by Sara Ella
He takes it. “Good-bye, Eliyana.” Our hands fall away. Separating. Dividing. Creating a permanent chasm that can’t be bridged.
“One last thing,” I say. “How do you know so much about this?”
He flattens his lips. “I have my sources.” He moves to go, then pauses when we’re shoulder to shoulder. “Gather your things—we’re leaving within the hour. We’ve been here too long. Kyaphus was right. We should’ve gone straight to the Maple Mines last night.” He walks back inside. The door clicks closed. The end.
This is it then. I have to let him go. I’ll do what I must, return to the Haven, and hide out until my birthday. What’s two more weeks? Mom is the only thing that matters, my final goal.
Joshua is nothing more than a memory now. “Somebody That I Used to Know.”
I wait the full hour until I head inside. Joshua, Kuna, Stormy, and Lark converse quietly in the sitting room to the right. I pass them, aiming for the stairs. The front desk is vacant, Grizz nowhere to be seen. Ky tromps down the steps, carrying two packs. One is his, made of fading brown leather. The other appears to be—
“Ky,” I gasp. “Are those my jeans?”
He grins. Hands me the denim pack. There’s a heart-shaped pocket on either side, the remainder of the seat of my jeans. Sloppy and uneven stitches bind the sides, but a tug proves my new purse won’t be falling apart anytime soon.
“Did you make this?” I turn it over, tracing the seams, then thread an arm through the straps on the back. I should be furious. He cut up my favorite pair of faded blues without even asking me first.
“You need your own pack. You can’t expect me to be your carrier boy forever. Open it.”
I lift the top flap, crafted from the end of one pant leg, and peer inside. My Third Reflection shirt and underthings rest at the bottom. I blush, picturing Ky holding my bra and underwear. Moving on. Besides my clothes it contains the vial of Illusoden, a canteen, the hair and tooth brushes from the washroom, Mom’s sketchbook-slash-journal, and my cracked, lifeless phone.
“You grabbed my cell from the gutter?”
“I wanted David to be able to track you to the Pond. Wasn’t sure if you’d want it back.”
Ky has no idea my treble-clef necklace was the real tracker. I’d give anything to have it back. Still, I appreciate the gesture, so I say, “Thanks.”
“There’s something else too.”
I move my phone aside. Is that . . . ? The copper jean button bearing an engraved rose is tied to braided cords.
I should be fuming. Instead, a lump forms in my throat.
“Don’t worry.” Ky’s cheeks redden. He can stare at a buck-naked girl without blinking, and this he blushes at? “Stormy collected your things from the washroom and packed them. I just added the stuff on top.”
He reaches into the bag and withdraws the button necklace. He brings the homemade jewelry to my neck, a bandage wrapped around one of his fingers. Did he prick himself as he sewed? He leans in to tie the cord at the back, and I inhale his earthy scent. The button tilts to one side at my collarbone.
“There.” Ky draws back, but his touch lingers on my skin a second longer than necessary. “I know how upset you were when you lost your other necklace at the Threshold. I figured you needed a replacement. It’s one of a kind. Like you.”
Heart. Beats. Fast. If Christina Perri only knew.
My birthday isn’t for another two weeks. Afterward I’ll be free to start over. Move on. Not anytime soon, but . . . someday.
I touch the rose button, a near mirror image of Ky’s Shield tattoo. When I turn eighteen, my spell will break. Like the Beast in my favorite fairy tale, could I also learn to love again?
ACT III
Something There
TWENTY-FOUR
Unsure
We’ve been back at the Haven for most of the day. We had zero trouble on our journey south. The recesses of my abdomen churn. Shouldn’t Mom and Makai have joined us by now? Our delay at Wichgreen Village would’ve given them time to catch up. And what about Jasyn? Why hasn’t he sent his men after me? Something’s rotten, and it’s not the undigested beets we ate for breakfast.
It took us five days to make it to the island by way of the Maple Mines. Five days of worrying and wondering if I’ll ever see Mom again.
What’s taking Makai so long?
