Magiano continues to frown at the sky. “Is it just me, or is the sky turning darker?” He nods up at the clouds. “The clouds aren’t growing any thicker—it just seems as if the day were passing more rapidly than it should.”
I glance up too. He’s right. What should be the light of a midday sun hidden behind clouds looks instead like the sun is already setting. The shadows in the valley deepen as we go, stretching around us in muted shapes as the mountain ranges around us turn steeper. The path beneath our horses’ hooves crunches with frost and ice.
I lose track of how many hours we travel in this strange twilight. We all stay quiet. I ride behind Violetta’s stretcher so I can keep her in my sights. Now and then, her eyes open, gray and uneasy, but they never seem to focus on anything or anyone. It is as if she has already gone somewhere else.
She’s still here, I tell myself. But the whispers in my mind now sound like they are the wind, drowning out my thoughts, and my exhaustion and worry settle into a frenetic beating in my heart. This must be the way the origin’s pull is affecting me.
That night, a night that seems to fall prematurely, we stop in a hollow that shelters us partly from the elements. The wind is furious in this narrow pass, making it impossible for us to pitch a proper camp. Our horses are listless too, huddled together for warmth close to the fire we’ve built.
“The early twilight will come more frequently in the days ahead,” Raffaele says as we all gather around him. He draws one curved line through the dirt with a stick, then notes several spots along it, including our location. “We are getting closer.” He points to a spot at the top of the path, nestled between two mountains. “The Dark of Night.”
Raffaele speaks with calm and grace, as he always does, but even his voice seems to carry underneath it a current of doubt. My hand lingers on top of the furs blanketing Violetta, who stirs uneasily in her fevered sleep. We are headed toward a realm known only in legends and folktales. What will happen when we arrive?
“The laws of our world may bend and stretch there,” Raffaele says after a moment. “Things may not be as they appear. We’ll need to be careful.” At this, he glances my way. “I feel the pull of this place. Can you?”
I nod. Around me, the others do the same. My gaze wanders to where Teren sits a short distance away, his cloak undone, seemingly oblivious to the cold. He is methodically sharpening his sword and knives. My whispers are growing stronger, while an air of darkness seems to hover around Magiano. Violetta is fading, and Raffaele’s senses are being overwhelmed by threads of energy from every direction. What must Teren feel here, so close to the origin? Will this journey drive him even closer to madness?
Before we settle in to rest for the night, I ask Maeve to set up extra sentries around Teren. Even then, I still find myself waking at odd hours and looking in Teren’s direction, wondering whether I will see him snap.
The dawn never seems to arrive the next morning. Instead, the world lightens only into the dim twilight we’d experienced the day before, leaving the landscape frightening in its darkness. A light snow has started to fall, sprinkling a coating of white all around us. Magiano sleeps pressed next to me, one arm draped over my shoulders. My whispers are loud this morning, restless and roaring and without end. When I look behind us, I see nothing but the trail of our footprints leading off into the lonely mountains. I see the same up ahead. In my periphery, illusions of dark silhouettes continue to hover, my own ghosts that refuse to leave me alone.
I shake fresh snow from my hair, then rise carefully so as not to wake Magiano. I stretch my sore limbs. Only a few sentries posted by Maeve are also awake, standing some distance away, their attention fixed on the bleak terrain surrounding us. I look around at the scene, realizing that, if I wanted to, I could eliminate them all in this moment of weakness.
Do it.
The whispers are so strong this morning that I almost follow their orders. I scowl, shake my head, and press my hands to my temples. Why are they suddenly so insistent? We must be edging very close to the Dark of Night. Trying to ignore them, I rub my hands and decide to wander in a circle around the camp. Teren’s not in his sleeping area—this sends a note of panic through me before I notice him standing several paces past the sentries, his face tilted at the heavens in prayer. I watch him for a short time, then head to where Violetta is asleep.
When I reach her cot, I kneel beside her. Her dark hair is frozen into clumps, and her pallid skin looks almost frosted. It’s far too cold here for her to handle; we’ll need to find extra furs. She can have mine before we need to stop again, but even then, I’m not sure if that will be enough.
“Violetta,” I whisper, gently touching her shoulder.
She doesn’t stir.
I hesitate, then remove one of my gloves and touch her cheek with the back of my hand. Her skin is ice cold. No warm breaths come from her.
The whispers surround me, but I force them violently away. Surely she’s breathing—this must be an illusion. I’m creating a nightmare for myself again. I will wake over and over until Magiano rouses me from this dream. I shake her again, this time harder. “Violetta,” I say, louder. My voice catches Raffaele’s attention nearby. He sits up and looks in my direction. Then his eyes go to Violetta. The immediate expression on his face confirms my worst fears.
No. It’s impossible—I’d fallen asleep last night seeing the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She had been murmuring something I couldn’t understand. Beads of sweat dotted her brow, and her skin was hot to the touch. This is not real. I shake her again, my hands clutching her shoulders hard. “Violetta!” I shout. This time, the others all startle awake and the sentries look over at me, but I don’t care. I keep shaking her until I feel someone’s hands on me, forcing me to stop. It’s Raffaele. He kneels at my side, his eyes on Violetta’s still form. The sadness on his face shatters my heart all over again.
“Can you revive her?” I ask him.
“I will try,” Raffaele murmurs, but the way he says it tells me what I desperately don’t want to hear.
Everything will be all right. I will wake from this, as many times as I have to, until I return to reality. The illusion will disappear, as it always does, and I will spend another morning with Violetta.
Now Maeve rises too, as well as Lucent and Magiano, and heads over to me. “Your Majesty,” I say to her. It is the first time I’ve addressed her properly. “You align with Moritas. You can call her back, if needed.” I look at Raffaele. “Wake her,” I say angrily, my voice a command now.
“Adelina,” Magiano whispers.
Raffaele’s hand tightens on Violetta’s cold shoulder. He reaches up and cups her cheek in his palm. I wonder if he is working his magic on her, the gentle tug of his energy on her heartstrings, perhaps stirring her with his calming touch. I crouch as he hovers there, my stare fixed on Violetta’s face, waiting for her gray eyes to flutter open.
“Adelina,” Magiano says again. His hand touches mine, and he squeezes it tightly.
Maeve shakes her head. “She’s gone,” she says quietly, bowing her head.
“Then bring her back,” I snap. The darkness in me rises up from the depths of my chest. “I have seen you do it.”
Maeve looks at me with cold eyes. “I cannot.”
“Lies,” I hiss. “We need her. We cannot enter the Dark of Night without her. I—”