by Sara Ella
No longer connected? Physical vessel? Still seems more complicated than the toughest Sudoku puzzle never solved. Life after death isn’t something I’ve given much thought. Perhaps because it always sounded impossible. But now . . . I’m not so sure.
“Good girl. You’re learning.”
I slow, glimpse Preacher over my shoulder.
The Guardian appears to stare straight through me as per usual.
Facing forward, I answer Ky under an exhale. “Not a good time, Ky.”
“You see it, don’t you? You see nothing is ever as impossible as it first seems.”
“Yes, okay? I see it. Now stop making me talk before someone notices.”
His voice doesn’t return and I sigh. For the briefest instant I allow myself to miss him. His confident smirk. The way he got under my skin. The honesty we so freely shared. He was always straight with me, and I never hesitated to let him know exactly what I thought.
Most of the time.
Once we reach Dawn Lake—which looks more like an ice rink than a Threshold leading to the Third—those paying their respects split north and south, line up along the shore. So many familiar faces yet foreign at the same time. I hardly know them. A meeting here, a conversation there. If I’m being honest, most are simply acquaintances and nothing more.
Sunset has passed, and a small clearing in the clouds reveals a gibbous moon. I draw a candle from my coat pocket and trudge to stand between Stormy and Joshua, her on my left and him on my right. It’s a tight squeeze and I can’t avoid it when our arms brush.
Joshua bristles but doesn’t move away. He clears his throat, strikes a match, lights his candle, and then ignites mine. My flame kisses Stormy’s wick, and she leans over and lights the next person’s. The ritual goes on and on until every attendee’s candle is ablaze save one. The lake is a circle of light. Fire’s life encompassing the deadly ice.
Then the singing begins.
The tune isn’t one I recognize, but as the lyrics press in, the melody pulsing, I feel as if I know this song. Perhaps it’s my Calling that allows me to pick up on anything musical. Whatever the case, I’m able to join in after the first verse, singing the words as if I’ve practiced them over and over again. My voice remains hoarse, but no one seems to notice.
“He lies down. He will not rise.
Until all is gone, he cannot be roused.
Sleep infests his heavy-laden eyes,
And though sorrow arrives with night’s dawn,
Joy lives in morning’s song.”
Sniff. Blur. Tears dawdle on my lashes.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
My jaw sags. Stormy?
“He would’ve loved this. Kuna wouldn’t have wanted us to grieve.”
I turn my head, and shock steals my breath. Though her cheeks exhibit damp trails, splitting and joining like a network of rivers, the corners of Stormy’s lips stretch toward her glistening eyes. She reaches over and clasps my free hand, shakes it a little. Her grip is almost painful, but I squeeze back, speaking my love for her through the silent gesture.
And somehow, this tiny hint of the “before” Stormy fills me with a sense of hope. I turn my head, peek up at Joshua. His eyes are closed, head bowed as his lips release song. His familiar tenor melts the ice inside. The memory of how I felt the first time we met tugs at my lips, forcing them to curl up. Just like then, the promise of a better tomorrow adds an inch to my height.
I close my eyes and sing for Kuna, adding harmony to the tune on this round despite my sore throat. Each note carries hurt and hope. Pain and healing. If Stormy can find joy amidst ashes, surely Joshua and I can find a way past this Kiss of Infinity thing. I didn’t give him one. Okay. But does that mean I never will?
“You gave me one. Isn’t that enough?”
Everything in me wants to respond to Ky’s voice. But I can’t. Not now. Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Maybe the best thing for me is to let Ky go.
“Em, no.”
After giving Stormy’s hand an extended squeeze, I release her, guard my flame with a cupped palm, and free my right hand. I lace my fingers with Joshua’s, hold fast to the tangible. The real.
Joshua pulls away.
My spirit droops.
But then his arm slips around my waist, fingers sliding through the space between my arm and midsection. He draws me into his side.
Sigh. We’re going to be fine. I inhale his Thanksgiving dessert scent, press my cheek to his life-filled chest. Our voices become one as we continue the ballad in Kuna’s honor—Joshua singing the lyrics, and me “ah-ing” the repetitive melody. My throat burns and my song is off-key, but I press on.
“The Void holds no power,
A soul it cannot own.
Though it may seem night has won the hour,
It is the day we live to storm,
Until the battered no longer—”
A sound like thunder. A deafening shriek. A collective gasp. All seem to happen at once.
Voices cease midlyric, stalked by an unnatural quiet.
My head jerks around. My gut bottoms out. The earth shakes.
Someone has fallen through the ice.
TEN
Joshua
Iron brushes leather as swords emerge from sheaths. Firearm after firearm is cocked. Bows are brandished and arrows are drawn. All attendees, save the Guardians, retreat from the ice’s rim and creep toward the trees. I draw Eliyana into my side, tightening my grip around the one I can’t bear to lose. She may be queen, the vessel of the Verity even, yet to me, she remains fragile as ever. Someone breakable and delicate and all too good to be true. El is mine, and with my Ever blood failing I refuse to risk her enduring so much as a scrape. Her pain will always belong to me, regardless of whether our connection heals her or not.
I hone my focus and glance south. Wren Song stands two longsword lengths away. Her arms are folded over her chest and her gaze penetrates mine. I grunt beneath my breath. She doesn’t need to speak. I know she believes this is related to El.
And perhaps she’s right. I drop my candle and the flame snuffs out. I comb my fingers through my hair and run my palm over my face. Have I been ignoring what’s right in front of me? I haven’t had an opportunity to go to Nathaniel as of yet, but I can’t put it off any longer. I will see him tonight. But first I must get everyone to safety, El to safety.
I scan the frozen Threshold. Aha! There. About three yards east—an opening in the ice. I squint. An opening, yes, but nothing more. No flailing arms, gurgles, or screams.
“El.” I grip her arm, though I keep my eyes trained on the Threshold. “Take Stormy, follow Preacher, and lead the guests back to the castle. Everyone will be safest there. Reggie and the kitchen staff already have food prepared. Preacher will inform the Guardians on perimeter duty of the situation.”
She looks around, eyes wide. But it isn’t fear I detect there, it’s awareness. She is so different from the timid girl I met over three years ago. Something has changed within her. The Verity lives there, yes, but it’s more than that. As if a fire has been ignited. Even so, this alters nothing. Verity or not, fire or none, she still needs me. And I will protect her no matter the cost.
The Guardians tread the bank’s edge and anxiety taints the air like sour milk. The only noise is the distinct hush preluding fresh snowfall. Wait for the opportune moment. That’s the first thing they teach you in Guardian training. Patience is key in a crisis situation. Acting too soon could cause disaster, while waiting too long could trigger an equally treacherous outcome.
Preacher appears at my right. “All bodies accounted for, sir.”
I nod. As I suspected.
I face El. Her oaken gaze pierces like a wooden dagger. We know each other so well, yet somehow this doesn’t help. She’s aware I will send her away, and I expect her to fight it. “Do not question me on this,” I say.
“This isn’t like before.” She pulls away and rounds on Preacher. “I am you
r queen. You answer to me now. I’m staying.”
He avoids her gaze. Half of me is enraged by his indifference toward his queen. But the other half? The other half is still me, and if Preacher’s indignation aids in my efforts to protect her, so be it.
“I’m not weak. I can fight.” Her eyes plead with mine.
Must she resist every time? Doesn’t she realize I’m trying to keep her alive? “Not this you can’t.” I have my suspicions, but I won’t know for sure until I speak to Nathaniel.
“If you would just tell me what’s going on, I know—”
“Enough!” My raised voice catches the crowd’s attention, and all eyes attend us. I swallow and inhale, regaining composure. Where the crowe did that come from?
“This is why.” She wrenches away.
My pulse speeds but I remain collected. “Why what?”
Her lower lip quivers and her gaze darkens. “Nothing. Never mind.” She wraps an arm around Stormy. “Lead the way, Preacher,” she says straight through me.