Stormy and I are on friendish terms now. I was right. She did give Gage a Kiss of Accord. Kuna still has no idea what transpired, only that Gage is a traitor and Ky proved he is not.
“It happened a long time ago,” she shared.
It was our second night in the mines and her shift to keep watch. I couldn’t sleep, anxiety crazing my thoughts. So I just lay there and listened, staring up at the root and dirt ceiling.
“Kuna and I have always been sweethearts. We married young, trained as Guardians together. He’s my best friend. I love him.” She paused then, as if wanting that piece of information to sink in. As if needing me to believe its truth. “When I met Gage, there was something different about him. He had this magnetic kind of attraction, you know? I fooled myself into thinking friendship was the only thing between us. That spending time with Gage didn’t hurt anyone.” She hung her head. “I was wrong.”
“A few months back I tried to end things with him,” she continued. “At first he seemed to understand, but several days later he came to me in a rage.” Stormy lifted her right hand to her cheek and shuddered. “He . . .” She sobbed. Shut her eyes. “He begged me to come away with him. When I refused, he threatened to kill Kuna and tell everyone how I’d been unfaithful. I couldn’t bear it . . .”
“So you made a promise sealed with a Kiss of Accord.”
She opened her eyes then. Nodded as she stared with a blank expression at nothing. “He’d keep our secret and wouldn’t touch Kuna in exchange for three favors. Anything he asked I’d have to do until my debt was paid. The other night in Wichgreen Village was favor number one.”
With the burden her words carried and the sorrow weighing her tone, I knew her cries the night at the Village didn’t stem from guilt alone. Part of her cared for Gage. As much as it hurt her to keep her promise to him, I think it also caused her pain to see him go.
It makes no sense, and yet it does. Which is why I have to talk to Joshua again. As clear as he’s made his feelings and as much as it hurts to be near him, I can’t leave things this way. We have too much history to end on sour terms. My birthday is just over a week away. Once Makai returns with Mom—and he will return with her—we’ll be free to go the moment I leave childhood behind. I may never see Joshua again. If I’m going to move on, I need a proper good-bye, not one hanging on the end of an argument.
Robyn helped me hitch a ride to Joshua’s trome while I avoided her dozens of questions about the Verity’s vessel.
“Do you feel anything? Does the king’s soul call to you? Do you think you’ll find him soon?”
How could I tell her all these years her savior’s been hidden, refusing to come forward because of me?
Joshua hasn’t spoken a word to me since we arrived at the Haven’s border this morning. Scratch that. He hasn’t spoken to me at all since we left the Village, relaying messages through Ky as if I’ve suddenly gained my uncle’s invisibility.
Ky, on the other hand, has hardly left my side. By day he’s been the perfect Guardian. Alert. Professional. But by night, shadows and moonlight performing their close-knit tango around us, he’s become more than my protector. He’s sweet and kind. My friend. I urged him to get some rest. He’s exhausted, hardly allowing himself an ounce of sleep since we left the Village.
“We’re safe inside the Haven now,” I insisted. “What could possibly happen?”
He eyed me but finally relented, agreeing to get a few hours’ sleep as long as I promised not to go far.
Now I ride along the gravel-paved road in the bed of a horse-drawn cart, leaving the Haven’s “inner city” and entering what Robyn calls the Fringes. T
he late-afternoon sun blinks at me between the branches. The Haven is grander than it appeared on my first encounter. From above, the Second Reflection skyline looked so much like home. But the more I explore this strange land, the more I realize how truly different it is. In the Third, New York is merely a city, a dot on the map. In the Second, it’s as if Mom’s painting is the entire world. Haven Island could be its own state. A Rhode Island or a Maryland, but a state just the same.
Hopefully Ky won’t consider a visit to the Fringes “far.”
I pull out Mom’s journal to pass the time. Find the dog-eared page where I left off last night.
Twenty-Eighth Day, Eleventh Month, Third Year of Jasyn’s Reign
I suck in a breath. If the Second’s months match up with the Third’s, this entry was penned in November. The day after my birthday. Nine months after Mom turned sixteen.
