by Sara Ella
Thank you, Captain Obvious. “What other choice do I have?”
“There’s always a choice.”
Easy for you to say. “I guess.”
We continue on in silence. Time becomes obsolete. How much farther? At one point the path slopes upward. Thirty minutes? An hour? Finally, Ky climbs another set of stairs, then shoves a door open. Two sore calves and a sweat-soaked shirt later, I emerge from a cave into the night.
I whirl. We’re in the middle of a forest. “Where are we?” Panic presses in, cramping my middle, constricting my throat.
“The Forest of Night.” His flashlight-carrying hand waves me forward. “We have to keep moving. I don’t want to be in Shadow Territory any longer than necessary.”
I stalk toward him, matching his determined stride. “I thought we were going to get my mom.” My arm flings in the direction we came from.
“Keep it down,” he whisper-yells. “And I never said that. I believe what I said was that you were my priority.”
My boots slip on loose gravel as I come to a heartbreaking halt. “You said you know where she is.” I hug my stomach. “You lied to me.” All the hate and fury and rage I had for him before doubles. Quadruples. “Again.”
“I didn’t lie. I do know where she is. But after her escape the other night, Crowe increased her security detail. I didn’t have time to deal with that and get you out.”
No. No, no, no, no. I whip around, hair snapping my face, and march back to the tunnel’s exit. But where I thought there was a door stands nothing but solid rock. I press a hand to it, hoping it’ll be a façade like the exit at the Haven. It’s not.
Ky comes up behind me. “The tunnels are emergency exits only. The doors lock from the inside.” He takes my elbow. “Come on. We have to keep moving.” When I don’t budge, he adds, “She’ll be okay. Crowe won’t hurt her.”
“You weasel,” I seethe. Sob. “It’s not Jasyn I’m worried about.” Tears burn my cheeks. I swipe at them with so much force I poke myself in the eye. “Haman said—”
“Haman’s a conniving snake and a liar. He had no authority to promise Isabeau your mom’s baby.”
“She’s not even pregnant, blockhead.” I push Ky once. Twice. “What if Haman . . . ?” I can’t finish my question. The thought is beyond unbearable. Mom can hold her own, but Haman isn’t just some guy off the street.
“He’s always had a silver tongue. Haman can’t touch her. Crowe won’t allow it.” Ky’s hatred for Pirate Grease-Head is no secret. It’s apparent in the twitch of his mouth. In the growl underlying his words.
“But—”
“Do you really think Crowe would search for his daughter all these years just to let some guard have his way with her?”
Ky’s forward question stops me. Jasyn did seem sentimental when we stood before Mom’s painting. He’s deluded himself into believing he’s king. Does that make Mom a princess? Is this why Ky keeps calling me princess?
“She’s going to be fine,” he presses, looking over his shoulder, then back at me.
I stare him down, waiting for a sign of deception to give him away. But it doesn’t come. “I’ll never forgive you for this.” My elbow finds Ky’s ribs.
He flinches, not blocking my jab this time. “The best thing you can do for your mom is assist the rebels. Let me take you back to the Haven. You’ll help them find their long-lost king. He’ll defeat Crowe, recapture the Void. Everybody wins.”
I nod. Don’t hope. Don’t dream. It will only lead to more heartache.
We enter a forest far different from the Haven, or even the one in Lynbrook Province. Ky’s flashlight beam leads the way as gravel-covered ground grates beneath our footsteps. Blackened vines wind up charred tree trunks. Near the tops, the bark color changes to deep white, extending into porous awnings of black and gray leaves. Abandoned tromes seem to jeer at us, their filthy windows like dead, unseeing eyes. The ajar doors make no sound, inching in and out, in and out. No birdsong or babbling brooks. Eerie quiet. Like the sound right after a major car wreck when even the sirens are drowned out for a moment.
Like the last day I spent with Mom. The world faded away. Just us. No one else. Or that’s how I remember it. It was the kind of day that makes me wish time travel were viable. Eating roasted peanuts bought from our favorite vendor. Throwing bread crumbs to the ducks in Central Park. People-watching at Grand Central Station. We were natives acting as tourists, a pristine, untainted memory.
“Oh no. Now what?”
