Everafter Song

by Emily R. King

  “As are you,” Jamison says. “I don’t recall Osric’s letter inviting you into my home.”

  Queen Imelda hardly spares him a glance. “I’ve come to the Land

  of the Living to fetch my wayward brother.”

  “You’re too late,” I say. “He escaped up the skystalk. He’ll be in the Silver-Clouded Plain by now. We shouldn’t be wasting our time. We

  need to go after him.”

  “Killian is my responsibility.” Queen Imelda arches her chin, her

  grip tightening on her stave. “No one knows my brother better than I do. I will retrieve him.”

  Now she’s taking ownership of the prince? Where was she when he destroyed an entire world? My family?

  “We need to work together,” I reply. “Markham is a danger to

  us all.”

  The queen catches her breath. “I haven’t heard that name in a long

  time.” She rubs at her throat, adding softly, “Markham was our father’s name.”

  I’m too impatient to let her sentimentality derail this conversation.

  “Your brother stole the infinity sandglass. I owe it to my uncle to get it back.”

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  Everafter Song

  “That’s admirable, Everley,” she says, and I believe she means the

  compliment, or at least wants me to think she does. “But you needn’t worry. I’ll return the sandglass to Father Time after I retrieve Killian.”

  The queen waves for Osric to rise from the floor. “You should have

  educated the humans about our duties so they wouldn’t question my

  capabilities, Llewellyn.”

  His nostrils flare as he takes a slow, controlled breath. “Respectfully, Your Majesty, nothing we say will wipe away our former actions. We

  neglected to protect their kind from our prince.”

  “You’re still angry about your sister,” she replies coldly. He opens his mouth to object, but she raises a finger, silencing him. “No, you are.”

  “You never cared for Brea.” Osric’s answer is simple, but there is

  nothing simple about his resentment.

  “I never wished her harm, and I was as blindsided by their elope-

  ment as you were.” The queen sounds truly perplexed, even now. “Never in a thousand years did I think my brother would give up his people, heritage, and future for someone well beneath his station.”

  Osric clasps his hands so tightly his knuckles turn white. I speak up before the queen disparages his sister again.

  “Markham worked hard to find a way into the Silver-Clouded

  Plain. You say you know him better than anyone, so what’s he’s after?”

  “I don’t know, but whatever it is, he means to make a fool out of

  me.” Queen Imelda fidgets with her earring, her tone distraught. “He is jealous that I inherited our father’s throne and seizes every opportunity to disgrace me.”

  Markham’s actions reflect poorly upon his sister and their people,

  but this is more than a sibling rivalry. “He wants to go back to when elves kept humans as servants.”

  “Killian has always felt an elf’s place is to lead, a sentiment passed down by our father, but I disagreed with their definition of leadership.

  I’ve no interest in utilizing humans as servants. The Creator set forth a mandate after the triad war for elves not to interfere with the humans. I 49

  Emily R. King

  won’t defy the goddess, nor will I let my brother vilify me or my people.

  Commander Asmer will take a small party of soldiers to find Killian

  and bring him home.”

  “Your Majesty,” Osric says, “please let us help—”

  “You and your human associates had your chance to seize him and

  failed. We will do this without your interference, or I’ll be forced to detain you alongside Killian’s human pet.”

  Jamison’s eyebrows jump up. “Do you mean Harlow Glaspey?”

  “She’s been uncooperative and quite surly to our guards,” Queen

  Imelda replies. “Now, I must return and report to the elven council.

  Members of my guard will stay behind to ensure you’re not tempted to follow Commander Asmer.”

  “Your Majesty, your people’s visit won’t go unnoticed,” Jamison

  states. “Our ruler, Queen Aislinn, is already sending soldiers to investigate the skystalk. The farmers will tell them they saw your guard.”

  “Your queen won’t permit her subjects to claim they saw elves. Such

  utterances would support every belief she’s fought against.” The elven queen reads our expressions of astonishment. “We know about the happenings in your world. As elected stewards over the Land of the Living, it’s our duty to stay appraised. When your queen denounced Mother

  Madrona and the Otherworlds, it caused quite a stir among our council.

  The foolish woman doesn’t even believe in pixies.”

  Queen Imelda signals for a guard to pick up the iron birdcage.

  “Take this one to the nearest portal and see that she returns home.”

  Radella flutters her wings and wrenches against the bars.

  “Why are you taking her away?” I ask. “She wants to stay with us.”

  “She’s been ignoring Father Time’s summons to return to the

  Everwoods.” The queen peers into the cage at the angry pixie. “He

  asked that I send her back.”

  The guard starts to carry Radella away. She bangs against the bars

  and trills furiously. I rush forward.

  “You’ll be all right, Radella.”

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  Everafter Song

  Her wings droop, her color a miserable dusky purple. I stick my

  pointer finger through the bars, and she grips the tip.

  “We’ll see each other again,” I whisper. “I promise.”

  The guard carries her out of the study, and her trills fade away.

