Joshua twirls me around and around, the perfect gentleman. He knows every step and sway, never faltering or missing a beat. Everything about him is methodical and planned. Purposeful. He knows each move before he makes it, each word before it’s uttered.
With Joshua I am safe. With Joshua I am home.
Reggie’s deep laugh rises over the crackling fire. Mom and Makai join in the dancing, her smile brighter than a full moon. When the music slows, Joshua intertwines his fingers with mine once more and takes me to a stall where his white stallion (because, why not?) Champion waits, saddled and ready.
Joshua lifts me onto the back of the saddle, then mounts. I wrap my arms around his waist, inhaling his warmth and spice and all things Joshua. When we’ve cleared the stables, Champion transitions from a trot into a gallop. I hold fast to my knight on a white horse as we circle the castle. He’s quiet until we halt near the rose garden.
That’s when I stop breathing. Because holy Verity, how is this possible?
What was dead under Jasyn’s rule has now burst to life. Vibrant roses bloom everywhere, a maze of crimson and scarlet. Joshua dismounts, then helps me do the same, leading me along the rosebush-guarded path until we reach a marble bench at the center. And there, sitting on the bench, atop a pillow embroidered with purple thread, is the white gold, diamond-studded band I returned to him weeks ago. The one that hung from my necklace chain like an anvil. The one I asked him to keep until I was ready to wear it for real.
I guess he thinks a month is ample time to wait to re-propose.
How can I disappoint him? How do I tell him I’m still not ready?
My heart. Oh, my stupid, unsure heart.
I know the answer, but I won’t admit it aloud. Instead of A Tale of Two Cities, it’s a tale of two boys—men. But I have to believe my feelings for Ky stem only from wanting to save him as he saved me. That’s why I gave him a Kiss of Infinity. Because I didn’t want him to die. That’s why I search for a way to end the Void now. Because it’s not fair he’s taken on such darkness only to live with it, alone, while I act out my light and fluffy happily ever after.
Guilty much?
“El,” Joshua says, oblivious to my internal dilemma. “I think you know why I’ve brought you here.”
I swallow hard past the boulder in my throat. No need to panic. Cold feet are uncalled for. I expected this, even if later rather than sooner.
Joshua tilts my chin up and kisses me. The Verity dances, swirling and twirling around my pitter-pattering heart, weaving in and out of my soul. Why was I worried again?
“Cheer up, sleepy Jean,” Joshua sings in my ear, rocking me back and forth. He’s the bluebird’s wings I hide beneath. The six o’clock alarm that never rings.
I stir in my sleep, the memory begging to end there. Where it was good and perfect and right. But of course it doesn’t.
Before Joshua can get to his knees to ask for my hand, I’m on the ground. Aching, crying, and I don’t know why. It’s as if I’m being burned, seared to my core. What feels like a knife slitting my jaw forces a yelp from my lips.
Joshua joins me where I kneel, his face a contorted mess. My pain is his. And what’s worse? There’s no denying where my pain stems from.
Ky is in danger. And there is not a single thing I can do to stop it.
I bolt upright in bed, the clothes I’ve worn for the past day damp with sweat. It’s still night, the darkness casting an eerie quiet over every rug and drape. My room is static, the earthquake ceased. Moonlight no longer spills into the room. When I slide out of bed and move to the window, I can no longer spy Dawn Lake or its contents. Clouds fill the skies, making it too dark to tell how much water remains in the Threshold below.
I rub my jaw from ear to chin. The pain I felt that day was so real. Too real, making the ache in my knee a mere bruise in comparison. The brain is a funny thing. Dreams are merely devices that allow us to relive memories we don’t want to lose. They’re a way of idealizing relationships, of putting them in our perfect little boxes where no one can touch them. But this dream—this memory—has a dark side. All memories do, if you know where to look. This dream, this memory, always turns nightmarish. Except, instead of waking to find it was just my imagination, I feel as if a bucket of ice has been dumped over my head, reminding me what I must do. I twist Joshua’s ring around my finger and straighten the crown on my head.
I’ve scoured the library ten times over and have unearthed nothing of consequence. I’m making my way through The Reflection Chronicles, too, though the feat is slow and dull. Reading Mom’s words is one thing, but so far the other journals I’ve perused have been nothing less than the textbook definition of boring. There must be an account with more meat in it, but which one?
Even though Jasyn destroyed much, hundreds of volumes were still uncovered. The people worked together to stash and stow the accounts passed down to them. Then those accounts were brought here to be archived.
Problem is, even though each one is dated, they all seem random. I’ve no way of guessing who would know anything about the history of the Void. No starting point. And without a starting point, I’m lost.
I’ve read Mom’s account of The Reflection Chronicles so many times I have it memorized, along with Queen Ember’s “Mirror Theory.” I could recite the thing word for word and pass with flying colors. Have I missed something? Could there be a clue connecting me to another chronicle? The “Mirror Theory” and information on the Kiss of Infinity are the closest things I have to a beginning. My brain scans the uploaded information. Searching. Skimming. I squeeze my eyes and press my fingers to my temples.
And there it is, a single snippet of information standing out among the rest. How could I have missed it?
No time to waste.
I know where to look.
It’s time to pay an unscheduled visit to Joshua’s study.
SIXTEEN
Joshua
I’m dry heaving on Nathaniel’s front steps. It is, in a word, humiliating. How can this be? Ky Rhyen, my brother? No, not just my brother. My twin brother. It’s the most impossible, unfathomable thing.
And yet it makes more sense than anything has in months.
The front door creaks behind me. I’m aware it’s Wren without so much as a backward glance.
“How are you doing?”
I wave her off. “Fine.”
“You are not fine, David.” She places her hand on my back.
I flinch and her touch vanishes. “Apologies.” Another dry heave. “I didn’t expect . . .”
“I get it.” The bitterness in her tone lets on she still hasn’t forgiven me for the past. “I’m not her.”
I shake my head and then realize she might not understand the reason behind my reaction. “It isn’t that. I’m just unaccustomed to being touched when I’m . . . weak.” I despise the taste of the word.
“No.” Wren’s hand returns. This time I don’t jerk away. “You’re not used to needing someone.” And she leaves it at that. I know she understands. Wren is a lot like me. Independent. Self-sufficient.
A loner.
I take another minute before I straighten and head inside, Wren beside me. Nathaniel waits in his chair and gazes at the dying fire. We linger a good while. When at last he rests his elbow on the arm of his chair, head propped by his thumb and index finger, I know he’s about to relay a story. I sit on the floor and motion for Wren to do the same.