I’ve been through this passage once before, my first week here. The grand tour was a little overwhelming. Secret doorways and hiding places snake between the castle walls. Thank the Verity for my Scrib memory, otherwise I might not be able to keep track of which passage leads where. This one, for instance, heads straight down the hill and then out to some stables in the Forest of Night—er, White. I keep forgetting the name changed when Shadow Territory ceased to exist.
The Flight Stables are stocked with horses and supplies and whatever else evacuees might require. Not that I need a secret passageway. I’m able to pass through any reflective surface using my Calling. I can even take Stormy with me. We could go far away from here, hide out until we think it’s safe.
Except we can’t. Because we’re not the only ones in danger. Better to head to the stables and see who else might need help. It’s what a queen would do.
And . . . even if we could go . . . can we? I couldn’t save Kuna. What if I can’t mirror walk either? Shudder. Focus. One thing at a time.
I feel around the wall near the descending spiral stairs for a switch. My right shoulder throbs. I roll it. Stormy gets the hint and straightens a little. It helps. Barely.
Please, please . . . Aha! Flip. The stairs illuminate along the sides like the aisles at a theater. Our path now visible, we descend.
The stairs go on forever, taunting us. When we finally reach the hall at the bottom, lit by inverted dome lamps on the low ceiling, Stormy begins mumbling. Several minutes pass before I decipher her words. Either they grow clearer, or I’m an expert at interpreting blubber-speak.
“He saved me. He saved me. He saved me.” Sobs release at intervals between each repeated phrase.
I take a deep breath. Earthy air expands my lungs. Question after question batters the forefront of my mind.
Who? Bam.
Why? Slam.
How? Wham.
At last we exit the hall. A hay-strewn path leads to a stack of hay bales, a pitchfork leaning against one end. Stormy breaks away, not even wincing at the strong manure scent. She slumps onto the nearest bale, clutches her head in her clawed hands, tugs at the purple ends of her hair.
I massage my sore shoulder and look around for someone who might sit with her. No one. Maybe the others are outside. “I’m going to see if I can find us some food and water. Okay?”
She doesn’t nod. The only indication she’s alive at all is the minute undulation of her curved back. I walk away with a backward glance. I won’t leave her too long. We just need some sustenance, maybe something to clean the blood—Kuna’s blood—off Stormy’s arms.
My thoughts disconnect and string together. Will I be able to get her to eat? What kind of sick monster crashes a coronation and starts shooting people? Why couldn’t we save Kuna? Where in the Reflections is the stupid supply closet?
Soft soil mutes my footsteps. I peek into a few of the stalls. Where are the horses? Did the others already leave? Uneasiness churns within. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. Mom, at least, should be here. This was the passage nearest her. She and Makai wouldn’t have taken off without me.
Unless . . . she has someone aside from me to care for now. My new baby brother or sister would’ve been her first priority. And Makai would’ve insisted she get as far away from the castle as possible, especially on the chance Isabeau was involved. The Guardians never found her after we defeated Jasyn. The Troll is still out there somewhere, hating Mom, seeking revenge.
Of course Mom isn’t here. No one’s waiting for us. Everyone would’ve assumed I was the Guardians’ first priority. There’d be no question in anyone’s mind Joshua had me covered. He still treats me as if I’m fragile. Breakable. As if I haven’t changed.
I thought I’d proven myself by this point. What’s it going to take to show him I’m not the girl who runs and hides at the slightest noise anymore?
I huff and pick up my pace. No use worrying about that now. The supply closet has to be here somewhere. I’ll grab some necessities, a pack if I can find one, and get Stormy out of here. If I’m still able to mirror walk, we could go to Lisel Island or Lynbrook Province. Maybe even the Third Reflection. My heart skips at the idea.
New York.
Home.
Ky.
It’s rare I allow myself to think of him outside my goal to destroy the Void. Because if I don’t keep it strictly business, strange things happen to my heart. Unwelcome things. Fluttery, achy, antiJoshua things.
Get it together. Now.
I’ve no idea where Ky went, but I do know he left to find his younger sister, Khloe—also my half sister, so weird. Jasyn said she was being well cared for. But by whom? And where? The Third’s as good a place to start as any. If we’re going away, we might as well make use of our time. I could find Ky, tell him of my secret search. The Void may have already become too much for him to bear. What if he hasn’t been able to find Khloe because of it? What if he needs the light of the Verity to quell the darkness within? What if he needs me?
Determination motivates my steps. The faster I find supplies, the sooner we can leave. Calm washes my nerves. Mom’s fine, she has Makai. The people have Joshua, a better king these past two months than the queen I’ve been today. But who does Ky have?
I’m sprinting through the stables now. These aren’t like the ones on the castle grounds. Instead of a U-shape, these form a grid. Maybe around the next corner—
“Em,” a voice—Ky’s voice—whispers. But not in my head. Not a memory. I actually hear it.
