea freezes, and all incoming trade routes are completely blanketed by snow and ice. Meaning if someone were following you, they’d never brave a journey this far north and risk death.
That is why the Snowlands have become a haven for a rougher crowd.
Sell-swords, thieves, royal assassins—all manner of dangerous men call the Snowlands home. Once again, I kick myself for being out here this late. It would take nothing for a drunkard to happen upon me all alone.
However, a violent man is not the only thing to fear here.
Glancing up at the sprawling tree line,The Woodssurround the graveyard. The massive evergreen and oak trees overlap like gnarled fingers. Inside, creatures scatter; the darkness beyond the first row of trees seems endless. My mother had told me stories of the monsters that call that infernal forest home. Along with her stories, there was always a stark warning to keep away from them, unless you were prepared to pay the ultimate price.
The memory of my mother comes rushing forward, overwhelming me with a sense of despair that makes me turn from the dark woods. I miss her, but more than that, I miss the companionship of another. When I was younger, I had dreams of leaving this town—seeing the world behind our frozen wasteland—but as I got older, I had made peace with the fact that my mother would need me. When we worked together, there was happiness, and I was content. At least, I was content enough not to complain or create idle fantasies of a life beyond my reach.
All that awaits me now is a vacant house and endless piles of mending to be done. Am I cursed? Is this truly all I have? To lead a solitary life without love, with no one to call my own. Am I doomed to the same fate that befell my mother, only without a child to take care of? Will I become a wraith whohaunts the grave of my mother until I join her in the cold ground?
A bitter laugh escapes me.
“If it comes to that,” I whisper into the cold night, “who would even know to bury me?”
One name comes to mind, and it sends a shiver down my spine. The only solstice is knowing that by the time death calls me home, he will have already come to his end. Before my mother’s passing, I had the chance to marry, though I cannot say I would have been better off than I am now. Besides, I’d never agree to marry that horrible, deplorable,vile?—
A twig snaps behind me, and I gasp. Whirling around, I see nothing, only the jagged shadows cast by the full moon above. A loan owl hoots in the distance. The night is still. That is, until my eyes snag on something unusual.
A loan figure appears at the edge ofThe Woods.
Tall, forbidding, and looming just out of sight. My heart races, pounding against my ribs, and then, as if I had imagined it, the figure is gone. In the blink of an eye, the treeline is empty, and a cold breeze caresses my cheek. Unease permeates inside me even as I sag with relief. Rising on shaking knees, I wipe the dirt from my dark skirt and turn from my mother’s grave with the promise of visiting again tomorrow.
I barely make it a step before my blood ices over. I should not have come here tonight—I knew it was a mistake. My mother would’ve understood me missing one singular visit. For now, I am trapped here all alone as I stare at the one person I desperately avoid at all costs.
Lord Gunnar. He leans against a crumbling tombstone, arrogance dripping from every line of his posture. His arms are neatly folded over his enormous chest while his beady eyes roam over me. It had barely been a week since I last saw him. He had come to my house seeking repairs for the jacket he’s currently wearing. One of the buttons had come loose, and Ifixed it for him on the spot, not wanting to see him again to collect the item. With the steady stream of customers I had had that day, there had rarely been a moment that left the two of us alone.
The entire time, my hands shook, causing several pricks from the needle along my thumb. He had chastised my carelessness and used it as an opportunity to make more demands of me. The same demands he’d been making for almost ten years. He’d been vying for my hand since I was sixteen, and his first wife had died that spring in childbirth. The mourning period for his wife lasted as long as it took to bury her the next day. Since then, he has made his interest in me known despite my countless refusals.
I assumed that as I got older, his interest would fade to another poor girl. Yet, he has been as insistent as ever. He even accosted me at my mother’s wake, telling me how it was not a lady’s place to work and that I would soon follow her into the grave. If I were to marry him, my only responsibilities would be to bear and rear his children—a simpler life.
And one I would surely perish in just as his first wife did.
