“It’s not a sanctuary that does it.”
“The Transporting Sanctuary.”
“There’s no such thing. It’s just . . . some people are special. They can see the Other Place, can walk right into it.”
“I’ve never heard of that happening.”
“You have to be in the right place. Even if you’re special, you have to come far enough south—here, to where the two worlds overlap.”
Quinn drew herself up. “So if someone from my band, someone special, came here and walked into the Other Place with this device . . .”
Dylan’s stomach went hard as rock.
“That person could cut the Other Place away from this world,” Quinn went on. “This world would be the one to survive. Wouldn’t it?”
Dylan studied the hard planes of her face. He nodded.
“So the real decision,” Quinn said quietly, “is save the Other Place, or save my own land.”
“No. Save the Other Place or save a dying land. That’s the choice.”
“But still. It’s my choice.”
Somewhere above them a bird warbled in answer. Dylan himself had nothing to say. He had already told Quinn at the beginning of this: You will choose.
Quinn got to her feet. Her legs trembled. “I don’t want either world to die. I only ever wanted to find a way to the Other Place. I thought if I could find it, then maybe things wouldn’t be so hard for my band.”
Dylan’s heart thudded. She was leaving. He’d known she wouldn’t go through with this; still, he wasn’t ready for her to leave.
She turned and took heavy steps in the direction of her camp. A bolt of alarm went through Dylan’s heart. “Wait.”
She looked back. Dylan could feel whole parts of him shutting down, over-stressed by exposure to the juncture. It was all he could do to hold together a semi-solid form. “Will you—will you stay with me? For just a little while?”
Quinn stood frozen for a moment. Dylan felt sure she would turn and walk away without saying another word. But she took hesitant steps back to where he sat.
“It’s just that you’re the first person I’ve seen in weeks,” he explained.
Her expression softened.
“I usually don’t mind being alone,” Dylan said. But there’s something different about you. He couldn’t say it out loud.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and he saw again how earnest she was, how she always thought so carefully about what she should do. He regretted ever trying to trick her. He hadn’t thought he had it in himself to feel so deeply about anything anymore, but he felt such deep regret that if he looked down he might find he had worn a hole right through himself.
Quinn kneeled and touched the device lightly, as if afraid to wake it. “What would have happened to you if I had used this? Would you have been trapped here or could you go back?”
“I can’t go back either way.” He cleared his throat. He’d left his water at his camp. “I—I’m not going to last much longer. I’ve been exposed to the juncture too many times, for too long.”
Quinn squinted against the sun reflecting off the far rock face. Her lips parted as though she was about to say something, but instead a rush of air escaped. Dylan wondered how there could be any room in her heart right now for sympathy.
“It’s all right,” he told her. “Really. I volunteered for this. I knew what would happen.”
She turned toward him with a questioning gaze.
“I thought I might as well,” he continued. “I haven’t been the same anyway. Since . . . Since something happened . . .” He shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Maple flowers were spilling out of her skirt pocket. The petals were half crushed. They lent a sweet smell to the air. Dylan leaned closer to her.
“I would have liked to have gone to your world,” she said.
Dylan imagined himself showing her great glass buildings like she had never seen—High Towers with all their windows still in place. Whole cities whirring with life. “Yes, I think you would have.”
“It’s not all ruined yet? Breaking apart?”
“Some parts of it are. But other parts . . . Cities in the mountains that move with the snow drifts, crystal sea caves like windows that look into water . . .” He broke off again. More things he didn’t want to think about—he couldn’t go back home. Already, he felt his insides giving up, shutting down.
“Is there a palace?” Quinn asked.
He supposed there was—plenty of them. He nodded.
“And the Girl Queen?”
“There’s a queen. She’s not a girl, she’s grown. She’s not the same person from the stories, really.”
Quinn touched his arm. “Don’t tell me about the Water Nymph. I’m going to think of her however I want.” She closed her eyes. The streaks of dirt on her face looked like misplaced shadows. “Do you really have a brother?”