I rub my arms, suddenly chilled with how true and right Rowan’s words feel. Didn’t Pan himself tell me that power requires sacrifice? Isn’t that what Fiona said as well—Pan allowed me to see what he wanted me to see? He told the tales he wanted me to believe, so I would trust him. Give myself willingly to him.
And it almost worked. When he rescued me from the ship, when he rescued Olivia from the End, I’d wanted to trust that I’d found a hero who could rescue me. I’d fallen right into his trap.
Turning away, I look out over the lake, around the valley, trying to focus on what’s ahead of us and on what we still need to do. “You’re sure the Queen’s here somewhere?”
“When I was still one of his lads, Pan showed this place to me. Though it’s possible it was a boast or a lie, I don’t think it was. He wanted me to know what he’d done—he wanted me to understand his power over this world, because he wished me to follow him without question. But I do suppose there’s only one way to find out.” Rowan inclines his head in my direction, a challenge if I’ve ever seen one.
The valley around me feels different now. The first time I saw this place, the falls took my breath away. This was the place where I first believed I was truly in Neverland, but now, heavy shadows from the setting sun slant across the land. The water no longer throws up rainbows in its mist. It whispers, soft and deadly, of the secrets it hides.
I feel different too, though, and I don’t think it’s just the bit of metal I carved out of my own arm. It’s more than that. It’s about the way Rowan is looking at me right now, like he believes I am capable of doing what we must. And maybe also like he’s afraid I am. He holds his face so careful, so still, but I can see his fear.
But his fear doesn’t bother me. I feel differently about myself now—stronger, more sure. I’m unafraid now to examine even the darkest parts of my past, of what I am. And I’m unafraid to look to a new kind of future.
“If this works,” I say softly, “will you come back with me?”
He startles, as though he didn’t expect the question. From his expression, it looks as though it hurts him just to think about it. “There’s nothing for me in that world any longer, lass,” he says after a second.
“You don’t want to go back?” But the tension in his face tells me the answer.
“I’ve dreamed of it, to be sure. Though I’m no longer certain, exactly, what it is I’d be returning to.” He steps away from me, his gaze steady on the dark water. “Here, at least, I have purpose.”
“But if you stay, you’ll die,” I whisper, shaken by the determination in his voice.
He gives a small nod, but there’s no fear or pity or regret in his expression. Only resolve to do what he must.
I look at this boy before me—this boy who has lived through so much. He’s killed and he’s protected, but he’s managed somehow, miraculously, to survive in this place. And I understand now that whatever happens, he doesn’t expect to live through this—maybe he never has.
“You don’t think this will work, do you?”
His gaze shifts away, uncomfortable. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”
“But still, you’re not convinced.”
He doesn’t respond, just frowns at me, those fathomless eyes of his refusing to look away.
Part of me is glad he doesn’t lie. Somehow the starkness of the truth is easier to deal with. It forces me to consider my own actions, my own future. And it forces me to admit the decision I’ve already made.
Since being brought to this world, I’ve come to understand that everything I’ve ever learned about good and evil, about the choices we make and the choices we must live with, have been nothing more than convenient fictions invented by those who have never been confronted by the darkness and actually forced to choose. The choices Rowan has willingly made, the evils he has committed should give me every reason to fear him. He is, by his own admission, a murderer. A pirate. A man without anything left to lose.
But I don’t fear him. Not anymore, and maybe, not ever really. I trust him more than anyone else in this hellish world, because he’s never spun fairy tales about good or evil. He has simply stood in the space between and not pretended the choice could be otherwise.
I take Rowan’s face in my hands and make him look at me. It’s been such a short time since we met, shorter since I came to understand who and what he is. I touch his cheek, tracing his scar with the pad of my thumb, memorizing every inch of his face. The sharp set of his jaw. The gold flecks in his eyes.
How could I have ever thought he had cruel eyes?
His eyes are not cruel now. They contain everything we are both too afraid to say. Every hope, every desire we both understand we can never have.
“Nothing good can come of this, lass.” His voice is no more than a rasp, and it shakes with the same uncertainty I feel.
I know that, but he’s standing there, so close, and looking so very far away, and I don’t want to leave him in that place. “I don’t care,” I whisper, the words nothing more than a breath caught in my throat.