Everafter Song
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“It—it can’t be possible,” Osric stammers. “I don’t understand how,
but I think he used the infinity sandglass as a portal.”
Jamison isn’t convinced. He searches the room, looking behind
curtains and furniture. “So he left, just like that?”
“Harnessing time to portal jump isn’t unheard of,” Osric answers.
“Some say the infinity sandglass itself is a portal. The same has been said of the sword of Avelyn, but I thought those were myths.”
The blade in my hand has been in my possession for years, and I
have never carved a portal through time.
“But where did he go?” Jamison asks.
Osric drinks deeply from his flask of cider before answering. “To
his place of hiding, I suppose. The vermin coward.”
My reflection in the glass front of the grandfather clock frowns back at me. Regardless of how he vanished, Markham can move from place
to place without locating an existing portal. The infinity sandglass can take him anywhere in Avelyn except for two places—the Silver-Clouded Plain and the Everwoods. He didn’t want me to know he could escape
Emily R. King
easily; otherwise, he would have had us travel in such a manner to the Black Forest and coastline instead of spirit jumping.
The ground shakes anew, vibrating so hard the empty whisky
decanter falls and shatters. The portrait of Jamison’s family over the mantel slides sideways and drops off the wall. Both of us lunge to catch it, but the frame hits the ground and tips backward into the fire. He yanks the painting from the flames and stomps them out. He saved the portrait, but the top outer edge of the canvas is blistered.
“What in the name of Eiocha is causing those quakes?” Osric asks.
I throw up my hands in exasperation. “I asked Markham if he was
responsible, and he prattled on about apple trees.”
Jamison crouches over the portrait, his expression crestfallen. The
damage can be repaired, but it will require skill and time. “The day this was painted, my mother fed my sister and me pieces of honeycomb to
bribe us to sit still for the painter. Father was exasperated by our sticky fingers and faces, but he didn’t raise his voice.” He rehangs the frame over the hearth. His father didn’t start his violent outbursts until after Jamison’s mother passed away.
Claret appears in the doorway, her face heated. “You need to come
see this.”
“Where’s Laverick?” I ask.
“Still asleep. Come on.”
Radella zips into the room and tugs at my hair to hurry. We hasten
after Claret out the front door. The servants have woken, roused by the quakes, and gathered on the front steps.
Claret hands me a spyglass and points. “Look there.”
I peer at some sort of tower in the distance. “Is that . . . ?”
“A skystalk,” Osric finishes grimly. “He did it. The bastard planted the skyseeds.”
Jamison looks through the spyglass next. “Remind me what they
do again.”
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Everafter Song
“Skyseeds have been enchanted with creation power by the Creator
herself,” Osric explains. “The seeds sprout up faster than any other plant. Even tiny elderwood-tree seeds take longer to grow, or so I’ve been told. Mother Madrona’s roots fan out from the Everwoods to the
Otherworlds, linking all of Avelyn together. For skyseeds to grow into skystalks, they tap into that ubiquitous power.”
My mother had a picture of Madrona over her favorite chair. The
image depicted a mighty elderwood with a massive root system con-
necting the seven worlds. Markham hasn’t created a new way into the
Silver-Clouded Plain. He’s found a pathway that already existed.
Jamison points to the skystalk. “That thing will help Killian bypass the curse on the giants’ world?”
“Think of it as a causeway,” Osric says. “Giants were builders and
inventors tasked with developing and beautifying the worlds. Long ago, they would use skystalks to travel from world to world to complete their work. They planted skyseeds in specific sites so they wouldn’t have to depend on portals.”
The household staff makes no remark. They are loyal to the
Callahans; some of their families have been working here for decades.
The butler and maids have become accustomed to the pixie, elf, and
even my clock heart, yet they shift uncomfortably. We all do.
“Prince Killian means to climb that stalk to the giants’ world?”
Claret asks, her brows creased in confusion.
Osric grunts, a disparaging sound. “Only a supreme idiot would try.
Most giants are flesh-eaters. They feast on elves, gnomes, humans . . .
More to the point, Killian won’t know his way around. No one has been there in centuries, and the infrastructure is bound to have changed. Any surviving maps of the Silver-Clouded Plain will be inaccurate.”
The ground shakes again, gravel bouncing along the carriageway.
Radella buries herself in my hair while Claret peers through the spyglass. She curses under her breath and passes it to me.
“The skystalk has grown taller,” she says.
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Emily R. King
I look through the spyglass. The top of the skystalk extends higher, disappearing into the clouds. “This seems extreme, even for Markham.
He has to know this will draw attention.”
Jamison’s gaze turns flinty. “He doesn’t care. Once Killian climbs
that monstrosity, he’ll leave the stalk behind for us to deal with.”
Radella flies out of my hair and motions widely down the carriage-
way at the arrival of a horse and carriage escorted by several single riders.
