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already regretting the price we've paid.
    Elisha looks down at the baby, sorrow etched into every deep line on her face. The baby isn't moving. "It is done," she says, and wraps the still form in a thick blanket.
    "Is she—”
    "No. You've spared her death, or at least delayed it. She's strong, she'll recover. She's gone to another place for now, where there's no pain. She'll be back soon enough." She places her things back into her bags and baskets, and I realize that my head is clear and I can stand again.
    I approach the table cautiously. It's wrong, it's another betrayal, but this baby now seems like she's not mine, like someone has taken that beautiful little spirit and replaced her with an empty shell.
    Elisha watches me, eyes narrowed, head tilted to one side. "You'll get past that, too, if you wish to. Let her rest, feed her, learn to love her for what she is now. She's the normal child you've been wishing for." Her voice is hard and accusing again.
    She opens the door to leave, then turns back. "You'll want to keep an eye on that one, at least for a few years. Keep her safe, let her secret stay that way, and everything will be . . ." she trails off. "It will be just what you paid for."
    Then she's gone, and I'm alone with my child. The baby could be sleeping but for the quick, shallow breaths she's taking and the almost imperceptible trembling of her body. I hold her close and tell myself again that I've done the right thing.
    Perhaps fear of the unknown truly is useless, and the distance I feel is all in my head. It will pass. My gaze travels to the door, where the Rowanwood wreath that we all hang outside our homes has been brought in for the winter. It’s a silly superstition, but one that’s so deeply embedded that I rarely think about the simple circle of wood from a tree that’s reputed to protect a home from the evils of magic.
    We’re not supposed to name our babies before they’re six months old, but I can’t help it. I wipe my tears away and smooth the child’s wisp of reddish-brown hair down over the soft part of her head. Her breath hitches.
    I try to smile. “Hello, Rowan.”

Author’s Note
    T hank you for joining me for this story! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.
    If you enjoyed this world and would like to see what happens years after The Binding, check out the Bound trilogy.
    Until next time… take care, and keep the magic alive.
    —Kate

Also by Kate Sparkes
    B ound (Bound Trilogy Book One)
    Torn (Bound Trilogy Book Two)
    Sworn (Bound Trilogy Book Three)
    -
    At Any Cost (Bound Trilogy Prequel Novella)

Special Thanks
    T o Shannon Andrews , Hayley Morgan, Jennifer Cousteils, Annette Flick, and Eva for help in early and/or proof-reading, and to Krista Walsh and KL Schwengel for other assistance.
    To Joshua Essoe for the edits.
    …And to everyone who has purchased, read, and supported my work. I couldn’t do it without you!

Copyright
    T he Binding - Copyright - 2014 Kate Sparkes
     
    Cover art by K. Sparkes
    With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this work may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from author.
    Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
    This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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