  Queen Imelda points at me with her wooden stave. “As for you,

  Miss Donovan, I’ll let you keep the sword of Avelyn, but only because you’re the Time Bearer, and only because I trust that, as Time Bearer, you won’t test the might of the Land of Promise. Once word that

  Commander Asmer has seized my brother reaches me, I will notify

  my guards, and you and your friends will be permitted to move freely.”

  Jamison draws up taller, his shoulders straight. “You’re holding us

  captive?”

  “You and the members of your household will be unharmed, as

  long as you stay out of our way.”

  A pair of elven guards prod Jamison and me into the corridor.

  Imelda snaps at Osric in their foreign tongue. He bows his head and

  stays behind in the study. We are led down the hal to the library, shoved through the door, and locked inside.

  51

  Chapter Seven

  Claret and Laverick rise from the sofa in surprise. A wave of relief courses through me at finding them in the library.

  “Are you two all right?” I ask.

  “Except for the pushy elf queen who put us in here and told us not

  to leave, we’re fine,” Claret replies.

  Jamison marches to the window to look out at the front courtyard.

  “Guards are stationed outside our door and windows. Commander

  Asmer is riding off with her troops.”

  I quickly explain our encounter with the elf queen to our friends.

  Laverick pushes at her temples. “Maybe Queen Imelda is right.

  Maybe we should let her commander track down the prince. Every time

  we try, something bad happens.”

  “I don’t trust her.” Jamison paces in front of the window. “I think

  she knows what artifact Killian is looking for. If not, why did she answer Osric’s letter right after the prince found a way into th
e Silver-Clouded Plain?”

  His question sends us all into dour reflection. Does Imelda have an

  urgent need to capture Killian? Or does she know what he seeks in the giants’ world and want it for herself?

  “I need a drink,” Laverick says.

  “I’ll get it.” Claret goes to the serving cart. “All the bottles are empty.”

  Everafter Song

  Jamison crosses the room to her. “Let me look. I could stand for a

  drink as well.”

  They search for spirits while Laverick fiddles with a small bundle of fuses in her hand, playing with the frayed ends. I should tell her about the constable, but now seems like an extraordinarily bad time.

  “You know what I hope happens?” Laverick asks, her voice tired.

  “I don’t care about the prince. Not really. I want to open a firearm-and-ammunition shop with Claret, like I told you about when we were in

  the Land Under the Wave.”

  “You should,” I say. I think of my own dream to one day sell my

  wood carvings in my uncle’s clock shop and be with Jamison. Such a

  wish feels so far away. I don’t know how to get us from here to there without removing Markham first.

  “I’ve been deluding myself.” Laverick laughs softly, a lackluster

  sound. “The things I did while living on the streets, the folks I pinched coin from . . . I thought pickpocketing didn’t hurt anyone. I was wrong.

  I did wrong. What happened with the constable is my comeuppance.”

  “He had a gun too,” I reply. “He shot too.”

  She goes on as though I didn’t speak. “I was so arrogant. I held

  him at gunpoint, and I never thought . . .” Her voice chokes with tears.

  “When I saw him start to fire at you, I didn’t think. What sort of person doesn’t hesitate to shoot?”

  “You’re a good person, Laverick. You were trying to protect me.”

  Her wet gaze rises to me. “The Creator may not see me that way.

  She probably views me the same as she does any other murderer.”

  Claret lets out an exclamation of victory. “I found a bottle of port!”

  “I’ll pour,” says Jamison, collecting the glasses.

  A moment later, Claret brings over full tumblers. I take mine and

  join Jamison at the window.

  “The queen left,” he says flatly. “Is what you told her true? Does

  Prince Killian plan to enslave our kind?”

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  Emily R. King

  “He wants to try, but I think he ultimately wants to change some-

  thing from his past.” I shake my head, indicating I have no idea what.

  Jamison shifts his weight off his bad knee and rubs at his upper

  thigh. “We all have things we wish we could undo.”

  “But none of us has the arrogance to try,” Claret says from where

  she’s listening from across the room.

  Laverick sits forward, setting her elbows on her knees. “I know

  what I would undo.”

  “Me too,” Jamison mumbles.

  I also know which moment I would return to and alter.

  “Enough.” Claret sets down her glass with a clink. “We aren’t going

  to waste our time wishing for impossible things. So, our lives are in shambles at the moment? I had no one when I was a little girl, just the streets and uncertainty. I’d never wish those years away, because they brought me to all of you.”

  Her statement pulls me up. Markham took away my family once,

  and I couldn’t do anything about it. But I can stop him from tak-

  ing my family now. I swallow my drink in one gulp. “I’m going after

  Markham.”

  “We are going after him.” Jamison strides to the library shelves and begins moving books about and looking behind them. “The queen left

  with two guards. By my count, eight more remain at the manor. Everley and I will get the horses. Claret and Laverick can—”

  “I can’t,” Laverick rasps. “I’m sorry, Evie and Jamison. I’d like to help, but I can’t go with you.”

  Claret grips her hand. “Lavey and I will stay behind and watch

  over the manor.”