Ky’s voice draws my gaze from the ground. I wasn’t even paying attention. How long were we walking?
He shoves me inside the nearest trome. Leaves stomped like bottom-of-the-bag chips dust the stoop. I step inside a room half as wide as our brownstone. Breathe the sour, musty air. When was the last time anyone opened the windows? Ky clicks off his flashlight, yanks us down to the floor.
My ankle twists. Ouch. “What the—?”
He claps his hand over my mouth. “Don’t move.” One, two, three breaths. “Someone’s coming.”
FIFTEEN
Too Far
My heart hammers. A smile haunts my lips. I must be crazy.
It’s not like I want Crowe to get his way. But if someone is here to capture me, to take me back to the castle, maybe I can find a means to save Mom. If we can just be together, we’ll figure this out. She always knows what to do.
Always.
“Not always, brave girl.”
Fine. Most of the time then.
“I saw something over here,” someone familiar grunts. The sound is muffled. Distant. Bearlike.
“Preacher.” The word is a whisper. Never thought I’d be relieved to hear his voice. Standing, I dust off my bottom. Ky attempts to pull me back, but I’m too quick. I’m out the door and out of reach.
Outside, six figures walk in a horizontal line as if raking the area for a dead body. They all carry flashlights or lanterns. As they close in, each one becomes easier to identify. Stormy’s neon-purple hair. Kuna’s coffee skin and hulking frame. Preacher’s scowl embedded beneath his wiry beard. Gage’s proud walk, head always erect. And . . . and . . .
No. Way.
I break into a run. Squint. This can’t be real. It’s a mirage. A delusion I’ve concocted to fill the emptiness inside. Fifty feet. Twenty. My heart is yards ahead of my body. Please let this be real, please let this be real . . .
He’s wearing the last thing I saw him in. Flannel shirt. Jeans. Coat. Boots. The entire group has ceased their march. All except him. He drops his flashlight. Thud. Then he’s tripping over himself to get to me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so completely uncoordinated.
“El?” He freezes two feet away. Disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes and a shadow lining his jaw. Brow scalloped and lips pursed, his expression seems pained. Is that fear in his eyes? Suspicion?
My heart is shattered and put back together in a single moment. And then I can’t stop crying. I’ve held so much in these past days. Reunited and ripped apart from Mom in one breath. Loving Joshua. Losing Joshua. Trying to be brave. To survive. Refusing to acknowledge reality. Because if I accepted what really happened, I might’ve died from the pain. It’s only now, in my ugly, uncontrollable sobbing, I realize the truth.
I was already dead.
“Joshua.” His name tastes like a first breath after drowning for days. “Joshua David.” I grab the collar of his jacket in both hands, afraid if I don’t hold on he may vanish.
“El.” He smooths my hair with shaking hands, examines me. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” My sobs transform into laughter. “You’re alive. How is this possible?”
A throat clears behind me. “I hate to break up this little reunion,” Ky says. Funny. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But we really need to move farther south.”
Joshua lifts his head. He reaches past me and shakes Ky’s hand. “Kyaphus. I assume you’re responsible for keeping her safe. I can’t thank you enou
gh—”
“Thank him?” Preacher scratches his beard. “For what? He nearly turned us into sushi.” With each word his tone rises in volume.
“Who’s the loud one now, Preacher?” Stormy smirks, arms crossed and hip popped. “And in Shadow Territory, no less. Why not invite an entire army of Soulless to our rendezvous?”
Lip curled and teeth bared, Preacher gives Stormy the most shudder-worthy stink eye I’ve ever seen.
“Now, Preacher. Give the boy a chance to explain. I certainly owe him my life.”
This is too good to be true. “Makai?”
My very-much-alive uncle steps forward and stands shoulder to shoulder with Joshua. His right arm hangs in a sling made out of what looks like a potato sack. “Eliyana.” Makai dips his head. “I apologize for the delay. We—”
I clash with him, wrapping my arms around his trench-coated frame.
He stumbles back a little. Hasn’t he ever been hugged? Slowly, he envelops me with one arm, wincing.
I pull away. “Sorry. Is it your shoulder?”
He nods. “Just a scratch. It’ll heal. Kyaphus knew what he was doing.”
