I was saved. Wrenched away from Ina, who was left to be taken by the Queen. Does this mean that I am the only one with a hidden power coursing through my blood?
If the Queen is the Sorceress, I’ve walked right into her path, and left havoc and destruction in my wake. But what would she want with me anyhow? The Queen may be cold and cruel, but she has never harmed my sister. If the Queen thought that Ina was the child born with the stone, is she still to discover her mistake?
And, of course, there is the equally pressing question making my head burn in pain from the enormity of it: Who am I? Why would my birth have stopped time? Why did my time harden and lodge in Caro’s throat, unable to be taken in by anyone else but me?
And finally, another, far more sickening thought clouds out all the rest like a plume of black, stifling smoke, so heavy it makes my eyes tear and run. I think back to the stories I wrote as a child, how Fox and Snake’s innocent games slowly darkened and changed until Snake was curling around Fox’s heart, stealing the life from her. What if the Queen is not the one to be feared at all?
What if the person to be feared is me?
Papa is buried in an anonymous grave somewhere in the woods. He would still be alive if I had never gone to Everless. He would still be alive if seventeen years ago, he had allowed me to die in Briarsmoor with Naomi Morse.
I stare down at my shaking, blood-and-mava-stained hands, the mare thundering over the ground below me. I can’t go back there. I must leave. I must go far, far away from here. But how can I travel without money—and where will I go?
Quickly, the plan forms in my mind. I’ll return to Everless, but only long enough to gather my belongings and clothes that are not covered in blood. I wish I could get the book too, but I expect the Gerlings will have posted a guard outside the vault, so I put that thought out of my mind. I’ll have to leave without it, slip away and escape through the servants’ entrance. With any luck, I’ll be far away before I’m even missed among the servants.
The thought of not saying good-bye to my friends at the estate—Lora and Hinton, who propped me up in the depths of my grief, and Ina—my sister—is like a knife between my ribs. Caro’s face flits through my mind, too—but so do her unmarked hands, clean of the stain of the vault. Her arms, free of bloodletting incisions. Ivan lied for her. She lied to me.
Maybe once I’m away from Everless, I can untangle the mystery to be free of it, so I can someday return.
Fantasy.
I urge the horse forward.
The trip back to Everless passes in a blur, and soon I’m through the gates, hurrying along the servants’ corridors, and into the dormitory, which is mercifully empty, everyone in the midst of their daily chores and activities. It doesn’t take long to gather my things, and I stand for a moment over my narrow bed—hard and unwelcoming and yet, for a brief time, my home. In the quiet of the dorms, I change my dress, shoving the bloodstained one in the hearth, and slip the soft pair of gloves Ina gave me over my still-stained hands. And then I’m hurrying through the back entrance. I do my best to shut everything out except for my next goal: this doorway, that staircase, the door leading outside. It’s only someone calling my name—the voice male, velvety, familiar—that infiltrates the fog in my mind, and I stop in my tracks. I turn around.
For the first time since leaving the dormitory, I notice my surroundings: I’ve walked straight into the beautiful royal gardens, no less stunning for being locked in snow and ice. Except for the walking paths that wind through the garden, the blanket of snow on the ground is immaculate, blindingly white. And in the midst of it all is Roan Gerling in his green hunting cloak, his cheeks flushed, snowflakes caught in his hair and eyelashes.
I have scarcely seen Roan in days. But seeing him now before me, all rich color against the white and black and gray of the garden, brings my feelings rushing back in a wave. He holds an elegant bronze-handled rifle casually in one hand, and with his other sweeps his hair out of his face.
“Jules,” he says again, his smile far more dazzling than the weak morning sun above us. “Where have you been?”
I almost laugh, thinking of the tavern, the time lender’s alley, the vault, the abandoned town. I have an urge to tell him everything, his eyes the color of the summer sky promising comfort and understanding. After all, he’s known me longer than anyone else here. But I bite my tongue at the last moment. “I’ve been busy with chores, Lord Gerling,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “And besides, you’ve been away. With Lady Gold.” The words are cold in my throat. As I say them, I realize that Ina and the Queen must have returned to Everless as well if Roan is here. I should leave now, before we cross paths. I’m not sure if I could look into Ina’s face without blurting out the truth about us. And the Queen . . .
But my thoughts dissipate when Roan tilts his head, his usual smile absent. His gaze turns serious. He steps closer, and in spite of myself, my grip tightens on my bag.
“Jules.” My name in Roan’s mouth is softer now, his gaze heavy on me. “Are you all right?”
In a flash, I see him as a child, reaching down from his perch in the oak tree to help me up beside him. My words rise in an unstoppable rush. “Do you love her?”
Roan stops where he is, one hand half extended toward me. His brow creases. “What?”
Shame and fear crash down on me, leaving me small, hollowed out. But I’m leaving, I’ll never see Roan Gerling again after today, so—“Ina,” I say again. “Do you love her?”
Roan blinks. Swallows. He takes a step closer to me, close enough that I can smell the scent of pine that clings to his skin. No trace of either lavender or rosewater today. He takes a deep breath that has the hint of a shudder in it.
“No,” he says finally. “I don’t.”
I’m frozen, stunned. I can’t move, not even when Roan reaches out and closes my hand in his.
“You’re here,” he says haltingly. “You’re here, and I missed you, and I . . . I can’t see Ina anymore, not like I used to. Not when I know you’re at Everless.” He steps even closer. I can feel the heat of him, his breath stirring my hair.
“Roan . . .” I’m not sure what I’m going to say—tell him it’s all right, or that he’s a coward for knowing this and marrying Ina anyway, or ask him to let me go, or to come closer.
Roan, the boy who smells of different perfumes, depending on the day.
Roan, the boy who once chased me, head tipped back in laughter, through fields of wildflowers. The boy who grew up to love nothing more than Everless, its pudding and roasted birds, its flutes of sparkling liquor, its garden parties in the middle of winter.
Words tumble in my gut, a tangle of confused memory and feeling.