My best Guardian looks to me for confirmation, and once I give the nod, he’s off with the girls and the remainder of the guests in tow.
I watch their departure, keeping my eyes fixed on El until the last possible second. When she’s out of sight I find Makai. He’s already giving orders, placing Guardians around the lake’s perimeter, sending groups of twos and threes to search the forest.
“At least ten Guardians will be stationed here at the Threshold around the clock,” he says to Wren. “No one goes in or out.”
“Yes, Commander.” She wears her war face, usually not a good sign, but in this case a relief to witness. She can be trusted to guard and protect. No fear, this one.
When I approach she glances in my direction, and her expression alters. Guilt settles in my gut. I bring my fist to my lips and clear my throat. “Wren.”
“David.”
I wince. I have yet to tell El of my history with Wren. One more secret I have kept.
Wren marches away, leaving me alone with my commander. Though I was king, I still feel as if I answer to Makai, my honorary older brother.
I already know but still feel a need for confirmation, so I ask, “The Threshold at Dawn Lake? It is draining?”
“So it would seem, but the situation is under control.” He pulls his unkempt hair off his face and secures it at his neck with a leather tie. “Do what you must.”
Makai always knows before I utter a word.
“Give Father my regards. I have not had a chance to visit him recently.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell him.”
As I head toward Wren I think of the last thing El said. “This is why.” I acted as if I didn’t understand, but I knew precisely what she meant. Because I know her better than anyone. She wanted to say more but refrained, always concerned about others’ feelings. But I know. Oh, I know.
This is why.
This is why.
This. Is. Why.
The reason she didn’t give me a Kiss of Infinity. She takes my actions as mean and cold, stubborn, when really it’s my love for her fueling me. How could she give me such a kiss when she doesn’t truly believe I love her?
I shake my head. She doesn’t see my love. Time to rectify that.
I tap Wren on the shoulder.
She turns slowly, her expression blank.
Fist to my mouth, I clear my throat. “I require your services.”
It’s difficult to perceive, but I think I see a hint of a grin surface. She doesn’t respond but her pupils dilate.
We stare at each other, and for the first time in years I wonder if we have a chance at being friends again. I smile. “How do you feel about going on a little journey?”
She folds her arms over her chest and raises one eyebrow. “I thought you’d never ask.”
ASIDE
KY
And so it begins.
She doesn’t know it yet, but this will lead her here. The Threshold in the Second isn’t the first to be affected, and it won’t be the last. I could tell her, call to her, but it must be her choice.
And so I wait.
ELEVEN
Change
If I wasn’t in my right mind I’d chuck this blasted mirrorglass crown off the hill. What good does it do me? No one looks to me. Listens. They still think of Joshua as their leader. And can I blame them? One look at him and people think, Noble. Worthy. King.
What do they think when they look at me? Imposter? Intruder? Wannabe?
“Don’t be ridiculous, Em. This insecurity is the old you. You know better. The Verity chose—”
“Just leave me alone.” The smallest burst of Verity burns in my gut. As if it’s staging a silent protest to my words. I tug at the ends of my hair. Regret my harsh tone. None of this is Ky’s fault. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. It’s fine.” Though his words reassure, his voice in my head reveals a pinch of hurt.
Ugh. This sucks. Joshua and I are at odds—again—and now I’ve hurt Ky? Maybe. I don’t know. He’s probably not even real. Of course he’s not.
Or is he?
I’d like to scream my head off now if you don’t mind. Okay, thanks.
Anxiety revs my nerves as I enter the door leading into the kitchens. Old memories lift from storage. I take them out, dust them off, and see them anew. The frame around a not-so-long-ago scene shrouds my vision, gives me the smallest intermission between act one’s cliffhanger and the impending twist awaiting me in act two.
