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Princess Nerina bares her teeth, her sharp canines and pointy ears
eerily inhuman on her mostly human face. “Don’t threaten me, woman.”
I take the brooch from Quinn and dangle it over the water. “This
belonged to a powerful marchioness. If you don’t want it, I’ll just put it in my—”
“Fine,” says Nerina. “But I cannot make any promises. My father
thinks for himself. He will do what’s best for our kind.”
“That’s all I ask.” King Dorian’s daughters are his most precious
treasure. I doubt he will disregard my warning.
I drop the brooch into the waves. Princess Nerina dives under and
comes up again, clutching it to her chest. Her expression transforms into an ugly grin, then she swims off, splashing us with a slap of her tail.
“She’s a darling,” Vevina drawls, wiping off her wet cheeks. “Is she always so well mannered?”
“Do you think the king will listen to you?” Quinn asks.
I sheathe my sword. “I don’t know, but at least we’ve bought us
some time.”
Claret reaches for Laverick’s hand, then Vevina’s. The three of them stand linked together and watch the princess swim out to sea. Quinn
runs at them and jumps on Vevina’s back. Laverick picks up a long,
skinny piece of driftwood and pokes the lass on the bottom. In sec-
onds, they all have sticks in their hands and are swinging them around like sparring swords. I stroll over and watch Claret and Laverick dance around each other, teaching Quinn swordplay tips.
Vevina comes to stand beside me. “The Fox and the Cat haven’t
lost their touch.”
“They survived the streets because of you, because of each other.”
“And we will survive this as well. Are you ready?”
I link my arm through Vevina’s and smile. “Let’s give them another
moment.”
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It’s another hour before everyone settles down in the cabin. No giants have been heard or seen or felt since our visitor surprised me at the manor. They must be resting up for the battle tomorrow. We should be doing the same, but I’m like a mechanical bird in a music box, chirping as my gears spin and spin.
“Vevina,” Alick asks from where he sits in the corner. “Would you
trim my hair, please? I’d like to look myself tomorrow.”
She rises from where she was resting near the Fox and the Cat and
goes to him. Her hand trails across his shoulder and caresses the long hair by his neck. “How short would you like it?”
“The length it was when we first met.”
Jamison makes eyes at me and nods at the door. We slip outside
into the mild night and fill our lungs with country air.
“This way,” I say, tugging him along. “I have something to show
you.”
We go toward the pond and follow the marshy bank to the other
side. Across the water is a freshly whitewashed gazebo.
“How did you . . . ?” Jamison hurries along the path. I trail him
around the fishpond to the outdoor structure. He steps onto the openside gazebo and does a big, slow lap around. He touches the latticework and faces me. “How?”
“Claret and Laverick. As soon as I told them about this place, they
wanted to fix it up for you.” I peer up at the domed roof. “They polished it up beautifully.”
“It looks just like it did when I was a child.”
“Hopefully it will stay this way.” I step into his arms and rest my
head against his shoulder.
“Everley, whatever happens tomorrow, remember I saw us in the
clock shop.”
And I saw the Everwoods burn.
“Would you have come into the shop on your own?” I ask.
“Pardon?”
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“The day you saw me seated at the clerk’s desk. You were there on
assignment because of Markham. Say he hadn’t given you a reason to
go into the store. Would you have come into the shop on your own?”
Jamison leans back to read my expression. “Why are you asking?”
“I was thinking about what my life would be like without
Markham.” I gently skirt around my worries and the choices I must
make on the morrow. “I met Laverick, Claret, and Vevina because I went to the docks to learn swordplay. I met Quinn and Alick on the ship. I met Radella and Osric during our journeys through the Otherworlds.
And I met you because you came into the clock shop on an errand for
the navy. All of you came into my life because of Markham.”
Jamison pushes my hair out of my face. “I would have visited the
shop on my own.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Markham changed your life the same way you changed
mine. One look at you—”
“And choirs of pixies sang.”
He chuckles, then lifts my hand and lays it over his heart. “You
changed my life. Not Markham.”
We lean against each other, bracing each other up, and gaze out
at the fishpond. The two of us relax into one another, letting ourselves breathe from our worries of the morrow. As I rest against him, my
spirit starts to tug off my body. Before I can sink back down, I notice Jamison’s spirit is lifting out of himself too.
He is mesmerized by the pond and doesn’t appear to notice—he
would certainly yell or show alarm if he did.
I am doing this. Somehow, I am drawing his spirit up with mine.
I pull us back down again so he doesn’t realize what’s happening.
We stay together, holding each other and listening to the frogs and
crickets for so long I forget we cannot return to the manor. We have to sleep in that shed.
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Jamison yawns, which sets off a round of yawns from us both.
We disentangle ourselves from each other and stroll back to the cabin on heavy feet. Laverick sits outside on an empty ammunitions crate,
a shawl draped across her shoulders and a musket in her lap. Jamison thanks her repeatedly for her work on the gazebo and goes in. I pause to stay outside with her.
