by Sara Holland
“Jules,” Liam says, startling me. “There’s no mention of a red river in scholarly versions of the myths, other than the river Caro drowned you in during your first life.” He bites his lip. “It’s quite far, bordering a town called Pryceton. It’s Chamberlayne territory, and I know for certain that they’re keeping the town heavily guarded. I don’t think we should travel there unless we’re absolutely certain that the risk is necessary. But look at this—”
Guiding me gently by the shoulder, he leads me to the map of Sempera, pointing to a thick blue thread that cuts the country in half. “Here’s where you’re thought to have been killed by the Sorceress.” He points to a spot marked with a deep red pin. His finger traces the blue, then stops only a few inches away from where Bellwood is labeled on the map, tapping the spot for emphasis. “The water glows red when the sun is rising or setting, like it’s been cursed. Or at least, that’s what the legends say.
“How far?” I ask.
“Only an hour or two, if we cut through Montmere.”
“I once lived here,” I mumble, thinking of the Thief’s Fort, hidden by me for later use. Maybe there are more scraps of me hidden close, scattered in a moment of desperation and survival. I look down at the dried blood on my thumb, remembering the unfamiliar message in my own handwriting. “It’s a place to start.”
15
I can’t think of sleep until Stef reappears with my journal. Her eyes as she hands it to me are thoughtful. I want to ask her what she read, but I feel strangely self-conscious, so I just thank her and bid her good night.
After she’s gone, Liam and I spend the night at Thief’s Fort: me, curled on the bed next to my journal, and Liam on the other side of the room, on the floor, using his cloak for a blanket. He has his own rooms at Bellwood, but he refuses to let me stay alone.
The next morning, after he brings back a plate of fruit and rolls, we leave Bellwood an hour later, both dressed in plain, hooded brown scholars’ cloaks Liam borrowed. I try not to notice how the plainness of his dress makes Liam look more handsome—how, stripped of his Gerling colors and finery, he looks more himself. Freer, though he’s still weighed down by a hungry kind of grief.
Montmere’s smell—horse dung and baking bread, turned earth and a film of smoke—is comforting after the faint incense smell of the Thief’s Fort, that I didn’t realize was present until we left. My heart twists. Being on the road again makes me feel too open, like a target waiting to be pierced by an arrow.
But even still, my veins are thrumming with eagerness. We are going to find the weapon today, I tell myself, or information that will bring us closer to it. Then we can return to Shorehaven, and I will get rid of the Sorceress for good. I’ll finally be safe, and so will Ina, so will Liam.
I stop that thought in its tracks, before it can grow into something dangerous.
Some of the doorways we pass are scattered with wilted violets, or draped with purple cloth. My heart lifts a little—these are remainders of what must have been a celebration of Ina’s crowning. We come across a tall, thin wooden post in the middle of the road. It’s covered from top to bottom in ribbons, each fixed around the post with a different-size knot.
“One for every year of her rule, miss,” a frail voice calls out. I flinch, keeping my eyes averted—I didn’t think anyone had observed us—but the old woman only stares back at us with a kind smile. She extends her hand, which is bursting with ribbons. “Add one, and Queen Ina will reign for another year. They’re only an hour-coin.”
I reach into my purse and draw out an hour-coin. At first, I only want to blend in—but when I take the silk ribbon from the woman, I know that it’s more than that. I miss my sister and want to do something, anything, to feel closer to her. To promise her that I’ll end this soon. For both of us.
Hood pulled low over my face, I approach the post. The same longing I felt at the coronation ball stabs through me. I wish, as I lay the silk over the wood, that my action was just a simple celebration. My sister is the Queen. I believe she will be a good one—as much as possible in this corrupted land. But instead I have to hide a tear from the ribbon seller as I tie a careful knot and step away.
Liam chooses a merchant’s road that skirts the outside of Montmere, arguing that merchants are used to strangers—and minding their own business. “I know the river is on the other side of town, but I’m not sure of the way after that. We’ll have to find someone to tell us.”