“Secretary Winters’s carriage,” Jamison says, urging all of us toward the door. “I wasn’t expecting him to pay a visit. Hurry inside. I’ll send him away as fast as I can.”
The servants scatter throughout the lower level of the manor, and
the rest of us go upstairs. Laverick stands in her doorway, awake, rumpled, and puzzled. I leave Claret and Osric to explain what Laverick has missed, and go to my chamber. Radella and I watch Jamison greet
Secretary Winters from the second-story window. The two men disap-
pear inside, followed by the secretary’s escort. Radella sits on the windowsill and stares at the skystalk stretching taller into the sky.
“I have a terrible feeling about this,” I say.
Not only did Markham plant the skystalk in Wyeth, he did so near
this estate, knowing it would draw authorities. He means to flush us out of hiding. He’s baiting me with the infinity sandglass. The prince must assume I’ll try to get it back—or that’s what he intends for me to do.
I dress quickly in trousers, a white button-up shirt, a cloak, a hat, and my mother’s red wool gloves. Jamison has been downstairs with
the secretary for several minutes. With each added second, my anxiety winds tighter.
“Has the secretary left yet?” I ask.
Radella shakes her head.
“Would eavesdropping be wrong?”
The pixie gives me a look that says, As if that will stop you.
I lie down on my back on my bed. She flies to me, hovering in place, her little wings fluttering quickly. “You’re coming with me, Radella.”
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Everafter Song
She puffs out her chest and salutes me. Radella has been present
during all my spirit jumping trials. She hails from the Everwoods, a spiritual bridge between the worlds, so she’s the only one in the household who can see me while I’m in spirit form.
The first time I spirit jumped without Father Time’s assistance was
The next evening, as I drifted to sleep, I did it again. Radella saw me, and after a long discussion through hand gestures and some failed
attempts, we concluded that sleepiness is not necessary, only that I am relaxed. I close my eyes and focus on my quiet ticker.
Tick . . .
Tock.
My spirit rises off my body with a gentle pull. I stare down at
myself. To anyone else, I appear to be sleeping.
Radella motions for us to go. My spirit can pass through solid
objects, such as walls and ceilings, but Radella pushes open the door out of habit, and we go downstairs.
A maid carries a tea tray into the library and leaves the door ajar.
The secretary’s guards are just inside. I fly across the corridor and slip in. Radella darts in after me and ducks behind a side table. Jamison and the secretary are seated across from each other in slim armchairs while the maid serves them tea.
“We have been investigating the destruction of the Lady Regina, the prisoner ship you sailed to the penal colony,” says the secretary. My gaze flickers to the replica on the mantel that I carved of the ship. “A sailor who survived the wreckage reported that you and Everley Donovan, the sorceress with the clock heart, were wed at sea.”
Jamison’s grip tightens on his teacup. “Miss Donovan was our pris-
oner. I became acquainted with several of the female convicts under my care. The sailor must have misinterpreted what he saw.”
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“The ship’s logbook has been found in the wreckage and is being
returned to Wyeth. Soon record of what happened on the Lady Regina will be public knowledge. Captain Dabney was a meticulous man. Will
his logbook confirm or deny the sailor’s report?”
“I’ve no idea what the captain’s logbook will say, sir. I only know
what I did and did not do aboard that ship.”
The secretary sips his hot tea. “Tell me about Miss Donovan.”
“I hardly remember her, sir. But from what I recall, she was quiet
and kept to herself. She didn’t seem to like people much.”
None of his accounting of who I was at the time is inaccurate. I
wasn’t the friendliest person when I was keeping my clock heart a secret.
“Hmm,” says the secretary. “You purchased Miss Donovan’s uncle’s
clock shop at auction. Yesterday, a constable was found shot dead in the alleyway behind it.”
I drop closer to the floor. Laverick will be devastated.
“That’s . . . unfortunate,” Jamison replies with a suitable amount
of regret.
“Where did you go after the meeting with your superiors yesterday,
Callahan?”
“I briefly visited the clock shop to survey my investment and
returned here. I presumably just missed the incident.”
Winters billows out his cheeks with a quick puff of air. “The con-
stable corps are searching for the shooter. She’s been identified as the convict Laverick Driscoll. Driscoll was accompanied by her companion, Claret Rees. Their street names are the Fox and the Cat, respectively.
We believe both are aiding Everley Donovan.” I drop even farther to
the floor. “Driscoll and Rees were also convicts aboard the Lady Regina.
Another constable identified Driscoll as the shooter in the alley. Two men were spotted with the women. Do you remember them?”
“The women?” Jamison puts on a show of searching his memory.
“I must have met Driscoll and Rees aboard the prison ship, if you say 34
Everafter Song
they were there, but I had over two hundred convicts to look after. I can hardly be expected to remember them all.”
The secretary licks his lips and sits forward, his voice low. “Everley Donovan is a dangerous sorceress. She blew up the roof of the court-house and damaged several buildings in the city square to escape execution. Queen Aislinn believes Donovan works with Killian Markham.