“The gazebo is perfect.”
“Gave us something to do.” Laverick rises to shake out her legs and
kicks a rock, sending it into the weeds. She punts two more before she speaks again. “I know the constable is dead.”
“H-how?”
“I heard the stars sigh.” She sets down the firearm and draws the
shawl around her shoulders. “When my mama got ill, she gave me the
job of slaughtering the ducks. I hated holding them down and swinging the cleaver, but she said death would sneak into my life many times and I shouldn’t be afraid of it. Death is a silence you can hear, she told me, like the stars are taking a collective sigh. A sigh is what I heard when Mama fell asleep by the fire one afternoon. I heard it again from the constable in the alley.” Laverick stares in the direction of the hooting owl. “I’ve always wondered why the stars sigh. Do you think it’s a sad sigh? Or a contented sigh because one of Madrona’s spirits has gone
home?”
I roll a few answers around in my head before settling upon one.
“I think death is only one part of life. We shouldn’t let it stop us from living.” I take off the key necklace I’ve been carrying. “I want you to have this. It’s the key to the clock shop.”
“Everley,” she says. “I couldn’t.”
“You can. Open your ammunition shop and start building on your
creations. The giants have a gu
n that fires multiple rounds. I know you can create something even better. You don’t have to worry about the
queen anymore. She’s going to leave you and Claret alone.”
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Laverick accepts the key, her eyes big as the owl’s. “What about
you?”
“I’m the Time Bearer,” I say, my tone falsely light. “I’ll be all right.”
“No matter what happens tomorrow, I’m proud of you, Evie. You
chased Killian across the worlds and never backed down. Most people
would have given up.”
“Maybe I should have.”
“No,” Laverick says thoughtfully. “There will always be monsters.
We can’t let them go unchallenged, or why get up in the morning and
face the worlds?” I lean into her side and wrap my arms around her
waist. Laverick shares her shawl with me and tips her head against mine.
“Do we have to go back inside? It smells.”
I choke on a laugh. “We can stay out here as long as you’d like.”
“Forever it is, then.”
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Chapter Twenty-Five
Loud thudding comes from outside. I wake and push to my feet.
Jamison is already at the window, his pistol drawn. Everyone else sits up, each of us waiting for the roar of a giant or a huge fist to slam its way through the door.
Jamison lowers his gun. “Everley, we have guests.”
We both step outside. Countless blue lights float together in the
predawn dimness like dangling azure stars. It takes a moment for my
eyes to adjust to their glow and recognize they are pixies. Hundreds and hundreds of pixies.
Radella flies over and perches on Jamison’s shoulder. She wears
a helmet and breastplate made from waxy leaves. Her troops are also
dressed for combat.
Marching out of the night behind them is a vast army—elves, sprig-
gans, trolls, and gnomes walking on foot and driving wagons full of supplies. Some of them ride horses, while others sit astride bareback upon centicores. All the soldiers wear light chain mail over black clothes and bear bows and arrows and blades. Commander Asmer rides the queen’s
stallion at the front of them. Behind her is the elven guard, as well as a motley group of field hands and servants from the royal chateau. A member of the elven guard wrangles the leashed barghest as the bloodhound sniffs around and whines to be released.
Everafter Song
My friends amble outside of the hut to view the commotion.
Quinn’s gaze darts this way and that, taking in the assortment of fan-tastical creatures that moments ago only existed to her in storybooks.
Asmer dismounts her horse and shakes our hands in greeting.
“We’re a troop of five hundred. These are all the soldiers I could gather in this short a time.”
“They’ll fight against their king?” I ask.
“They were loyal to Imelda. She served our people for a long time.
Many loved her.” Commander Asmer’s eyes have run dry of tears,
her countenance hard. She gestures, and an elf brings forth a familiar white mare. “Our stable hands said you two got along well before, so I brought you Berceuse.”
I pet the mare’s diamond mark on her nose. This isn’t necessarily a
sign that what Father Time showed me of the battlefield will come to pass, but it doesn’t instill confidence.
“Hello, Berceuse,” I say. “I thought I told you I didn’t ever want
to see you again.” The mare’s brown eyes slide to me. “Let’s make the most of this, shall we?”
The elves pass out helmets and chain mail to our party members.
Alick pul s Quinn aside to speak to her about her assistant-medic duties.
She complains about not participating in the heat of the battle, but Alick holds strong and convinces her that’s the safest place for her and her cat, Prince, since she refuses to leave her feline behind. Asmer shows them to the medic’s wagon.
Vevina persuades a handsome elf to turn over the reins of his cen-
ticore so she may ride the wild beast. I warn her they’re dangerous, and Vevina says that’s why she chose the animal.
The Fox and Cat scout out a seat in a wagon full of black powder,
ammunition, and firearms. Laverick finds herself a six-shot revolver, and in seconds, she has puzzled out how to load and fire it. She pushes another revolver on Claret to carry and teaches her next.