My eyelids snap open. Can’t breathe. One. Two. Three. I pivot on my heel. No one there. I shake it off Taylor Swift–style, turn, and round the corner. Sigh. The supply closet. I dash to it, clutch the handle like a lifeline, yank the door open. Jars upon jars of bottled goods line the shelves. Tan sacks of seeds and nuts slump on the floor alongside two cases of water in corked glass bottles. It’s so cold some of the contents are frozen. I crouch and lean forward, grab for two bottles toward the back—
“Ember.”
I jerk and hit my head on the shelf. “Bleep.” Ebony’s wannabe curse slips out and the bottles drop, crash, splash to the ground. I fall onto my rear and glance over one shoulder.
Yep, diagnosis confirmed. I’m going insane. Or maybe it’s post-traumatic stress. That’s a thing, and I’m totally experiencing it. Why else would I be hearing voices? No, not voices. Just one. Could this be some morphing of the Scrib within? Instead of remembering spoken words, I’m actually hearing them now?
Three beats later I gather a couple of unbroken, only partially frozen water bottles, scramble to my feet, and grab a jar filled with something brownish. Next I snatch a sack off a hook on the door, open it. Perfect. A flashlight and a few medical supplies rest inside. I add the water bottles and food, thread my arm through the sack’s single strap, and shuffle back toward where I left Stormy. I pass saddles. And rope. A giant copper basin. I look left. Right. My brows cinch. Is this the way I came?
“Em. Please.”
I halt, clench my arms so I don’t drop anything again. Something flashes in my peripheral vision. I whip my head left. There. In the basin’s reflection. It’s—Squint. Couldn’t be. I creep closer.
Huff. Nothing but my own disheveled reflection. I tuck loose strands of hair behind my ears and kick the basin over for good measure. I really am off my rocker. The stress of current events has me hallucinating. Unless—
What if I’m seeing through to another Reflection?
No. I wasn’t even focusing, let alone using my song. Impossible.
When I find Stormy, she’s in the exact state I left her. I offer her one of the water bottles, slipping it through the space between her bent arms. She sips and sets the bottle on the ground.
What do I say to my dearest friend? Loss isn’t foreign to me, yet I still have no idea how to react when it happens to someone else. There are no words. No non-cliché ones anyway.
I don’t want to be insensitive and rush her. We can spare a few minutes. I take a swig of my own water, lean it against the hay bale, and unscrew the jar’s lid. Sniff. Something with cinnamon. Apples? A distant memory. Joshua and peach chunks and—
“He knew. He knew, and he gave his life for mine anyway.” Stormy’s words are faint, but they’re present, hanging in the air like the after scent of burnt toast.
My appetite has vanished. I screw the lid back on the apple gunk. “What do you mean?”
“Kuna.” She wipes her nose with her sleeve. “He knew what I did. He knew . . .” One shuddered sob. “. . . about me and Gage.”
My nails dig into my palms. Jonathan Gage. Commander of the Guardians in Makai’s absence. Supposed friend and protector. Cowardly traitor. All around jerk-wad. “How did he find out?”
She traces little circles over the silky iridescent fabric draping her lap. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in a dress. “I told him. I couldn’t live with the guilt of it any longer.” Her hands form fists.
Oh. Wow. “When?” I reach over and cover one of her fists with both hands.
“After you defeated Crowe.” Her voice sounds far away. She sniffs. “It’s weird. Kuna wasn’t angry.” Two hiccups. “It was as if he knew. He knew from the beginning and he’d forgiven me before I even asked.”
“Oh . . . Stormy.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders. Dam the emotions threatening to burst free and flood my heart. Kuna was a better man than most. Of course he knew. And of course he’d forgiven. It’s who he was.
Stormy sobs into my shoulder for a long time. And I let her. How did we get here? I’ve noticed there’s this moment—an event you can pinpoint—in each relationship. A moment that defines what it will be from then on. With Joshua it was our night singing a duet on Broadway’s empty stage, which still makes me ache every time I think about it. With Ky it was when he saved me from Gage, or rather, the embrace that followed. For Stormy and me it was a late night in December—or Twelfth Month as the Second Reflectioners call it. I allow my mind to rest on the memory, reliving it as if it were here and now.
Someone shakes me.
Being awakened in the middle of the night triggers a bad memory. I lurch away, back against my headboard.
“It’s just me, El.”
I take in the playful joy in Stormy’s tone. Relax a smidge. “Just you? The last time you got me out of bed after dark, I almost ended up Isabeau’s slave.”
“How many times do I have to apologize for that?”
“A hundred more at least.” I blink sleep-infested eyes. Night shrouds my west-wing suite aside from the sliver of moonlight peeking through my not-quite-drawn curtains.
Stormy giggles and drags my covers off the bed.
I draw my knees to my chest and shiver. Close my eyes and whine.
She tries to pry my eyelids open with her fingers and I bat her away. “Stor-meeee.” I search blindly for my covers. It’s too late, too cold for this.
“Come on, El. You’re going to miss it.” Both her hands grasp my wrist as she tugs on my arm.
Yawn. Blink. Eye rub. “Fine.” I sit cross-legged on my bed. “This had better be worth it.”
She throws her head back, fists on her hips like Peter Pan doing the crow. “Oh, it is. Now come on.”
Flashlight shoved into my hand, I’m towed through the halls, down the stairs, and outside into the frozen night. As my brain wakes I notice what Stormy is wearing—pajamas. But not just any pajamas, footie pajamas. The one-piece kind with the button-drop bottom and the zipper running from toe to neck. Which of course looks ridiculous already. Add combat boots and a camo hat to the ensemble and you’ve got the funniest outfit ever.
Suddenly I don’t feel so bad I’m caught out in the open with my matching flannels. I laugh out loud and Stormy shushes me, dragging me past the hill’s wall and down into the forest. I’m freezing my behind off, but I can’t stop smiling. If nothing else tonight is worth it, seeing Stormy in footie pajamas totally is.
A deep voice caws into the night.
Stormy yanks me behind a berry bush. We crouch to the ground. We’re hysterical, though I’ve no idea what’s going on.
That’s when I see the crate shoved beneath the bushes in front of us. It’s full of— Oh my chronicles, are those water balloons?
Stormy grabs a couple and nods for me to do the same. My heart is beating so fast and I’m so cold but I don’t care. This is awesome.
“Stormy! Come out, come out wherever you are!” Kuna can’t be more than ten feet away.
Holy Verity, I am totally gonna pee my pants because I am terrified Kuna will spot us, but I can’t stop laughing.
I watch Stormy for the go-ahead.
Her lips move silently. “Three, two, one . . . fire!”
We’re on our feet, chucking water balloons into the night. I hear Kuna’s bellowing laugh and Joshua’s easy chuckle. A water balloon hits me in the shoulder and I squeal. Crowe, that’s cold!
Aha. Just as I suspected. Kuna was the culprit. He gives me a grin that says, “What are you going to do about it?”
So I’m snatching more water balloons and cradling them in my shirt and I’m running after him, dodging trees and laughing all the way.
At the end of the Battle de Balloons, Stormy and I are drenched. She slings an arm around my shoulders as we trudge back to the castle. Snow and mud slosh around our shoes. Our teeth chatter. But I don’t notice much.
“I knew you were sidekick material.” She punches me lightly in the shoulder.
I smile. “You’re not too bad yourself.” And even though I’m soaked, freezing, and will probably come away from this hacking and sneezing by morning, I mean every word.
I don’t know how long we sit there in the stables. I don’t know if Stormy fell asleep or if she’s merely gone quiet. But eventually she rises, rage trumping her sorrow. “I saw him.”
“Who? Kuna?”
“Gage.”
Impossible. “But Gage is—”
“He was in the shadows beyond one of the burst windows. He had murder in his eyes. He aimed the gun right at me. Kuna saw. He knew it should’ve been me, and he took my place anyway.” She’s pacing now. I can almost see the fumes putt, putt, putting in her wake. “I still owed Gage two favors. Kuna knew. He knew if he sacrificed himself, the Kiss of Accord would be null. Gage promised not to touch Kuna. Now that my husband has died at the traitor’s hands, I’m free.”
If this is true, Kuna’s death holds more weight than I realized. Except one thing doesn’t make sense. “Gage was blinded the last time we saw him. His eyes were clawed out by Lark’s owl talons, remember? Are you sure you saw his eyes?”
“Positive.” She kicks her water bottle, and its contents create a mud puddle at her feet. “He must’ve found a Physic or something. I don’t know.” She hangs her head again. “What am I going to do? I can’t imagine a Reflection without Kuna.” She makes eye contact for the first time. Her gaze matches her name—stormy. “Can you give me a minute?”
I purse my lips. We really shouldn’t stay here, but how can I deny her when she just lost her husband? I nod, then venture outside. Naked forest encompasses me, its clothing stored beneath snow for the winter. Dead vines wind around formerly charred tree trunks, which are now a muted shade of brown. Each day the landscape alters a bit. Darkness washes away with each new snowfall. Come spring, the Forest of Night and Shadow Territory will be all but forgotten.
I massage my arms through the thin material covering them. I feel bare. Exposed. I’d give anything for my parka right now. I scan the trees, cross to a fallen log, and sit. Wait. I’ll give her a few more minutes, but then we have to move on.
Snap!
I whip my head up in echo to the sudden sound. I dart my gaze back and forth. Just a rabbit or a squirrel or some other woodland creature. Not every animal hibernates, right? I’m being paranoid.
Another noise. Closer. My nerves electrocute every tiny hair on my arms and neck. One drawn-out blink. When I open my eyes I see him through my fogged breath.
Gage steps forward. His scars shine, a brand courtesy of Lark Song. But his eyes are visible, seeing, glaring. Who or what healed him? “Hello, Your Highness.” He bows, mocking me. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He straightens. Moves closer. “Such a shame our reunion can’t be a cheery one.”
Then he withdraws a gun from his coat and shoots me in the knee.