As we walk, I can tell—feel—the weight on Liam. I can feel it in the way he walks, shoulders stooped like he’s carrying a heavy load on his back, even more dour than usual. I realize that in the past few days we’ve spent together, he’s never once spoken of his home or family, except when I’ve brought them up.
“What news do you have of Everless?” I ask him as we walk down the empty road. I’ve kept my questions to myself, not wanting to upset him. But Everless is a part of my childhood too. I care for the people there. The halls of Everless wind through my fate as surely as the blood through my veins—along with its secrets.
Pain crosses Liam’s face, there for a moment and then gone. “It’s in shambles, if you really want to know,” he says, his voice brittle. “My father is draining the coffers trying to hunt you down. Ivan has the run of the place, and he’s under Caro’s thumb. Without Roan . . .” He trails off.
Sadness, heavy and cold, settles in me. For all his faults, Roan held the people of Everless together, loved by all. It must be a darker place without him.
Maybe, if we survive this, Liam can change Everless for the better. The thought warms me in spite of the crisp morning air, a small candle of hope in my chest. I want to nourish the flame of it. Together, Liam and I, we could—
I can’t allow myself to think of that. So instead, I ask, “What do your parents know?”
“Before I left for Shorehaven, I told them that I was going to resume my studies at Bellwood after the coronation.” He looks forward, his throat moving as he swallows. “I didn’t want to tell them anything in case . . . in case Caro returns to Everless.”
The thought of it makes me shudder. “Why would Caro return?”
Liam gives me a level look. “Because she expects that you will.”
My stomach sinks. I knew that my presence at Everless would put everyone inside in danger. But this extra reminder that I can never go back—it just makes me feel more alone.
Up ahead, I spot a small figure, far down the stretch of the road and rapidly approaching. My chest tightens but then I release a breath when I see that it’s only a child, a boy with the same scampering walk as Hinton, the young servant boy from Everless. He has a yellow sash slung over him—the uniform of a young page, hired to shuttle news and messages within towns.
“Ask him about the river,” I whisper. I veer off, ducking into a narrow opening between two houses, acting like I’m just returning home. I listen as Liam walks past a few yards. A moment later, a child’s voice hails him. “Good morning, sir!”
I peek around the corner. Without looking at me, Liam subtly moves so that he’s facing me, and the boy has to turn in the other direction. I slide back into the alley, pressing my shoulders against a rough wooden wall.
“News of the day?” I hear the boy say hopefully. “Only an hour-coin, sir.” Then, a moment later: “Queen Ina continues to receive supplicants from all over Sempera,” he reads. “As her first orders of business, she has introduced a temporary tithe in addition to promising to alleviate hunger, and to grant a reward of five hundred years to the person who brings her the traitor Jules Ember.”
Hidden in the shadows, I flinch. He says it rather proudly. The boy goes on with his news, loud and self-important. “There are reports of strange weather along the eastern coast—”
“I have another question for you,” Liam says, cutting the boy off. He looks quickly up and down the road, then turns back to the boy. “I’m a traveler here. Can you tell me—is there a swimming spot around here, where the river runs r
ed?”
At this, the boy stiffens.
“Pardon me, sir, but I wouldn’t go looking,” he says. “The Alchemist’s spirit roams there. If you touch the water, it’ll wash away your years. It almost happened to a friend of mine, I swear—”
My heart pounds in my ears. Could the message hidden in my journal lead to somewhere so close? There’s a short silence, in which Liam reaches into his pocket and there’s the flash and faint clink of another coin. “But if I did want to find it,” Liam presses smoothly. “Where could I go?”
After another moment, the boy shrugs, then raises his hand and points past Liam, past the houses and toward the thick set of woods that engirdle the town. “Out there,” he says, subdued. He turns the blood-iron over and over in his palm. “Walk straight and follow the river south until you get to a clearing with a little waterfall. That’s where the light hits, they say. But truly, sir, I wouldn’t go.”
“Don’t worry,” Liam says lightly. “I won’t. Thank you for the news.”