It’s last November and our final night in the Maple Mines. Only one day left until we reach the Haven. The other half of our group sleeps soundly a few feet away. Stormy lying on her side near the tunnel’s wall. Joshua slouched against a tree root thick as a log. Kuna and Preacher sitting back-to-back, chins digging into their chests. What happened with Gage in Wichgreen Village seems like a lifetime ago rather than days. I’m exhausted to the bone. But for some reason, whenever Ky takes the lookout shift, I can’t sleep. I don’t think he minds though.
After four days spent navigating root-infested tunnels with nothing but the undersides of maple trees on the horizon, I should be more than thrilled about the prospect of a warm bed.
Except the thought of leaving moments like these behind pinches my pulse. Sometime between Ky saving my life and now, a change occurred. We became . . . friends? He still doesn’t know Tiernan Archer, the despicable man who raised him, is my father. How can I tell him? It would ruin what we have, and I’m not willing to give that up. Not yet.
“Give me your hand,” Ky whispers. The kerosene lantern on the ground between us washes his face in amber light, causing the flecks of gold in his green eye to glimmer. His brown eye lights up, too, like a warm cup of cocoa inviting a first sip.
I eye him. “Why?” Suspicion laces my tone.
He dons a knowing look, chin tucked in and one brow quirked. “What’s the matter, Em?” He offers his hand, palm up. “Afraid I’ll bite?”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, Edward.” I jut my fist forward, not at all sorry it pokes him in the ribs.
A huff escapes his lips. “Comparing me to sparkly vampires now? You’re losing your touch if that’s the best you can come up with.”
Ky’s pop culture fluency isn’t so surprising anymore. He did live in the Third with his adoptive mother and younger sister, Khloe—my actual younger sister—for several years. They hid from Tiernan, who had given himself over to the Void. The more I learn about Ky, the more I find we have in common. A connection both foreign and familiar. Ky takes my upturned arm, pushes my sleeve north, and runs his fingers over my skin from elbow to wrist.
All Twilight puns elude me. “What are you doing?” I draw back. Take in a breath. Finger the rose-button necklace at my collarbone. It’s only been a few days since Ky gave it to me—made it for me—but it feels as if it’s always been right here.
“I’m helping you relax.” He grasps my arm again, initiating tingles as he runs his fingers back
and forth. Back and forth.
My muscles grow heavier as my fist curls open. My lips part, and I close my eyes without preamble. “Now what?” The words release on an exhale.
“Shhh. Wait. Trust me.”
Trust me. Joshua made the same request the night at the Pond in Central Park. It should be easier to trust the boy I’ve known for years rather than one I just met. But there’s something about Ky. Something causing my heart to put faith in him even when my brain warns me against it.
One deep inhale. Two. Then something small and round drops into my palm. My eyelashes lift. Gasp. “Where did you get candy?” The sugary scent alone, like maple syrup, forces my mouth to water.
“Keep your voice down. Otherwise it won’t work.”
I huff but don’t allow another question to escape. Curiosity wins. For now.
We remain motionless, our breaths plateauing. I watch the candy in my palm. Inhale. Exhale. After a while I make the mistake of meeting Ky’s gaze.
He’s staring at me, his regard so intense I can’t tear my eyes away. He inches closer, bumps the lantern with one knee. Using his knuckles he strokes my arm again, only adding to the heat building between us. This time his touch doesn’t relax me. It kindles something. His fingers are matches.
And my skin is on fire.
Gulp.
Flit. Flicker. My head whips right. “What was that?”
Ky touches a finger to his lips.
Another flash, this time to my left. An insect? Firefly, perhaps?
A tap against my palm. More candy?
I look down. Oh my chronicles—definitely not candy.
A stubbly cheeked boy Fairy no taller than my thumb stands next to the treat, chiseling at it with the smallest pickax I’ve ever beheld. Grimy overalls hug his miniature frame. He removes a handkerchief from one pocket and wipes his brow. He could almost be human if not for the gray, mothlike wings, twitching every so often, protruding from his back.
This Reflection continues to astonish me. A beautiful Troll. A hulking merman. A childlike leviathan. I’d always imagined Fairies as tinkling little women with topknots on their heads and pom-poms on their shoes. Wrong again.