Guilt pricks my chest. Maybe I was too hard on Ky earlier. “What do you mean?”
“Kyaphus stabbed me, but the wound wasn’t fatal. When he pulled his knife out, the gash closed up. My shoulder is sore, and I have to be careful not to strain it. Which reminds me”—Makai draws the glass dagger from the pocket of his trench coat and hands it to Ky—“I believe this belongs to you.”
No ordinary blade.
Ky flips the knife over once in his hand. Trades it for the plain steel blade sheathed at his hip. Next he secures the excess weapon with a strap at his ankle. “Thanks.”
“It’s made from mirrorglass, is that right?” Makai strokes his chin.
“Yes, sir.” Ky shifts beside me. What is he, nervous? Afraid he’s gonna get his toy confiscated by Gage who, to my surprise, has yet to say a word?
“A rare commodity, that one,” Makai says. “I had an arrow tipped with mirrorglass once. My father gave it to me back in my Guardian training days. Such a shame to lose it.”
Not that I wouldn’t love to know what in the Reflections mirrorglass is, but there are more pressing questions on my mind, such as, “I understand how Makai is here, but . . .” I fix my gaze on Joshua. “How are you here? I saw you die.”
He opens his mouth, but it’s Ky who answers. “Because he’s an Ever.”
Joshua works his jaw, then says, “How long have you known?”
“You’re not as mysterious as you think, David. During my Guardian training I heard the stories. How you were fast. Strong. Always walked away from sparring matches without a scrape. I put two and two together.”
“I see.” Joshua scratches the back of his head.
I reel on Ky. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve known he was alive this . . . pant . . . whole . . . pant . . . time?”
Palms up surrender-style, Ky backs away. “Easy now, princess. I thought you knew.”
“Like the Void you thought I knew. You saw how destroyed I was after passing through the Threshold.” Twigs snap beneath my livid steps.
Ky backs against a tree. “I thought it was an act. Evers are very secretive about their Calling. I just assumed you were trying to protect him from Haman. Ever blood is even more rare and valuable than mirrorglass.”
I lift my hand. He deserves a good smack in the face. Even if he did rescue me and has apparently been on our side from the beginning. “Fine.” My hand lowers. I pivot and march back toward the others, kicking dirt and gravel in my wake. “Who wants to explain to me what an Ever is?”
With a light touch to my elbow, Joshua pulls me aside. “Can we talk?”
He knows me so well. My need to get away from the group. Have a moment to breathe. To process. “Sure.”
“You two go ahead,” Makai says. “It will give the rest of us time to figure out our next move.” He passes Joshua his flashlight.
“Wait.” I pull my uncle aside, relaying under my breath the vow Haman made to Isabeau.
His gaze darkens and he nods, easing my anxiety a fraction. Makai won’t let us leave Mom behind. He’ll tell the others we have to go back for her. I know it.
We shuffle away, Joshua’s fingers somehow sending tingles through my jacket sleeve. The trome seems as good a place as any for some privacy. Once inside, I let my eyes adjust and ascend a stepladder leading to an opening in the low ceiling. Flashlight in hand, Joshua follows close behind.
The second floor houses a library. Shelves line the curving walls, all cluttered with toppled, unevenly stacked leather-bounds. Mom would have a field day in here. She always had to have books organized by genre, then size. If she saw this, she wouldn’t stop until every last volume was in its proper place. A regular Snow White.
I climb the next stepladder to a third floor. A twin-bed-sized bench adorned with faded green cushions sits to the left, a round wicker table and two matching chairs to the right. A window waits behind the bench. Four square panes invite patches of moonlight. The floorboards need a good sweeping. The large square rug is so dirty I have no idea what color it is. It should just be thrown out.
“Should we . . . ?” He gestures with the light toward the bench.
I shrug. “Okay.” My answer may be casual, but butterflies have gone rampant beneath my skin.
I cross to the bench and sit, dust clouds rising when I do. A cough escapes, and I wave my hand to clear the air. The flashlight beam illuminates every mote and bunny.
“I’m going to see if I can find us a snack. You must be starving.” Flashlight tucked beneath one arm, Joshua climbs to the next floor. His leg muscles flex beneath the fitted, but not too tight, jeans. Does he have a clue how good he looks?