The boy turns to leave, and I pull back into the alley as he passes. I give him time to get a little distance down the road, and then return to Liam’s side.
We start off silently so as not to draw attention to ourselves. After a half hour of slipping off the road and around buildings in the direction the newsboy pointed, the town is behind us and the woods stretch in front of us, silent and dark, like they’re somehow repelling the light of the rising sun. We pause at the edge of the woods. The dark seeps into me, like smoke rising to the sky. My throat tightens.
My fingers twitch with the sudden desire to reach out and take Liam’s hand. Instead, I curl them into loose fists and walk forward into the trees first, Liam half a step behind me.
Shadows fold around us immediately, immersing us in a sudden and strange silence. The sounds I’ve come to expect from woods, the gentle swishing of leaves and the conversation of birds, are there but softened, as if held at some distance from us. Even though we’ve just stepped into the trees, the undergrowth is thick, and I’m suddenly grateful for my long-sleeved dress and cloak and boots. They protect my skin as I soldier forward through branches and newly green leaves and thorns.
After only a few minutes, we find the river as the boy described—though it’s really more of a stream here—and follow it south, opposite of its flow. The air grows cooler and thicker. Heavy, charged like the air at Everless.
Then, certainty takes hold of me, a feeling similar to the one I felt when we entered Thief’s Fort. I’ve been here before.
I deliberately let my mind unfocus, allow my feet to take me where they will while my hands clear away branches. There is no path through the underbrush except for the faint trails left behind by deer, but I don’t fully feel the branches as they scratch my hands and arms. I’m not in any memory or vision—I’m still Jules, my thoughts unfogged enough for a faint sense of fear to curl through as we go farther and farther in. Behind us, the sight of town filtering through the trees has faded completely.
My nerves begin to fire, slowly at first, but faster with every step until it feels like someone cast a net of flame over my entire body. What will we find when we reach the river of red? If we don’t find the weapon, we’ll have nothing, no hope to defeat Caro. And if we do—
And if we do, I’ll have to use it. I’ll have to end her.
The thought is unexpected, the words—end her—recalling the sensation of my dagger sinking into Caro’s side. I shudder, stomach and heart twisting. The thought of doing it again is horrifying. My own feelings are a dark maze. I must kill Caro—I have to—and yet the thought of doing so seems impossible. Both because it makes me sick to imagine, and because the weapon I need—the strange, glittering dagger in the Thief’s Fort—is nowhere to be found, despite the fact that as far as I can tell, it was only ever in my possession.
A strange idea sinks in. What if I hid the weapon on purpose? Not from Caro—what if I hid it from myself?
But it doesn’t make sense. If I stole Caro’s heart, I must have been trying to harm her. To kill her, even, to stop her from wielding her power over all of Sempera. She’s my enemy.
After what seems like a long time of silent walking, the soft burbling of the river at our side, we come upon a clearing in the woods, a glen filled with dappled light. Though the sun must be high in the sky by now, the weave of branches overhead filters it, casting a net of shadows over us. Ahead, the stream slows and broadens into a wide, gently flowing sweep of water. At the other end, just as the boy said, is a small waterfall. It crashes down, spraying a silvery mist into the air that makes the trees glitter.
My breath catches. The scene is beautiful, and I find myself turning automatically to Liam, wanting to see the image reflected in his eyes. He’s taken off his cloak as we walked, and his shoulders shift beneath the white cloth of his shirt as he pushes his hair off his forehead. His lips are parted, his eyes wide—and I take the moment just to look at him.
“Do you think it’s here? The weapon?” he asks.
I can’t help but smile. He’s asking me now, and not the other way around. “I don’t know, but we’ll soon find out.”
My feet tug me forward again, toward a large boulder sunk in silt, half in and half out of the water. I gather my skirts up with one hand, kicking my boots off so that I can wade in and examine it from all sides. I can feel Liam watching me, but I’m too excited by the pull in my chest as soon as I step into the river to care about how odd this must seem. The cold water sends a pleasant shock up my body.