My sweet baby girl sleeps between my bent knees. It has become impossible to stop staring at her. This love is beyond anything I have experienced. It hurts and brings joy in the same breath. It’s all-consuming. For the first time, I am at a loss for words.
My throat closes. Eyes water. I trace her cursive with the tip of my finger. I love you, Mom.
Tiernan’s rejection absence is painful, but I cannot focus on my heartbreak. Our My daughter needs me. And I need her. We have each other. Even if I never see Tiernan again, my heart will mend.
A list of names embellishes the bottom of the page, along with a tiny sketch of a baby’s face. My face, birthmark free. Which means the king hadn’t kissed me yet. When did Mom meet him, and where?
I add the questions to my mental save-for-later list and peruse the names. Almost every one is crossed out. Some are circled and then scribbled over. The only name without an X is mine. I smile. Thank goodness she decided against Peartree. I never would have lived that down in school.
I stash the journal just as the cart drops me at the brink of a long row of colorful dwellings. Cottages, tromes, cabins, huts. Each unique. The perfect subject for one of Mom’s paintings. Her life was orderly, structured, everything in its labeled drawer. But not her artwork. On canvas she showed who she wanted to be. Free and fun. Living in splashes of color and freehand lines.
I shoulder my pack and meander down the peaceful dirt lane. The quiet fits Joshua, really. I love the city, the lights, the noise. Joshua was never into it. He took every opportunity to escape the crowds. Now I see why. He’s a country boy in the truest sense.
I pause at the trome with a faded blue door at the path’s end. It’s just as Robyn described it. If this were Manhattan, Joshua’s trome would be an East Side high-rise.
I take a breath, stalling. Unsure. No reason to be nervous. This is Joshua. He was my next-door neighbor for three years. I will not let him intimidate me.
Rap, rap.
Movement inside. Shuffle. Creak.
The door swings inward. Really? He couldn’t have taken two seconds to put his shirt on before answering? I’ve never seen him this way. Not even when we took a mini road trip to the Jersey shore last summer. I didn’t question it. I’m not the bikini-wearing type, and I just assumed a preference for modesty was something we had in common. Now I know. He was hiding the sword and arrow Guardian tattoo. Just another of the many secrets he’s withheld. I can’t see his back, but I’m betting he has a mark there, too, one it’s more important he keep concealed. What is an Ever’s symbol? Ky never said.
The line between his eyebrows gullies deep. He removes the black shirt slung over one shoulder, shakes it out, and slips it on. “What are you doing here?”
I step inside without waiting for an invitation. “Hello to you too.”
He shuts the door, and I crane my neck, looking up into the hollowed-out, windowless tree. Rather than separate floors as in other tromes I’ve visited, Joshua’s houses a single spiral staircase, coiling to an opening in the fifty-foot ceiling. Did he build this himself? Was his love for architecture real? I grasp the thread of truth. Maybe he’s not completely lost to me.
He clears his throat. “El, you aren’t supposed to be here. Where’s Kyaphus?”
I brush my fingers along the slick, varnished stair rail. “Resting.” I cross my arms. Force myself to look at him, to act normal. “Have you heard anything from Lark?”
“If I had you would’ve been the first to know.”
Apparently Lark is a rebel hiding out in neutral territory. It’s why she attacked Gage. Joshua says she’s the eyes and ears—and wings—connecting the Haven to the goings-on in the castle. She even had proof, revealing a wispy violet tendril curling at the nape of her neck. Turns out a blue or purple strand of hair marks those who remain loyal to the Verity. What about Grizz or the rest of the Village? Are they on our side too?
When we left, Lark offered to fly to the castle and see if she could spot Mom and Makai on their way. It helped ease my growing concern, but not much. “What’s taking so long?”
Joshua closes his eyes, opens them. “This isn’t a video game, El. I can’t just skip a level, hop through the secret door, defeat the bad guy, and rescue your mom. This is the real world.”
A half laugh, half cry spurts from my lips. “Ha. The real world? Trolls and sea monsters? Castles and kings? This place is nothing but a figment of some Grimm brother’s imagination.”
He narrows his eyes. “Which do you think came first? The Second or the Third?”