  Jamison gives a grunt of agreement and continues to shuffle the

  books on the shelves.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I may know of a way out of here that doesn’t involve you stab-

  bing a guard. My grandfather liked puzzles. As you may recall, he built 54

  Everafter Song

  hidden chambers in select rooms that led to concealed passageways. I remember seeing an opening in here somewhere. Or maybe it was in the study? In any case, there may be a book with a tree on it, a holly tree.”

  While Jamison shuffles books, I whisper to the Fox and the Cat.

  “Should you get the chance, there’s something I would like you to do for me while we’re gone.” I quickly summarize my request so Jamison

  won’t overhear. Right as they agree, he calls out.

  “Aha!” He tips down a book and unlocks a lever in the wall, releas-

  ing a narrow pop-out door. The three of us go to see what he’s found.

  “Holy elderwood,” breathes Claret.

  “Holly, actually.” Jamison points out the symbol on the leather

  book that acted as the lever to open the secret door. “This marked the opening.”

  Claret traces the tree symbol. “In the tree alphabet, holly means

  ‘freedom.’”

  “I knew I remembered seeing a secret door in this room,” Jamison

  says, beaming. “My grandfather was an eccentric man with a tendency

  toward paranoia or, as my mother would say, fanciful indulgences.” He picks up a lantern and ducks through the opening.

  I pull Laverick in for a hug. “You’re one of the best people in all the worlds,” I say. “Whatever happened before or happens next, you’re my friend, and I love you for always.”

  She squeezes me back. “Be safe. Teach that prince a lesson.”

  “I will.”

  Claret pulls me in close next. “Evie, don’t worry. Lavey will be back to her usual antics in no time, blowing things up with her black-powder inventions and lighting things on fire.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve never had a real home, not one I could be proud of. The

  chance that I could have one with Lavey is worth fighting for.”

  Claret’s inference that, in time, everything will be all right wor-

  ries me. She can hardly sleep at night because she’s still haunted by 55

  Emily R. King

  the merrows, and Laverick won’t soon forget how she wounded the

  constable. How often do we place all our hopes and dreams on time?

  We trust that in time, justice will prevail, scars will heal, or wrongs will be forgotten. I haven’t the heart to tell her that time isn’t all-powerful.

  Some wrongs are never righted, some wounds never heal. We simply

  learn to live with them.

  Jamison waits for me to enter the hidden room, then shuts us

  inside. The narrow chamber is filled with crates of mismatched pot-

  tery and dusty furniture. A mirror glass with daisies etched into the frame leans against one wall. A silver-handled comb has fallen to the floor beside baby clothes and a bassinet. Trunks overfilled with women’s clothes are set about. A doll lies on its side near an old playhouse.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  Jamison lifts the lid off a small wooden jewelry box and takes out

  a silver shell brooch inset with diamonds and pearls. “My grandfather built this manor as a wedding gift for my grandmother. The hidden

  doorways and passageways were his idea, though they were never used

  much. My father seems to have converted them into s
torage. Most of

  these things belonged to my mother, though some were my sister’s. I

  thought my father had discarded them.”

  I pick up a small painted portrait of a girl. “Is this your mother?”

  “My grandmother. She worshiped Mother Madrona. Back then,

  Children of Madrona were teachers of the old ways. Grandmother

  named this home Elderwood Manor after her esteem for its namesake.”

  I set down the portrait and crouch over a milk crate packed with

  books. They are titles similar to the one Claret was reading last night, books forbidden by the queen for depicting Madrona in a reverential

  manner.

  “Those were once in the library,” Jamison explains. “My mother,

  like my grandmother, studied the old tales. When she was too sick to leave her bed, Mother would read stories aloud to me about pixies and 56

  Everafter Song

  gnomes coexisting in the Everwoods, playing among the elderwood

  trees’ mighty branches.”

  I wipe the dust off a book’s cover and read the title: The Mother of All. “Perhaps it’s time to bring these things out of storage.”

  Jamison turns the shell brooch over in his fingers. “My father kept

  my mother’s and sister’s rooms intact for a long while before clearing them out. It would be odd to put their things back where they were.”

  “I mean that you shouldn’t hide them away. I would give anything

  to have more pieces of my home or family. All I have left are my moth-er’s gloves.” I lift my hands, showing him the faded and mended wool.

  “If you’ve ever wondered if it’s possible to love something to death . . .”

  Jamison offers me the brooch. “I would like for you to have this.

  You’re right. My mother’s things shouldn’t be stowed away. They should be enjoyed.” He pins the brooch on the breast of my cloak and stands back, his lips sliding upward. “There. Now you have another thing to love.”

  I manage a quiet thank-you. The brooch is something meaningful

  that I can appreciate and wear to feel pretty, but in truth, what he has given me to love isn’t a thing I can wear on my cloak. It’s him.

  Jamison raises the lamp, extending its glow down the passageway.

  The tunnel gradually narrows, and the ceiling lowers. I stay close to him and hunch to avoid hitting my head, ignoring the cobwebs and creeping things skittering from the light.