And then I see it—a pale mark on the dark rock, a set of shallow scratches forming the shape of a coiled snake and a fox, sitting side by side.
My heart catches. Entranced, I reach out to touch the image. When I brush my fingers against the damp stone, the air shifts around me, the air seeming to contract and expand again, my senses flooding with the smell of wildflowers.
Another embedded memory.
I look up to call to Liam, but he isn’t there. Instead, a girl stands at the edge of the water, on the other side of the stream. Skinny and panting, with her dark hair damp around her shoulders, her face is more familiar to me than my own.
My old enemy.
Caro.
16
Liam is gone. I’ve stepped into another world—another time.
The glen has shifted; it’s the same and different at once. The trees are slender, and instead of forming a thick ceiling overhead, they form a sort of airy lattice, letting in bright splashes of sunlight over the water. Birds sing hidden in their branches. The scent of warm earth and wildflowers drifts lazily on the breeze.
Then, the small part of me that’s able to observe my surroundings as Jules Ember is pulled down by a wave of feeling. Not my own.
Panic storms in the Alchemist’s heart, my heart. It hammers at my ribs, thunderous and steady, trying to break away from me and escape. My blood races through my veins, and disordered, incomprehensible images flash sharp through my mind. A grand hall with a shining wooden floor. A table spread with metal and glittering powders. Caro—Caro beside me and a man handing me a glittering vial. The smile, ear to ear, that split his face.
Then—guilt. Waves of it, crashing over and over. I collapse to my knees at the edge of the water, panting. A sharp pain in my thigh.
I look down to see the rubied dagger biting into the fabric of my pants. Shock courses through me. The blade isn’t sheathed but tucked hastily into my belt. The twisting snake handle is warm beneath my fingers and almost seems to vibrate, like something alive. It’s beautiful, elegant, sharp, and—
There’s blood smeared over the blade. A slick of wet, glittering red.
“No, no, no,” I murmur softly. Hands shaking, I plunge the dagger into the water at my knees. Blood blooms in the water. When I pull the blade back, it shines again, and relief floods me—but within seconds, my fingers scrub a blood spot that didn’t wash away, a red droplet snugly kissing the hilt. I submerge the blade again and scrub, but
each time I bring it up again, I find fault with it. Each time, I wade farther into the water, until I’m up to my neck in it, until suddenly, I’m crying, shoulders heaving with quiet sobs.
A twig snapping somewhere behind me makes me stop. I look up, alert. A hound is staring at me with coal-black eyes.
My chest squeezes. Panic.
Then, a figure steps out from between the trees just behind the hound’s rigid tail: Caro, dark hair cut short. Up to my neck in the water, I see her before she sees me, moss-colored eyes scanning the clearing, her head slowly rotating as if she’s caught my scent.
Caro sees me and stills, then walks casually toward the edge of the water. “Antonia.” Her voice is light, casual, but I know better than to trust that. “I thought I’d find you here.”
I don’t move, eyes flitting between Caro and the hound. “Has Ever sent you to punish me?”
In response, Caro merely sighs, then kicks off her boots at the shore and hoists her skirts.
“No. You’re always so dramatic. I’ve only come to find out what in the heavens is going on with you. What happened back there?” she calls, her voice carrying across the water.
“Were you hurt?” I say, trying hard to keep my voice even.
“Hurt? Me? You could never.” Caro smiles, but it immediately falls flat. “In case you’re wondering, Ever is fine. But you startled us, Antonia.”
Underwater, I grip the dagger tightly. “I’m sorry. I—I lost control.”
She smiles at me again, but I can tell it’s less bright than it was a moment ago. Suspicion lurks behind her eyes. Even as she takes a step forward, cocking her head playfully, and rakes a flat hand across the surface of the glen, sending a wave of shining water my way.
I jump back, laughing loud, but it sounds hollow and forced in my ears. Caro steps forward. A chill goes through me that has nothing to do with the cool water or the summer breeze playing over my damp skin.