“You tell me.”
He exhales, and his stiff posture slackens. “Come on. I want to show you something.” Joshua passes me and ascends the stairs.
I follow. When we reach the opening, I climb out onto a circular platform nestled within the tree’s crown. Massive branches curve out, up, and over, forming a perforated canopy. Rows of empty planter boxes spread before me. But my awe is not drawn by the everyday rooftop garden. What’s above the platform stills me, parts my lips.
Another stairway, this one carved right into a wide branch, leads to a higher landing. Joshua continues the climb, and again I shadow him. A railing borders the entire space, and a huge unmade bed dominates the open room, too large for just one person.
I falter. Does Joshua have a girl here? Is she the reason he said he’s not free? I cross to the trunk at the bed’s foot and sit, running my trembling hands over my lap. “This is amazing. Do you live here alone?” Be obvious, why don’t you?
“I do.”
So it isn’t a girl. Hope falters. Guess he really doesn’t love me.
“Before I met you this was my home. It’s strange to return after so long.” He laughs. “It’s exactly as I left it.” Joshua turns, climbs another set of carved-out steps.
I rise and trail him, taking in every inch of his surrounding creation. The intricately detailed bedposts. The care he took to carve each step, to design every inch of the layout.
When I reach the third and final floor, my breath snags. Hollowed logs turned on their ends edge this platform. Shelf upon shelf bursting with books fit inside. Instead of the natural branch-and-leaf canopy like the two floors below, a glass roof covers this space. I walk alongside the shelves, scanning the volumes. Peter Pan. The Hobbit. Pride and Prejudice. Anne of Green Gables. The Catcher in the Rye. My eyes widen at the familiar titles.
“Where did you get these?” I pull out La Belle et la Bête—the original French version of Beauty and the Beast. I always wondered what would’ve happened if the Beast hadn’t transformed. Would Belle have loved him anyway? I like to think so.
“All the most imaginative minds from your Reflection lived in mine first. For example, C. S. Lewis was a Scrib’s apprentice before the young author ventured into other Reflections. It was in the Third where he met another Scrib, one who was also born here but lived in a different province. Ultimately the two became very close due to their mutual origins.”
I lose a breath. “J. R. R. Tolkien.”
Joshua nods.
I almost laugh, but how can I? Of course men who traveled through a portal, s
uch as a Threshold, or experienced the wonder of the Callings would write fantasy novels featuring magical wardrobes and powerful rings.
Joshua withdraws a tattered journal from a high shelf. Hands it to me.
I return Beauty and the Beast to its home and examine the other book, tracing the familiar cursive on the flimsy leather cover. The Reflection Chronicles, First Account, E. K. C.
I don’t believe it. The initials on Makai’s handkerchief. I didn’t know who they represented before, but now it’s clear. E. K. C. Elizabeth. Katherine. Crowe. She must’ve changed her last name to Ember in the Third to keep us hidden.
“This is my mom’s handwriting.”
“I know.”
I blink once, twice. “Where did you get this?”
“I never knew my parents. My mother died during childbirth . . .” There’s a tinge in his voice, a bitterness. Is this what Haman was referring to when he called Joshua a murderer? Does Joshua blame himself for his mother’s death?
He clears his throat, his Adam’s apple dipping. “I’m told my father was so heartbroken he died soon thereafter.”
I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. A sudden inkling rises inside me. I should go to him, hold him the way he held me after I lost Mom the first time. But I can’t. He’d never let me.
“Your grandfather, Nathaniel Archer, delivered and raised me. Makai is like an older brother.” Joshua has never spoken of his life before moving to Manhattan. “Nathaniel and Makai helped your mother escape with you to the Third. You were supposed to remain there, none the wiser to the significance of your mark or your eighteenth birthday. Crowe’s discovery of you changed all that, of course.
“Your mother left this with Nathaniel when she fled.” He gestures toward the journal I’m now clutching like treasure. “Once I was old enough to leave his care, he gave me this volume. I came here, to the Haven, to train with the Guardians. But it wasn’t until I joined Makai in the Third that I found my niche in combat.”