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Jamison slips a chain-mail vest over his shirt and selects a horse.
“The Black Forest is a three-hour walk,” he says. “With an army this size, it could take twice that long.”
Transporting everyone to the forest by portal isn’t practical. We
could never all manage to enter a portal before it shut, and we are so numerous in size, including our wagons and horses, that to go through one small party at a time would separate us. We’re better off traveling on foot as a group. We have the time.
I vault into the saddle, my sword hanging at my side. “Then let’s
march out.”
Our army tramples out of the woods and past Elderwood Manor.
In the dusky morning light, the full damage from the giant’s attack is visible. Jamison and I ride slower as we pass the smashed windows and wrecked front door. From his expression, I can tell he’s already planning the repairs. A stony lump forms in my throat. This day will end in triumph or defeat, and for me, neither ending includes coming home.
Eventually, the manor drops out of sight. I ride on, my joints
wooden and my movements mechanical. I force my gaze ahead and
trek west toward a daybreak horizon.
Be a machine. Be indifferent, like time.
I stop myself. As much as this hurts, I will not spend my final
moments with Jamison hardening myself for what’s to come. Love may
hurt, but it hurts a lot less than caring for nothing at all.
“Evie?” Jamison asks.
My gaze snaps to his. His concerned gaze searches my face. He
must have been watching my shifting moods. The love I see there, the patience, nearly cracks my heart open. I never wanted to keep secrets from him again, but if he knew what I’d done—what I intend to do—
he would stop me. I know, because if the roles were reversed, I would do anything to stop him too.
I press my lips into some semblance of a smile, some arrangement
of reassurance, to confirm that everything will be all right. Let him hang 248
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on to that picture of the two of us in the clock shop. Let him grasp it with both hands, with a full heart. I need him to do that; I need him to believe, or I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can see this through if he doesn’t think I can.
My half-hearted smile is not enough. He’s still watching me, his
worries rising. I sense they will soon take over, and then we will both be more afraid than hopeful. I whisper three little words, the biggest words I have ever said. They come out soundless, but they sing. His eyes soften and shine, and his lips pull up into a grin that has always come easier to him. He says those little, big words back to me, loud and clear, so there’s no doubt I will feel them.
“And I love you.”
Now my smile is quick and genuine and bright. Because he loves
me. He has loved me when I was broken. When I was lost. He has loved me when I was wrong. When I was done. And he loves me stil . His love will help me see this through.
Commander Asmer lowers our pace as we roll into a village. The
huts and cottages have sustained even more damage than the manor,
the structures smashed apart and abandoned.
“Don’t look too closely,” Jamison
warns.
Bloodied debris is strewn across the road and yards. Most of us
keep our eyes straight ahead until the devastation is behind us, on alert for the giants that caused it. Outside the village, we travel past wheat fields trodden down with huge footprints. The former location of the skystalk is desolate.
I separate from the caravan and ride out into the field, stopping
at a huge hole—all that’s left of the skystalk. Commander Asmer and
Jamison ride up behind me.
“Where did it go?” I ask.
“The giants must have chopped it down,” says the commander.
“Skystalks shrivel when they are cut off from creation power and shrink back to the ground.”
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“This is for the best,” Jamison says. “It’s gone instead of falling over and flattening our countryside.”
I shift in my saddle, still unsettled. The skystalk grew from
Madrona’s creation power, and her power connects the worlds, the very absence of which has made her sick. Did the giants topple the skystalk?
Or was it brought down by Madrona’s sickness?
“This will make it harder for Osric to lead the giants here from the Silver-Clouded Plain,” Jamison remarks.
Osric and the giants could leave through an exit portal, but without the Creator reopening all the portals for entry, the giants could never go back home. Their help may not be coming.
The three of us ride back to our troops. We plod on into the late
morning, clouds steadily gathering until they weaken the sun with their dreariness. Our arrival at the remains of the Black Forest casts another sort of gloom over our ranks. The swiftest path is straight through. I ride to the front and lead the way through the wreckage.
A solemn quiet grips us as we navigate around the fallen trees. The
casualty of life harrows me. Markham has uprooted so many lives one
would think I would be numb to it by now. But this forest had with-
stood the test of time, surviving and thriving over centuries. In minutes, all of that was leveled.
Near to the noonday hour, we emerge onto the field where the
Black Forest used to be. A mist has settled over the clearing, obscuring what lies across from us, but I can hear our foes’ footfalls and clanging weapons.
Asmer orders our troops to spread out. Once we are in line, I glance left and right down our ranks. Laverick and Claret have chosen posi-tions near the ammunitions wagon, while Vevina rides closer to us. The medic’s wagon is at the far back. Quinn stands on the driver’s bench to see over the heads of the army in front of her, cuddling her cat, Prince, in her arms.
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