Thud. Something heavy sounding rolls across the floor above. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Whoever lived here must’ve had a terrible time sleeping whenever someone was upstairs. Every echo and squeak is audible, pronounced.
Like home. The sound of Mom in her art studio above my room lulled me to sleep like nothing else could—aside from Joshua’s guitar playing.
He returns with a jar and a grin, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Breakfast.” He hops off the last step and holds up what appears to be pie filling. It’s yellow and liquid and has flecks of brown—cinnamon maybe—in it. He unscrews the lid and takes a whiff, then passes it to me.
I inhale through my nose, and the sweet scent of peach nectar almost satisfies my appetite by itself. Almost. “Don’t you mean dinner?”
“It’s easy to get confused in a place without day.” He plops down beside me, sets the flashlight between us, and kicks off his boots, toes wiggling in his socks. “But I assure you, it’s breakfast. Drink. I couldn’t find any spoons.”
I let the Uggs fall off my feet and sit cross-legged. Lifting the lip of the jar, I open my mouth and drink. A tender chunk of peach flesh falls out, and I swallow it whole. Mmmm. It is cinnamon. And honey too. I take another gulp, then pass the jar to Joshua. We sit this way for a while, drinking pie filling and smacking our lips in silence. When only sticky goo remains, he slides two fingers in and starts scooping.
“You’re such a guy.” The tease feels so natural. The way it used to be.
He stiffens.
Did I say something wrong? Let’s try again. “I missed you.”
“Kyaphus appears to have changed sides.” Is it really so difficult for him to say he missed me too?
“Um, yeah. I guess.” I relay Ky’s story, trying to include every detail despite my distractedness. When I finish I ask, “So, what’s an Ever?” I trace the corners of my mouth with my finger, wiping away the pasty residue.
“Has anyone explained to you about the Callings yet?”
“I know they’re special abilities. And they’re sourced by the Verity.”
“Correct. There are seven Callings—abilities—each one unique to the soul that carries it. When a child is born they’re gi
ven water from a Threshold. Once the water is consumed, a safeguard is bestowed on the child’s soul until they come of age. Sometimes the water’s power works beyond mere protection, and a Calling manifests as well. It affects everyone in different ways. During childhood the Calling is limited, never reaching its full potential until adulthood.” He sets the nearly clean jar on the floor. “Then, at the age of eighteen, what we refer to as a Confine lifts.”
Wade mentioned the Confine. Is that why Robyn’s teeth were flat and her paws clawless?
“The child is then an adult,” he says. “Their soul is no longer guarded. At that point they have a choice. It’s always a war between the two—between serving the Verity and the Void. Even before Crowe released the Void, there were those who believed it was the power worthier of allegiance.”
Whoa. I explain what I’ve learned about Jasyn and King Aidan, the Verity and the Void, all of it. When I get to the part concerning my birthmark, my face flames. “. . . which means my soul is bound to the Verity’s vessel—er, King Aidan.” So weird. Saying it aloud feels like a confession. Do I believe it’s true?
I’m still not sure.
Joshua folds his hands and lets them hang in the gutter between his knees. “I see. We’ve been apart longer than I care to admit.” He shakes his head. Pounds a fist against his knee. “What good is being an Ever? I couldn’t protect you. I can’t.” Anger peppers his tone.
I toe the floor. My hands long to hold his. To assure him it’s no big deal because we’re together now. Instead I refrain. Wait.
He exhales. Finger-combs his hair. “My Calling is in my blood. I heal almost instantly, and very few things can kill me. A single drop of my blood could cure even the most fatal wound.”
Lightbulb moment. “Could Jasyn have used Ever blood on me? He claimed he brought me back from the dead.”
“I suppose it’s possible, though I don’t know where he would’ve gotten it. Evers are very private. Most don’t even trust those closest to them with the knowledge of their gift. Years ago, Ever blood was sold for a high price on the black market. People would drain Evers of their blood over and over and over again. Since it reproduces at a rapid rate, an Ever wouldn’t have died from the process, but it still would have been excruciating.” He shudders. “We experience pain like everyone else.” His last words are guarded. Is there another meaning beyond the surface?