The mood sharpened when the attention shifted to the Waning Moon boat. The joyful light vanished, replaced by a heaviness, a soundless sort of quiet, as if a thick blanket had been laid over the world. The breeze picked up, chilly and dark, and Baz’s eyes became heavy with sleep, his mind wiped blank with the peace of it. Arches of deep purple poppies adorned the sleek boat, beautiful blooms that seemed to be the only color in the suddenly bleak night.
Frost crept over the river, reaching for the yellowing grass and decaying leaves on its banks, the willow manes that brushed the water, the poppies on the boat. Everything it touched froze and withered, a death touch that held infinite finesse. There was beauty to it, as if the frost were cleansing the world, purging it of its old hurts to remake it anew.
Baz’s breath fogged around him, and in that breath he saw—a memory. Him and Romie as children, reading under the willow tree behind their home. The fog faded, and just as Baz wondered if he’d imagined the memory, his gaze caught on the river, where great castles of glittering ice and snow rose from the water, made of moonlight and starlight and waking dreams.
Then the shapes on the water wound backward—wisps of dreaming unraveling back to whatever realm they’d come from. The memories fogging the riverbank were undone, reversed by Unraveler magic, just as the languidness of sleep was lifted from the crowd. The Waning Moon students took a solemn bow.
Baz looked at Emory again, thinking of Romie and how much she would have loved to see this—of how she would have no doubt been on that Waning Moon boat, entrancing everyone with her own magic.
But Emory was no longer there, and neither was Keiran, and Baz couldn’t make sense of the unpleasant emotion that surged inside him. Penelope looked just as disappointed as he felt.
He startled as a hand fell on his shoulder, turning to find Jae smiling down at him.
“Sorry I’m late.” They dipped their head at Vera and cast an uncertain look at Penelope, who was gathering her things with a forlorn expression. “Should we…”
“I’ve got this.” Vera looped her arm through Penelope’s. “Let’s go grab some of that cider I saw over there.”
The girl blinked in surprise. “Oh, you don’t have to—”
“My treat. I insist. I’m homesick, and you can tell me more about that Trevelyan family of yours.” Vera looked at Baz pointedly over a shoulder, as if to say You’re welcome.
“I won’t keep you long,” Jae said once they were alone. “I told Beatrix I’d meet her for a nightcap.”
“Did you find anything?”
Jae shook their head. “Couldn’t get back in. The Institute was closed to visitors after our little breach.” A wink. “I’m guessing they got spooked.”
Baz gulped. “Do you think they know—”
“No, no. We’re fine.”
“Good.” Trying not to think of Kai, Baz pulled Dark Tides from his bag and handed it to Jae. “Then I’m hoping you can tell me what this is.”
Jae read the title, then the epigraph. Their forehead creased. “I’ve never heard of Dark Tides, but this here”—they tapped the strange riddle—“this I’ve seen before.”
“Where?”
“In Cornus Clover’s personal journal. Well, journal might not be the right word. Alya let me have a look at it once—the Veiled Atlas has the only known copy. Clover wrote everything in it, from class notes to random lists of names to important dates and rendezvous. Even some passages that appear to be early attempts at Song of the Drowned Gods. Like this.” Jae tapped the epigraph again. “Clover wrote this. I remember because there was a first draft of it, with lines and words crossed out and rewritten all over the page, and on another page was a cleaner draft with all these ideas for Song of the Drowned Gods written around it. Plot threads and character names and descriptions of the other worlds and such. Even some quick illustrations he sketched.”
Jae glanced at the book’s spine, searching for an author name Baz knew wasn’t there. Another peculiarity of Dark Tides, that it was written anonymously.
“Whoever wrote this had to have seen Clover’s journal,” Jae concluded.
“Could it have been Clover himself? Or someone from the Veiled Atlas, maybe?” Vera, at least, hadn’t seemed to recognize the epigraph.
Jae hummed pensively, flipping through the rest of the book. “Could be. I’m guessing you got this in the Vault?”
Baz nodded. “Kai told me about it. Said Romie was mumbling those exact words in the sleepscape. Did he tell you they were looking for the epilogue together?”
Jae’s brow arched in surprise. “No, he did not.”
“They both went to the Veiled Atlas and became obsessed with finding it. It’s how Kai Collapsed.”
Jae swore under their breath. “This is why I dislike the Veiled Atlas. Putting all these crazy ideas about the epilogue in people’s heads, especially impressionable students who can’t differentiate between academic interest and—”
“But what if everything they believe in is true?” Baz interrupted. “Or at least some of it. Look.” He showed Jae the passage about doors to the Deep, watching their face closely as they read. “This is why Romie went to Dovermere.”
“Basil.” Jae sighed deeply. They pinched the bridge of their nose, pushing their tiny half-moon glasses up, and for the first time Baz truly noticed how much they had aged. It was more than just the silver strands in their hair or the subtle lines around their eyes and mouth. Exhaustion hung heavy on them. They looked world-weary; bone-tired. As if all their years of research and traveling had finally caught up to them.
It made Baz wonder how his father must look after wasting away at the Institute for so long.
“I swore to your parents I’d watch over you,” Jae said quietly, “and in truth, I’ve never really had to, because you’ve always been bright and cautious and smarter than most people I know.” Their dark eyes were imploring. “Please, for my sake, for the sake of your poor mother and father, don’t go down this road. You’ve seen what it does to people.” They shook their head. “Stay away from this, Basil.”
The Institute, Dovermere, the epilogue—it felt to Baz like he was a child being warned away from all the things that were hazards to him, but completely innocuous for the trusted adults around him. It angered him to realize how coddled he’d been all his life. With Jae and Professor Selandyn. With Kai, who hid from him what he was planning to do in some odd attempt to spare him.
Tides, even Baz’s father, as he was being carried away from the devastating scene of his Collapsing, had seemed more worried about Baz than his own gruesome fate.
Was he really so fragile?
Baz opened his mouth to tell Jae exactly what he thought—and shut it, the sorrow on their face giving him pause.
The printing press flashed in his mind, a startlingly clear image of that world-shattering day: the three clients who’d come in and cornered Jae, the damper cuffs one of them had taken out, threatening to bring Jae into the Institute if they didn’t cooperate.
Baz had no memory of what was said during the heated exchange that took place right before his father Collapsed, nor why those people were at the printing press at all. But he suddenly remembered how scared Jae had looked—much as he did now.
“The people who came to see you at the printing press,” Baz said slowly. “Were they there about the epilogue?”
Jae looked at him strangely. Before they could answer, Vera and Penelope appeared at their side. They mentioned something about a party, but it was the furthest thing from Baz’s mind.
“I think I’ll just walk with Jae back to campus,” he said. “Call it a night.”
“Suit yourself, party-pooper,” Vera teased. She linked her arm with Penelope’s again and waved at him. “See you around.”
Jae knew Baz well enough than to suggest he stay and enjoy the festivities. They smiled at him knowingly, and together they started up the path back to school. Neither of them mentioned the printing press again.