Before he can finish, Inna has flung her arms around my neck, laughing. “I knew you would come back! I knew you would, one day!”
And now I’m laughing, too. I feel a fierce connection to her already. She lets me go and my hand finds Hal’s. I can’t stop smiling—I feel the happiness will make me burst. Once more, he squeezes my fingers.
“Hal, this is my father. And—and my sister. Inna, Papa …” I swallow, glancing from Hal to my father and Inna, then back again. “This is my white wolf.”
I TELL THEM MY STORY in the room above the bookshop, where a fire licks quietly at the grate and steam curls from chipped tea mugs. Rodya is there, with his wife and two half-grown boys, who seem to very much like pulling Inna’s hair. Donia isn’t there. Donia hasn’t been there for several years now. Rodya tells me she tried to sue Papa for his money (he has grown more than solvent again), but the solicitors would have none of it. So she packed her bags and left in the night without a word. The divorce papers arrived by courier several months later. But let’s not focus on that right now, Rodya says—today is about me and my homecoming.
So I tell them everything, with Hal beside me, holding my hand and filling in the gaps if I leave anything out. Inna keeps the tea coming, and partway through the story Rodya’s wife, Ara, serves us stew and bread with honey.
When I finish, the night is half spent. Rodya’s boys have fallen asleep by the fire, and he and Ara watch them, smiling. Inna is snuggled up close to my father, and I lean my head on Hal’s shoulder, listening to his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his breath. My heart is full to overflowing. I never thought I would have so much family as I do.
“What now?” asks my father, breaking the silence. He lifts his eyes to mine, and I am thankful beyond words that a century didn’t pass us by on the mountain. Ten years is too much, yet it’s a blessing. I ache for Hal—he will never have such a happy reunion.
He squeezes my hand as if reading my mind. “We are going to the university. It’s been a while since Echo was accepted, but they might still have her application filed away.”
My father smiles and I laugh and kiss Hal’s cheek. “I’m going to be a doctor,” I say.
“And I’ve got four centuries of history to catch up on,” Hal adds. “I’ll find some sort of occupation in the meantime.”
“But we’ll visit as often as we can, and when—and when I am a doctor, we want to live here, in the village. Not waste any more time.” My throat cracks.
“Oh, my dear girl,” says my father quietly, “I think your time has been very well spent.”
Tears slip once more down my cheeks, and Hal nudges me toward my father. I go, sinking to a seat beside him. He hugs me close, careful not to disturb Inna, who has fallen asleep on his other shoulder.
I glance across at Hal. He smiles at me, and gives a little nod.
“There’s one other thing, Papa.”
I think he knows—there’s laughter sparking in his eyes. “What is it, greatheart?”
I draw my right hand out of my skirt pocket and show him the ring on my fourth finger, three interlocking bands of yellow, rose, and white gold.
My father smiles and kisses my forehead. “Congratulations, my dear girl.”
And then I’m laughing, and Inna wakes up and demands to know what she missed and I tell her all about how Hal and I were married on a mountaintop with the North Wind and his family standing witness.
It’s only later, when Hal and I crawl into the tiny bed in my old room that we have a moment to talk just the two of us. My father sold the house after Donia left and the room is Inna’s now, but she insisted on sleeping on the couch. I tuck myself under Hal’s chin and he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close.
“Thank you for saving me,” Hal whispers into my hair.
“I never wished to do anything else.”
“Thank you, all the same.”
Sleep creeps in at the edges of my mind, but I don’t let it claim me, not yet. “I love you, Halvarad Wintar.”
“And I love you, Echo Alkaev.”
I nestle even tighter against him. “Hal?”
“What is it, my love?” he mumbles, his words slurred with sleep.
“Don’t ever let me go.”
“Not ever.” He hugs me fiercely. “Not ever.”
He kisses my hair, and our hearts beat as one, and I fall asleep to the sound of his gentle breathing.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
EAST OF THE SUN, WEST OF the Moon, is a Norwegian fairytale that has its roots in the myth of Cupid and Psyche, as does Beauty and the Beast—all contain elements of a girl going to live with a monster in a magical castle. In the original East of the Sun, the wolf is a white bear, and he’s been enchanted by a Troll Queen who lives in a place that’s east of the sun, west of the moon. The girl embarks on an impossible journey to find him, enlisting the help of all the winds on her way—the North Wind is the one who takes her to the Troll Queen’s castle.
For Echo’s story, I have also borrowed a big element from the Scottish ballad Tam Lin, in which a brave girl frees an enchanted man from the Fairy Queen by holding on to him while he is transformed into all kinds of hideous monsters.
The setting for Echo North was inspired by nineteenth-century Siberian Russia, and the landscapes Echo travels through in the latter part of the book are real, including the frozen lake, which is based on Lake Baikal, the turquoise ice, and the ice caves. The reindeer skin tent that Ivan and his family live in is real, too.
Behrend and Czjaka, the composers that the wolf introduces Echo to, are Bach and Chopin, very thinly disguised, and Hal’s quip about Behrend/Bach and the harpsichord is true.
I hope I have done justice to Echo’s story and the source materials I’ve drawn from—any inaccuracies or misrepresentations are, of course, my own.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I AM A HUGE LOVER OF fairytales and am so honored to add a retelling of my own to the many, many wonderful ones that have come before me. This book wouldn’t exist without Robin McKinley’s Beauty, which I discovered at the library when I was eleven or twelve (it’s the first book I remember ever making me cry). I’m indebted to Edith Pattou’s beautiful and captivating East, which introduced me to East of the Sun, West of the Moon, and to Diana Wynne Jones’s mesmerizing Fire and Hemlock, a retelling of Tam Lin.
Huge thanks to my wonderful wizardly agent, Sarah Davies, for her insight and tenacity.
To my editor, Lauren Knowles, for her wisdom, encouragement, and brainstorming sessions, and for loving Echo’s story as much as I do.
To the whole team at Page Street, for making my lifelong dream come true a second time!
To my critique partners, Jen Fulmer and Laura Weymouth—I couldn’t function without you! (Special thanks to Jen for the idea to describe the house as a quilt—you’re a genius.) Thanks to Jenny Downer for her astute comments, for keeping me company while I write/edit, and for that marvelous teapot—I’m still in awe.
Thanks to Hanna Hutchinson for reading an early draft—can’t wait for our future joint book tour!
Thanks to Sharon Lovell for introducing me to Chopin all those years ago, and to my piano students, past and present—you guys are the best.
I couldn’t have finished my edits for Echo without my wonderful army of babysitters: Louise and Gary (my mom and dad), my motherin-law Joanie, my sister-in-law Sarah, and Jenny. This book would literally not exist in its present form without you!
Thanks to my dear husband, Aaron, for riding the emotional roller-coaster that is writing a book with me once again, for your support and encouragement, and for keeping me supplied with ice cream and excellent hugs.
And thanks to Arthur for making writing—and life—an even bigger adventure than it was before. Love you, munchkin.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR