Eliyana, please.” Makai combs his fingers through his shaggier-than-usual hair. “There is no need to panic.” His tone is hushed and it’s obvious he’s trying not to make a scene. He’s at least a foot taller than me so his head is bowed close to mine, and he speaks through the corner of his mouth.
I take a deep breath and puff it out, then exhale a burst of fog. This is Kuna’s Reminiscence. It should be about him. And Stormy. But I can’t help it. When it comes to Mom, to anyone I love really, that all-too-familiar terror kicks in.
“No need to panic, Makai?” Dad? I haven’t quite figured out what to call him. “You just told me the stress of the attack caused Mom to go into premature labor. She’s out there somewhere with my brand-new baby brother—my brother who is two months early—and you’re telling me there’s no need to panic? Isabeau is dead set on finding her. On taking the baby.”
He shakes his head. “Elizabeth is resilient, just like you. She and Evan—”
“Evan?” I’m so unnerved I forgot to ask his name. Weird. I went from only child to sister of three in less time than it takes to rehearse for a theater production.
A twitch of a smile perks Makai’s lips. “Yes. His name means ‘fighter.’ He’s a tough one. Came out wailing. A full set of lungs, that one.”
It feels wrong to do so here, while waiting to honor Kuna. But how can I not grin at Makai’s words?
I have a brother.
His name is Evan.
In all the chaos and tragedy, this small bit of something is . . . something. A lit window in a dark alley. A high C in the midst of a solemn composition.
We exchange a new sort of glance. One different from the distant Guardian-charge, or even the less distant uncle-niece looks we’ve given. This time we share a knowing. Bonding, I think they call it. Strange. Foreign.
I like it.
Makai wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “I assure you, I would not leave your mother or Evan unless I knew for certain they were protected. Isabeau will never find them. I returned to give you the news myself, and Elizabeth insisted I see what I can do to aid the Guardians. I intend to get to the bottom of last week’s attack, Your Majesty.” He winks at that, the natural dad in him coming to life.
“Now more than ever I am needed here. I will not rest until the Troll is either behind bars or extinguished altogether.” He squeezes my shoulder once more, then releases me and heads through the crowd toward a cluster of his men.
My gut roils at the thought of Mom and Evan alone. But if Makai says they’re safe, I have to trust they are.
I turn and meander through the courtyard’s throng. Preacher, my Guardian for the evening, lingers just a few feet away, eyeing my every blink. A quiver attached to his belt slaps his hip whenever he moves. He clutches his bow in his right hand, as if begging for an opportunity to present itself for a little target practice.
I’ve been trying to tell Joshua I don’t actually need a Guardian anymore. But the debate is pointless. I could be Wonder Woman and he’d still insist I have a chaperone wherever I go. Especially now, with the Verity stagnant and the Callings malfunctioning.
Ignoring Preacher, I rise on my toes, stretching beyond my kinder-ballet ability. An ocean of cool hues eddies around me. Azures and indigos. Violets and periwinkles. Not a black pinafore or charcoal tunic in sight. Just as a blue- or purple-dyed lock of hair—a tassel—represents loyalty to the Verity, so these colors revere the deceased at a Reminiscence. Even the Guardians, circling the crowd like NYPD officers in Times Square on New Year’s, have shed their standard uniforms and replaced them with navy jackets and slacks.
I skirt a family of three and sit on a marble bench. The same bench Jasyn Crowe occupied upon our first encounter. I lift the hood of my plum-colored parka. Shrug my shoulders to my ears and squint. The family seems to be in a bubble. The mother and father wear drawn expressions as they swing their toddler girl by her arms. She giggles and cries, “Higher! Again!” oblivious to the purpose of this evening’s outing, not understanding what has been hurt and lost and broken.
When a human shadow blocks what little sun remains, a shudder jolts my body from the curve of my neck to the spaces between my toes.
“Sorry I’m late.” Joshua’s words lack oxygen, as if he sprinted a mile to get here. “I lost track of the time.”
“It’s fine.” When I look up I’m careful not to meet his gaze.
Joshua exhales, his breath vaporous. From his coat pocket he withdraws wool gloves, tugs them onto his hands. He touches the hilt of the sword at his hip, as if checking to make sure it’s there. “Can we talk about this?” His hushed question is a hot coal on my blaze of irritation.
I abandon the bench. “You think now’s the best time?”
He sighs. Runs a hand over his face. “Stop avoiding me. We can’t ignore this forever.” His hands find my waist. He draws me in.
I stiffen and my stomach bungies to my feet. My gaze finds his face, but I still can’t look him in the eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” I bite the inside of my cheek. Why do I feel guilty? A Kiss of Infinity isn’t something I can choose to give. I shouldn’t feel bad.
But I do.
Joshua’s expressions pass through a wheel of emotions. First his brow furrows. Confused? Then he shakes his head. At last his jaw tightens, each individual muscle beneath his skin hardening into a countenance I’m all too familiar with.
“Very well.” He releases his hold on my waist, then turns on his heel and traipses to the courtyard’s other end, toward Stormy. He climbs onto the half wall at the edge of the hill. When he speaks I don’t register the words but stare without seeing in his general direction. After his speech fades, he hops down, wraps an arm around Stormy, and leads her through an archway overrun with dead ivy.
The crowd moves as a unit, a massive game of follow the leader, and I trail behind. Preacher marches toward me, Scrooge-like as ever, and forms the caboose of our train. I’m the slowest of the bunch with my gimpy knee, but I don’t mind the separation for now. Gives me time to think. To breathe. To absorb.
