“You weasel,” I seethe. Sob. “It’s not Jasyn I’m worried about.” Tears burn my cheeks. I swipe at them with so much force I poke myself in the eye. “Haman said—”
“Haman’s a conniving snake and a liar. He had no authority to promise Isabeau your mom’s baby.”
“She’s not even pregnant, blockhead.” I push Ky once. Twice. “What if Haman . . . ?” I can’t finish my question. The thought is beyond unbearable. Mom can hold her own, but Haman isn’t just some guy off the street.
“He’s always had a silver tongue. Haman can’t touch her. Crowe won’t allow it.” Ky’s hatred for Pirate Grease-Head is no secret. It’s apparent in the twitch of his mouth. In the growl underlying his words.
“But—”
“Do you really think Crowe would search for his daughter all these years just to let some guard have his way with her?”
Ky’s forward question stops me. Jasyn did seem sentimental when we stood before Mom’s painting. He’s deluded himself into believing he’s king. Does that make Mom a princess? Is this why Ky keeps calling me princess?
“She’s going to be fine,” he presses, looking over his shoulder, then back at me.
I stare him down, waiting for a sign of deception to give him away. But it doesn’t come. “I’ll never forgive you for this.” My elbow finds Ky’s ribs.
He flinches, not blocking my jab this time. “The best thing you can do for your mom is assist the rebels. Let me take you back to the Haven. You’ll help them find their long-lost king. He’ll defeat Crowe, recapture the Void. Everybody wins.”
I nod. Don’t hope. Don’t dream. It will only lead to more heartache.
We enter a forest far different from the Haven, or even the one in Lynbrook Province. Ky’s flashlight beam leads the way as gravel-covered ground grates beneath our footsteps. Blackened vines wind up charred tree trunks. Near the tops, the bark color changes to deep white, extending into porous awnings of black and gray leaves. Abandoned tromes seem to jeer at us, their filthy windows like dead, unseeing eyes. The ajar doors make no sound, inching in and out, in and out. No birdsong or babbling brooks. Eerie quiet. Like the sound right after a major car wreck when even the sirens are drowned out for a moment.
Like the last day I spent with Mom. The world faded away. Just us. No one else. Or that’s how I remember it. It was the kind of day that makes me wish time travel were viable. Eating roasted peanuts bought from our favorite vendor. Throwing bread crumbs to the ducks in Central Park. People-watching at Grand Central Station. We were natives acting as tourists, a pristine, untainted memory.
“Oh no. Now what?”
Ky’s voice draws my gaze from the ground. I wasn’t even paying attention. How long were we walking?
He shoves me inside the nearest trome. Leaves stomped like bottom-of-the-bag chips dust the stoop. I step inside a room half as wide as our brownstone. Breathe the sour, musty air. When was the last time anyone opened the windows? Ky clicks off his flashlight, yanks us down to the floor.
My ankle twists. Ouch. “What the—?”
He claps his hand over my mouth. “Don’t move.” One, two, three breaths. “Someone’s coming.”
FIFTEEN
Too Far
My heart hammers. A smile haunts my lips. I must be crazy.
It’s not like I want Crowe to get his way. But if someone is here to capture me, to take me back to the castle, maybe I can find a means to save Mom. If we can just be together, we’ll figure this out. She always knows what to do.
Always.
“Not always, brave girl.”
Fine. Most of the time then.
“I saw something over here,” someone familiar grunts. The sound is muffled. Distant. Bearlike.
“Preacher.” The word is a whisper. Never thought I’d be relieved to hear his voice. Standing, I dust off my bottom. Ky attempts to pull me back, but I’m too quick. I’m out the door and out of reach.
Outside, six figures walk in a horizontal line as if raking the area for a dead body. They all carry flashlights or lanterns. As they close in, each one becomes easier to identify. Stormy’s neon-purple hair. Kuna’s coffee skin and hulking frame. Preacher’s scowl embedded beneath his wiry beard. Gage’s proud walk, head always erect. And . . . and . . .
No. Way.
I break into a run. Squint. This can’t be real. It’s a mirage. A delusion I’ve concocted to fill the emptiness inside. Fifty feet. Twenty. My heart is yards ahead of my body. Please let this be real, please let this be real . . .
He’s wearing the last thing I saw him in. Flannel shirt. Jeans. Coat. Boots. The entire group has ceased their march. All except him. He drops his flashlight. Thud. Then he’s tripping over himself to get to me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so completely uncoordinated.
“El?” He freezes two feet away. Disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes and a shadow lining his jaw. Brow scalloped and lips pursed, his expression seems pained. Is that fear in his eyes? Suspicion?
My heart is shattered and put back together in a single moment. And then I can’t stop crying. I’ve held so much in these past days. Reunited and ripped apart from Mom in one breath. Loving Joshua. Losing Joshua. Trying to be brave. To survive. Refusing to acknowledge reality. Because if I accepted what really happened, I might’ve died from the pain. It’s only now, in my ugly, uncontrollable sobbing, I realize the truth.
I was already dead.
“Joshua.” His name tastes like a first breath after drowning for days. “Joshua David.” I grab the collar of his jacket in both hands, afraid if I don’t hold on he may vanish.
“El.” He smooths my hair with shaking hands, examines me. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” My sobs transform into laughter. “You’re alive. How is this possible?”
A throat clears behind me. “I hate to break up this little reunion,” Ky says. Funny. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But we really need to move farther south.”
Joshua lifts his head. He reaches past me and shakes Ky’s hand. “Kyaphus. I assume you’re responsible for keeping her safe. I can’t thank you enough—”
“Thank him?” Preacher scratches his beard. “For what? He nearly turned us into sushi.” With each word his tone rises in volume.
“Who’s the loud one now, Preacher?” Stormy smirks, arms crossed and hip popped. “And in Shadow Territory, no less. Why not invite an entire army of Soulless to our rendezvous?”
Lip curled and teeth bared, Preacher gives Stormy the most shudder-worthy stink eye I’ve ever seen.
“Now, Preacher. Give the boy a chance to explain. I certainly owe him my life.”
This is too good to be true. “Makai?”
My very-much-alive uncle steps forward and stands shoulder to shoulder with Joshua. His right arm hangs in a sling made out of what looks like a potato sack. “Eliyana.” Makai dips his head. “I apologize for the delay. We—”
I clash with him, wrapping my arms around his trench-coated frame.
He stumbles back a little. Hasn’t he ever been hugged? Slowly, he envelops me with one arm, wincing.
I pull away. “Sorry. Is it your shoulder?”
He nods. “Just a scratch. It’ll heal. Kyaphus knew what he was doing.”
Guilt pricks my chest. Maybe I was too hard on Ky earlier. “What do you mean?”