Flying? No. I’m being carried.
Thump, thump, thump. My carrier’s heartbeat races, pounding against my ear as the jolting continues. Judging from her higher-pitched breaths, she’s a woman. Her feet slap the ground. She’s running. Her arms cinch around me. Mmmm, cozy.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Click. Creak.
“Are you Nathaniel Archer?” Mom’s voice vibrates into me, muffled slightly by the fabric covering my ears.
My eyelids flutter. A helpless cry escapes without warning.
Mom’s face hovers above me. She sways, a soothing motion.
Something in my mouth. Mom’s finger? I suck vigorously, calming.
“Who wants to know?” Nathaniel asks in a gruff voice.
This isn’t a dream. It’s a memory. I’m a baby, remembering something impossible for me to recall. I will myself to focus.
“And if I refuse?” Nathaniel asks.
Refuse what?
Mom’s chest heaves, pressing against my frame. “Then we’re both already dead.”
We’re moving again. Whine. Snap. It’s warmer. We must be inside, the door closed. Mom shifts. Floorboards groan as she shuffles forward.
It’s dark. So dark.
Fizz. A match strikes. Hiss. An orange glow washes the ceiling. I only see Mom.
“Father, who is this?” Makai, has to be. He sounds younger, but it’s him.
“Ask her,” Nathaniel harrumphs, as pleasant as ever. “Claims to be running from Tiernan. As far as I’m concerned, you can tell my younger son until he returns what he stole, I’ll have nothing to do with him.” Having met him, seen the sadness in his eyes, I recognize the wrench in Nathaniel’s voice as grief, not hatred. Despite Tiernan’s actions, Nathaniel loved his younger son.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” Mom adjusts me in her arms. “But I promise you I’ve had no part in his crimes.”
“Please forgive my father.” Makai sounds closer now. “He is not used to hosting guests.”
An inward smile spreads across my middle. I wish I could see my uncle’s face. Would I be able to discern his admiration for Mom even then?
“Yes, well.” The defense in her tone relaxes. “I understand your hesitation. Tiernan is not the most trustworthy person in the Second.” Her voice hitches at that. Is the admission painful? “What reason would you have to believe me?”
“May I see?”
I’m shifting, turning. Makai’s face fills my vision. He’s younger. No specks of gray streak his hair, and the lines on his face are not so pronounced.
“The child is my brother’s. Isn’t she?”
“Y-yes.” A crack in Mom’s voice. “He mentioned this place once. I have no one. I wasn’t sure where else to go.”
“You cannot stay here,” Nathaniel calls from a distant corner of the room. “There’s a nice cave deeper into the island. Perhaps you and the child can make a home there.”
“Father!” Makai scolds, whipping his head in Nathaniel’s direction.
The loudness startles me, sends me wailing again.
Mom coos. Moisture crests her eyelashes. “Please,” she whispers. “If Tiernan finds us, I’m afraid he will kill my daughter. And my father . . . I’m not sure we’re safe around him either.”
“Why?” I could kiss Makai for his kindness. Every single compassionate word trumps ten of Nathaniel’s insolent ones.
I quiet.
“He’s very old-fashioned,” she explains, further hushing her tone. “My indiscretions would be an embarrassment to him. Aside from that, he has released the Void. There’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Your father is Jasyn Crowe.” It’s not a question. Makai strokes my forehead, but his eyes remain fastened on Mom.
Mom nods. “My father has never harmed me, but I cannot risk it. I cannot stay there.”
“Who helped you escape?”
Huff. “I was raised in the castle. I know my way around.”
She was only sixteen. It must’ve been difficult for her to prove her independence, her credibility, to these two men when she was just a kid herself. I have to give her credit. Even under Nathaniel’s skepticism and Makai’s kind but unsure questioning, she’s holding her own.
“Why come to us? What can we do?”
It’s getting hot in here. I wiggle and stretch, trying to loose myself from this constricting mummy wrap. Ah, my arms are free. That’s better.
“You’re a Guardian, are you not? Is protecting people not your job? I’ve heard there’s a rebel hideout. Someplace inconspicuous. Can you take us there?”
A toddler’s cry pierces their whispers.
“I’ll get him.” Nathaniel tromps past.
My tummy rumbles. I cry again, and Mom resumes her sway. But I won’t relent. Must I be so theatrical about it?
“Does she have to be so loud?” Nathaniel half shouts when he returns. Is Joshua on his hip? I can’t see past my squinched eyelids.
“She’s a baby,” Mom counters, still rocking from side to side. “Babies cry. There, there, brave girl.”
The teenager part of my brain managing to comprehend things laughs at her nickname for me. She’s always called me this. Always thought I was more than I am. Maybe I’m finally starting to live up to the endearment. I’m trying to, anyway.
“It’s all right. Shhh,” she tries.
Waaahhhh! I guess my pipes developed at an early age. Quite the solo number I’m performing.
“Well hi there, what’s your name?” She’s not talking to me.
“Jos-wuh,” a tiny voice replies.
Be still, my philharmonic heart.
“Do you want to see the baby girl, Joshua?” Mom asks sweetly.
“Uh-huh.”
She moves and sits.
I can hardly see or hear through the screams and tears. Would I shut up already? I want to see him too.
Soft skin touches my hand. My pulse slows, and I grow quiet. I turn my head. Three-year-old Joshua stares back at me, his eyes almost green in the firelight’s glow, his little-boy hair two shades lighter, all curls. But it’s him. He smiles.
“Bee-bee,” Joshua announces, as if he’s discovered something everyone else has failed to realize.
“Eliyana,” Mom says.
“El,” Joshua repeats, his l sounding more like a w, his brows scrunched and serious. “Kwhy?” He cocks his head.
Cry?
“Mmm-hmm.” A smile lilts through her voice.
I blink more wetness away. Sniffle.
Joshua pats my hand. “No kwhy, bee-bee El.” Then he closes his eyes, leans in, and presses his pudgy pink lips to my right cheek.
A surge of warmth spreads through my skin, tingling, burning. A sensation I’ve felt only one other time in my life . . . a few moments ago . . . when twenty-one-year-old Joshua kissed me, not for the first time. For the second.
A Tinker Bell giggle escapes my chest, and I wrap my tiny hand around his finger.
Mom gasps.
I don’t take my eyes off Joshua. How can I? Even as a baby, it’s impossible not to adore him.
“What?” Protective-older-brother worry rushes Makai’s breathy question. “What is it? Did he hurt her? He’s still learning how to be soft.”
“No.” Panic coats the word. She adjusts me once again, and light floods my eyes. Squint. “Look.”