They are a peril to the realms.”
“I’m telling you, Winters,” Jamison replies, maintaining strong eye
contact with the secretary, “you’re wasting your time looking here.”
Winters grips his teacup closer, his big hands swallowing the deli-
cate porcelain. “I’m relieved to hear so. Harboring criminals would be grounds for stripping you of your nobility.”
Jamison cocks his head to the side. “Clearly.”
The secretary sets down his teacup and crosses his arms over his
chest. “The queen suggested that you might be under the sorceress’s
enchantment.”
Queen Aislinn’s paranoia of me is almost flattering.
Jamison rubs at his top lip with heavy movements. “The only
enchantment I’m under is my own desire for privacy during this time.”
Winters’s features soften. “You must be lonely out here all by your-
self. Come to Dorestand. Once you’re through your grieving period,
my wife can introduce you to the eligible young ladies of the court.
Our neighbor has a daughter, Brida. She’s comely and quiet and well
mannered.” He sounds as though he’s describing an old mare. “Brida
is part of my niece’s needlepoint group. Her father, a baron, has five daughters, the poor man. You could choose Brida or one of the others.
The baron would be glad to introduce you to them.”
Jamison’s attention wanders to the fire in the hearth. “I’ll think on it, sir.”
“I hope you do. You’re the son of my oldest friend, Jamison. I’m
here for whatever you need.” Winters grips the arms of his chair and rises. “Before I go, my men will have a look around your property.”
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Emily R. King
Jamison looks to him coolly. “Does this search come by order of
the queen or from you?”
“From the council. Surely you understand. Precautions.”
Jamison arches a brow, simultaneously haughty and withering. “I
was just leaving for my morning ride around my property. A peculiar
structure has appeared in the distance and alarmed my staff. I’m eager to investigate it.”
“I saw the structure as well and sent a messenger to alert the coun-
cil. You best stay away from it until the army investigates.” The secretary pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell them I delayed the search of your property in favor of returning to the city to address what I saw. But I’m only one member of the council, Jamison. Your acquisition of the clock shop raised some questions. Your cooperation would go a long
way toward tamping down suspicions.”
“My fascination with the clock shop was inspired by my father’s
memory. He was an admirer of Holden O’Shea’s work.” Jamison clears
his throat, expelling his thickening emotions, and rises to his feet. “It was a pleasure to see you again, sir.”
“And you, Lord Callahan. I’ll leave you to your day.”
Winters bows, and he and his men file out.
Jamison sinks into his chair and buries his face in his hands. I float over to his side. Both of us agreed it was better that we not stay married, but in all honesty, I only let go of our vows to protect him. Now that the ship’s logbook has been found, I don’t know what else I can do to turn suspicion away from his household. He has now lied to a member of the queen’s council about our nuptials. Not even coming forward to turn
myself in could help him if our wedding is recorded in the logbook.
Radella darts out of the room. I slowly follow her upstairs and slide back into my body. I c
ome awake, my heart beating soundly in my chest and my mind echoing with Jamison and Winters’s conversation. Radel a trills, a question I have come to recognize as, Are you all right? Which is not to be mistaken for, Get up, lazy toad.
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Everafter Song
I roll over onto my stomach and press my face into the pillow.
Jamison has shown a brave front, but some part of him must regret taking us in. Had he chosen the type of woman the secretary suggested—
quiet and polite, a lady—he wouldn’t need to lie to an old family friend or dodge searches of his property.
Radella tugs on my hair. I roll over, and she lands on my clock
heart, her feet on the glass face. She points at my ticker.
“No, I told you I’m not speaking to him. How could I in good
conscience after Father Time let my uncle perish? Nor did he help in stopping my execution.”
Radella rests her fists on her hips and glowers.
“You needn’t stay to appease me. You can return home whenever
you’d like.”
Her wings wilt. As an ambassador of the Everwoods, her loyalty
should be to Father Time, yet she has stayed with me instead of going back to him. I know she’s sorry he let me down. Sometimes I wonder
if she’s staying to compensate for his lack of support. Father Time says I’m his Time Bearer, a knight of the Evermore, but I don’t care to be.
I peer into her sad eyes and sigh. “I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this, Radella. I hope you aren’t in trouble.”
The pixie shrugs, though her expression is torn, then she perks up
and darts to the window. I get out of bed, and we watch the secretary’s group ride off.
“I’m going downstairs,” I say.
Halfway down the corridor, Jamison comes upstairs. His attention
lifts from the parchment he’s reading to me.
“Osric just stopped me on his way to the stables,” he says, tucking
the paper away. “He’s waiting for us. I assume you’re coming?”
“To the skystalk? Yes.” I fiddle with the pommel of my sword.
“How was your conversation with the secretary?”
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Emily R. King
Jamison breaks eye contact and shrugs. “He had a few questions
about why I purchased the clock shop. I knew that might draw atten-
tion for a little while. It will pass.”