IN THE MORNING, THE AIR between us is charged with an unsettled energy, and I’m not sure what to say to Rowan. We stare at each other for a few moments in the soft light—moments when I think maybe he’ll close the distance between us and kiss me—but he turns his back so I can pull on my own clothes instead. When I’m once again dressed, I offer the coat back, and he takes it with a stiff formality that makes everything that happened the night before feel like a long-ago dream.
“The straightest path to where the Queen lies is to follow the water, though to do so, we’d have to venture out into the sea once more, and I’m not all that willing to test the Sisters’ mercy a second time.” Rowan points toward the dense green jungle that teems with life beyond the rocky shores. “We’ll have to cut through the jungle. Straight north to the heart of the island.” He pulls out the dagger Fiona left us and hands it to me, handle first.
I don’t reach for it. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Pray you never need to use it,” he says, offering it again.
I take it finally, weighing its solid body in my hands. It’s lighter than Pan’s dagger, and in the morning sun, its blade glints silvery instead of the strange dark glow of Pan’s. I tuck it into the waistband of my pants and hope I don’t skewer myself before I need to use it.
“Ready?” he asks, his expression as sharp and guarded as I’ve ever seen it.
“Not even a little bit.”
When we step into the lush green of the jungle, the sound of the sea fades away, but the trees aren’t silent. As soon as we enter the teeming canopy, I can feel the trees pulse around me in warning.
This is nothing like the dark forest of my childhood. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen—even flying through the canopy of trees with Pan didn’t prepare me for the experience of being inside of it. The vegetation around us is wild and unearthly, colored every shade of green imaginable. Some of the plants have leaves as large as my arms stretched wide. Others are spindly, with needlelike outgrowths that look as sharp as razors.
Strangely enough, even though the air is close here—almost claustrophobic—I don’t feel afraid. Or I suppose I should say that I feel uneasy but not unwelcome. Like the garden within Pan’s fortress, the plants of Neverland’s jungle twist away as we walk to reveal a winding path through the dense undergrowth. The island itself seems to be directing us, and I can’t tell if Neverland is guiding us to the Queen because it wants to be freed or if this is just another one of its traps. I should be terrified of how very alive it all feels, but after all I’ve been through—and after everything I’ve done—fear seems like a luxury I can’t afford.
With each step I take following Rowan up the steep incline toward the very center of the island, my confidence falters, though. We climb and climb through the jungle, but we never seem to get anywhere. All I can do is follow him, step after step, mile after mile, making one twisting turn after another.
Once or twice, fairy lights appear, dodging in and around us as we make our way. Rowan ignores them, but they make me nervous. I don’t trust Fiona’s loyalty as much as he seems to, and I can’t help but think the lights are probably watching us, maybe even reporting to Pan. I almost expect him to be waiting for us around every turn, but he never is.
Eventually we come to a clearing where the path we’re on divides into three different trails. The one to our right leads into the undergrowth. To our left, another snakes away through a grove of enormous trees. Ahead, a third, identical path leads in an equally unclear direction.
As Rowan considers which to take, I ease back against the smooth trunk of a tree and let myself slide to the ground. My feet ache from the rocky and uneven climb, and I need a break, even though we can’t afford to take one.
Behind my back, the tree I’m propped against moves, rippling into some new shape. All around me the other trees shift and settle, re-forming themselves into new trees and other configurations. The paths disappear as enormous plants sprout up and cover them, and other paths emerge.
Rowan curses at the sight of it. “Bloody stupid—” But he never finishes.
The jungle has gone suddenly and deathly still. His eyes meet mine, the question in them echoing my own.
“What is it?” I ask. All around us, it feels as though Neverland itself is holding its breath, waiting. But it’s not an easy silence.