We stroll down the stone steps embedded in the hillside, through the forest, and toward the nearest Threshold. It was dubbed Midnight Lake when the Void shrouded this area. But like the Forest of White, it received a new name—Dawn Lake. The stark-silent atmosphere is a welcome escape. I can almost hear the snowcapped trees gasp for breath, feel the gravel path soak what little warmth I have through my soles.
Kuna’s sun-ray grin enters my mind, a distraction from the chill. Why him, the sweetest, most jovial person I’ve ever met?
I’m reminded of Mom’s words from the past. “Some things are beyond our understanding,” she’d say when something bad would happen. There were times as I got older when I thought it was an adult cop-out to say such a thing. I used to think grown-ups knew everything. Now I see how far that is from reality.
Kuna’s body was buried the day following the coronation. It was an informal affair. Just a few Guardians with shovels in a small graveyard located west of the stables.
“It’s how things are done here, darlin’,” Reggie said this morning over hot cocoa the same color as her skin. We sat beside the kitchen hearth as she soothed my nerves about Mom’s absence. “The people here don’t find it necessary to watch their departed rejoin the earth. Kuna’s soul sleeps until it awakens in the First. His body is no longer connected. The First is the only place where a soul can survive apart from a physical vessel.”
No longer connected? Physical vessel? Still seems more complicated than the toughest Sudoku puzzle never solved. Life after death isn’t something I’ve given much thought. Perhaps because it always sounded impossible. But now . . . I’m not so sure.
“Good girl. You’re learning.”
I slow, glimpse Preacher over my shoulder.
The Guardian appears to stare straight through me as per usual.
Facing forward, I answer Ky under an exhale. “Not a good time, Ky.”
“You see it, don’t you? You see nothing is ever as impossible as it first seems.”
“Yes, okay? I see it. Now stop making me talk before someone notices.”
His voice doesn’t return and I sigh. For the briefest instant I allow myself to miss him. His confident smirk. The way he got under my skin. The honesty we so freely shared. He was always straight with me, and I never hesitated to let him know exactly what I thought.
Most of the time.
Once we reach Dawn Lake—which looks more like an ice rink than a Threshold leading to the Third—those paying their respects split north and south, line up along the shore. So many familiar faces yet foreign at the same time. I hardly know them. A meeting here, a conversation there. If I’m being honest, most are simply acquaintances and nothing more.
Sunset has passed, and a small clearing in the clouds reveals a gibbous moon. I draw a candle from my coat pocket and trudge to stand between Stormy and Joshua, her on my left and him on my right. It’s a tight squeeze and I can’t avoid it when our arms brush.
Joshua bristles but doesn’t move away. He clears his throat, strikes a match, lights his candle, and then ignites mine. My flame kisses Stormy’s wick, and she leans over and lights the next person’s. The ritual goes on and on until every attendee’s candle is ablaze save one. The lake is a circle of light. Fire’s life encompassing the deadly ice.
Then the singing begins.
The tune isn’t one I recognize, but as the lyrics press in, the melody pulsing, I feel as if I know this song. Perhaps it’s my Calling that allows me to pick up on anything musical. Whatever the case, I’m able to join in after the first verse, singing the words as if I’ve practiced them over and over again. My voice remains hoarse, but no one seems to notice.
“He lies down. He will not rise.
Until all is gone, he cannot be roused.
Sleep infests his heavy-laden eyes,
And though sorrow arrives with night’s dawn,
Joy lives in morning’s song.”
Sniff. Blur. Tears dawdle on my lashes.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
My jaw sags. Stormy?
“He would’ve loved this. Kuna wouldn’t have wanted us to grieve.”
I turn my head, and shock steals my breath. Though her cheeks exhibit damp trails, splitting and joining like a network of rivers, the corners of Stormy’s lips stretch toward her glistening eyes. She reaches over and clasps my free hand, shakes it a little. Her grip is almost painful, but I squeeze back, speaking my love for her through the silent gesture.
And somehow, this tiny hint of the “before” Stormy fills me with a sense of hope. I turn my head, peek up at Joshua. His eyes are closed, head bowed as his lips release song. His familiar tenor melts the ice inside. The memory of how I felt the first time we met tugs at my lips, forcing them to curl up. Just like then, the promise of a better tomorrow adds an inch to my height.
I close my eyes and sing for Kuna, adding harmony to the tune on this round despite my sore throat. Each note carries hurt and hope. Pain and healing. If Stormy can find joy amidst ashes, surely Joshua and I can find a way past this Kiss of Infinity thing. I didn’t give him one. Okay. But does that mean I never will?
“You gave me one. Isn’t that enough?”
Everything in me wants to respond to Ky’s voice. But I can’t. Not now. Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Maybe the best thing for me is to let Ky go.
“Em, no.”
After giving Stormy’s hand an extended squeeze, I release her, guard my flame with a cupped palm, and free my right hand. I lace my fingers with Joshua’s, hold fast to the tangible. The real.
Joshua pulls away.
My spirit droops.
But then his arm slips around my waist, fingers sliding through the space between my arm and midsection. He draws me into his side.
Sigh. We’re going to be fine. I inhale his Thanksgiving dessert scent, press my cheek to his life-filled chest. Our voices become one as we continue the ballad in Kuna’s honor—Joshua singing the lyrics, and me “ah-ing” the repetitive melody. My throat burns and my song is off-key, but I press on.
“The Void holds no power,
A soul it cannot own.
Though it may seem night has won the hour,
It is the day we live to storm,
Until the battered no longer—”
A sound like thunder. A deafening shriek. A collective gasp. All seem to happen at once.
Voices cease midlyric, stalked by an unnatural quiet.
My head jerks around. My gut bottoms out. The earth shakes.
Someone has fallen through the ice.