“I didn’t think you were the superstitious type,” he said.
“It seems I have a much more open mind these days. And you know so much about me that I’d like to hear what you have to say.” In the lantern light, it was plain to see that my hand was shaking. What must he think of me, coming out here alone in the early morning, demanding a fortune? If he judged me, however, his face showed nothing. He just took my hand in his warm one.
“You want me to tell you something to reassure you,” he said, his dark brown eyes mirroring my own. “You have a decision to make, and you want me to make it for you, but that isn’t how this works.”
My lips had gone dry in the cold air. “Please. I need help.”
“Fate is a tricky concept. Where I am from, people do not linger over the future. They live in the moment. If they are hungry, they eat. If they are tired, they sleep. The only things that dictate their lives are the earth and the seasons and their own instincts.”
“And yet you read fortunes for a living.”
His mouth curled in a half smile. “I left my people for a reason.” He pressed my hand reassuringly before releasing it. “The river can be good, pretty girl. It can bring water to the thirsty and carry travelers to better lands. It can be cruel, too. An angry river can tear down whatever gets in its way.”
“Then you’re saying I have a choice?” There was hope in my voice. “I can choose whether to be helpful or to be destructive?” It was like Montgomery kept insisting, that it was up to me to choose to be either like my mother or my father.
But he looked at me with pity, as if all my hopefulness was but silly dreams. “The river always runs downhill, pretty girl. Always.”
His words turned my insides cold.
“So I can’t change who I am?” On impulse I reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. “Just tell me, please! No more riddles. Am I destined to be like my father? I need to know. I have a choice to make—a friend is ill and I have the power to save him, but only if I follow my father’s footsteps. I swore I wouldn’t. What do I do?”
Sounds came from beyond the tent. The rustle of fabric, a man’s yawn, pots and pans banging together. The other members of the troupe were waking.
“You should go,” he said.
“Please!” My fingernails dug into his palm. “I don’t know how you know so much about me, and I don’t care. I’ll believe that magic is real, if you want. Just help me.”
He paused, staring down at my hand clutching his. I would have given anything to see what was going through his mind in that moment.
“To make the right decision you must understand both paths before you,” he said quietly. “You must know your demons before you know whether to follow them.”
I sat back on the stool, considering his words. Know my demons. In the flickering light of his lantern, it made more sense than anything else. Before I could begin to consider Lucy’s plan, I needed to know if it was even possible to cure Edward through death and bring him back to life. Only Elizabeth could help me to know those particular demons, and she had already made me the offer.
“Think about my words very carefully,” he said.
I nodded, as the sound of more pots and pans came from outside. “Thank you,” I said, and hid the charm back under my dress.
It wasn’t until I was back in the field, running toward the manor as dawn broke, that I realized he hadn’t looked at the lines in my palm even once.
TWELVE
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, AFTER the household had gone to bed, I stood at the base of the southern tower stairs that led to Elizabeth’s laboratory. Faint beams of light came through the cracks in the door, drawing me toward it like a moth to a flame.
A hand sank onto my shoulder and I jumped. Elizabeth leaned over my shoulder, smelling of roses. “I see you got my note. Does that mean you’ve decided to learn my secrets?”
I gave a nod I hoped looked confident.
She smiled. “Good. Come with me.”
She led me up the steps, but to my surprise we stopped at a door one floor below the laboratory. She opened it to reveal a round chamber with simple wooden furniture, lit by a fading lantern. A girl woke and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“Is his sleep troubled again tonight, Lily?” Elizabeth asked.
“Not tonight, mistress.”
“Good. You can return to your bedroom. I’ll watch him the rest of the night.”
Lily gathered up her half-finished needlepoint and left the room quietly. Elizabeth held a finger to her lips and motioned me to follow her. The hearth was cold and the room seemed little more than a cell, until I tripped over a small object and looked down at a wooden duck on a string.
Elizabeth pulled back a heavy curtain to reveal a small bed where Hensley slept soundly. She knelt by the bed, petting his head.