He narrows his eyes. “Which do you think came first? The Second or the Third?”
“You tell me.”
He exhales, and his stiff posture slackens. “Come on. I want to show you something.” Joshua passes me and ascends the stairs.
I follow. When we reach the opening, I climb out onto a circular platform nestled within the tree’s crown. Massive branches curve out, up, and over, forming a perforated canopy. Rows of empty planter boxes spread before me. But my awe is not drawn by the everyday rooftop garden. What’s above the platform stills me, parts my lips.
Another stairway, this one carved right into a wide branch, leads to a higher landing. Joshua continues the climb, and again I shadow him. A railing borders the entire space, and a huge unmade bed dominates the open room, too large for just one person.
I falter. Does Joshua have a girl here? Is she the reason he said he’s not free? I cross to the trunk at the bed’s foot and sit, running my trembling hands over my lap. “This is amazing. Do you live here alone?” Be obvious, why don’t you?
“I do.”
So it isn’t a girl. Hope falters. Guess he really doesn’t love me.
“Before I met you this was my home. It’s strange to return after so long.” He laughs. “It’s exactly as I left it.” Joshua turns, climbs another set of carved-out steps.
I rise and trail him, taking in every inch of his surrounding creation. The intricately detailed bedposts. The care he took to carve each step, to design every inch of the layout.
When I reach the third and final floor, my breath snags. Hollowed logs turned on their ends edge this platform. Shelf upon shelf bursting with books fit inside. Instead of the natural branch-and-leaf canopy like the two floors below, a glass roof covers this space. I walk alongside the shelves, scanning the volumes. Peter Pan. The Hobbit. Pride and Prejudice. Anne of Green Gables. The Catcher in the Rye. My eyes widen at the familiar titles.
“Where did you get these?” I pull out La Belle et la Bête—the original French version of Beauty and the Beast. I always wondered what would’ve happened if the Beast hadn’t transformed. Would Belle have loved him anyway? I like to think so.
“All the most imaginative minds from your Reflection lived in mine first. For example, C. S. Lewis was a Scrib’s apprentice before the young author ventured into other Reflections. It was in the Third where he met another Scrib, one who was also born here but lived in a different province. Ultimately the two became very close due to their mutual origins.”
I lose a breath. “J. R. R. Tolkien.”
Joshua nods.
I almost laugh, but how can I? Of course men who traveled through a portal, such as a Threshold, or experienced the wonder of the Callings would write fantasy novels featuring magical wardrobes and powerful rings.
Joshua withdraws a tattered journal from a high shelf. Hands it to me.
I return Beauty and the Beast to its home and examine the other book, tracing the familiar cursive on the flimsy leather cover. The Reflection Chronicles, First Account, E. K. C.
I don’t believe it. The initials on Makai’s handkerchief. I didn’t know who they represented before, but now it’s clear. E. K. C. Elizabeth. Katherine. Crowe. She must’ve changed her last name to Ember in the Third to keep us hidden.
“This is my mom’s handwriting.”
“I know.”
I blink once, twice. “Where did you get this?”
“I never knew my parents. My mother died during childbirth . . .” There’s a tinge in his voice, a bitterness. Is this what Haman was referring to when he called Joshua a murderer? Does Joshua blame himself for his mother’s death?
He clears his throat, his Adam’s apple dipping. “I’m told my father was so heartbroken he died soon thereafter.”
I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. A sudden inkling rises inside me. I should go to him, hold him the way he held me after I lost Mom the first time. But I can’t. He’d never let me.
“Your grandfather, Nathaniel Archer, delivered and raised me. Makai is like an older brother.” Joshua has never spoken of his life before moving to Manhattan. “Nathaniel and Makai helped your mother escape with you to the Third. You were supposed to remain there, none the wiser to the significance of your mark or your eighteenth birthday. Crowe’s discovery of you changed all that, of course.
“Your mother left this with Nathaniel when she fled.” He gestures toward the journal I’m now clutching like treasure. “Once I was old enough to leave his care, he gave me this volume. I came here, to the Haven, to train with the Guardians. But it wasn’t until I joined Makai in the Third that I found my niche in combat.”
His comment strikes me, and I realize I’ve never seen him fight. Is he an archer like Makai and Preacher? A knife fighter like Ky?
“All I ever wanted was to serve the Verity, to see its vessel put on the throne. When Makai assigned me to you, I had no idea what to expect. Then I saw you that first day, and I knew who you were. It was then I realized just how important my task was.”
He tells of our first encounter as if reminiscing with an old friend. Is he as fond of the memory as I am?
“Anyway.” He leans on a bookcase, crossing his legs. “I’d like you to take it. Elizabeth would want you to have it.”
I lift the book to my nose. Inhale. “She’s a Scrib, isn’t she?”
Joshua nods.
All this time I never knew. I picture Mom. This Reflection depicted—no, recorded—in her artwork. Her crossword puzzles and piles upon piles of sketchbooks. Urging me to write down her adages. Repeating them to me over and over and over again.
I slide the book into my pack, careful not to tear the curling pages. “Thanks.” I want to add I miss him. That I hate this weird thing we’ve become. Instead I let it be. This moment—it’s the perfect way to say good-bye. “I’ll see you around?”
He nods but doesn’t smile. “See you.”
I hold out my hand.
One long inhale, and then he takes it.
Unlike our curt handshake at the Village, rushed and forced, this one feels like a true ending. Sad but real. Then the mood between us shifts. He doesn’t let go, and neither do I. Joshua strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb. It’s a brief thing, but the infinitesimal gesture says so much, reminds me—
His eyes flick to a spot below my chin. “What’s that?”
Huh? Oh . . . My fingers graze the button necklace at my collarbone. “Ky made it for me.” I’ve been wearing it since we left the Village. Is he just now noticing?
“What happened to the one I gave you?”
Does he have any idea how much it broke my heart when I lost his gift? If he did, would he care? “I lost it.”
Joshua’s eyes darken. “Probably for the best. Once you return to the Third, I won’t need to track you anymore.” He stiffens and pulls away. “If I hear anything from Lark, I’ll let you know.” He turns around, a cue my welcome is worn.
I nod even though he’s not looking at me, our perfect good-bye now ruined. I creep down the steps and leave the way I came.
Unsure.
The cart driver waited for me, something no cabbie would do without guaranteed payment. He drops me at the Physic’s cabin, but Robyn and Wade aren’t here. And where’s Ky? He was crashing on one of the hammocks. Now all are vacant.