It suddenly dawns on me that after all this time she’s been alive, coming and going from the isle to the mainland and back again, she’s never been beyond the wall. She has no idea what the different courts are like, what it feels like to travel through different seasons and climates. She’s never seen the vibrant orange leaves of Autumn or the moon and stars the way they look in Lunar.
So I tell her.
29
Mother’s lips curl into a smile of contentment as I express the delights and terrors of Faerwyvae. I tell her about the puca, the kelpie, and the Twelfth Court. I relay my experiences with honey pyrus and fae wine, describe the fae food and dresses. I’m so immersed in my stories that I lose track of time.
It isn’t until I hear a noise in the hall that I begin to wonder how near we are to the next hour, the next round the guards will make. I look toward the door, surprised when I find no sign of Aspen. When did he leave? I could have sworn I felt his presence during most of my conversation with my mother. Perhaps some of what I said made him uncomfortable. Maybe he didn’t like the feelings I implied I still have for him.
I frown at the door before I turn back toward my mother. With a jump, I find Aspen materializing next to her, my name on his lips.
“What—”
“Someone’s coming,” he says. “Foxglove saw several figures enter the front of the building. He says one is a man named Henry Duveau.”
Aspen disappears as suddenly as he came, leaving me reeling over what the councilman’s presence means. He’s here? This late? It’s almost midnight!
The door swings open to reveal Franco charging forward. “We have to go. Now.”
Mother’s eyes widen as they take in the fae prince. I cling to Mother’s hands, words pouring from my lips. I don’t know why I feel compelled to say them now, but I do. “I hope you know how much I love you. I'm sorry for every grief I caused. I'm sorry I never listened to you. I'm sorry I didn’t respect you and your craft. I’m sorry I rebelled.”
“Evelyn, we must hurry.” Franco circles his arms around my waist, but I cling tighter to Mother’s hands.
“I’m not sorry,” she says, smiling through a sheen of tears. “Your rebellion taught you independence. It taught you about fire before you even realized it.”
She swims inside my vision as tears flood my eyes. Franco gives me another tug, and this time, I let him pull me away. “I love you,” I shout. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hardly hear her echo the sentiment before we speed out of the room and into the hall. We race to the far side, and Franco grips me tighter. He takes off, sprinting us toward the window. I see guards racing up a set of stairs before he jumps out the window with me pressed close. We fall for endless seconds and I’m sure it will be to our doom. Then I hear Franco’s wings beating the air, and our momentum shifts.
My heart hammers in my chest as I cling to Franco, the Spire shrinking as he flies us away from it. The city clock strikes midnight, and we stop in the shadows of an alley several blocks from the Spire. If it’s the same place we agreed to meet earlier in the case that anything went wrong, then we’re between a milliner and a baker. I can almost smell the remnants of stale bread in the dumpster nearby.
Franco sets me on my feet, and I lean against the alley wall, head spinning as I gather my bearings. I’m not even worried about rats or the overflowing canisters of garbage further down. All I can think about is filling my lungs with air. Slowing my pulse.
When I can finally form a coherent word, I ask, “What happened? Why did the guards make their rounds so early?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I watched them for most of the afternoon today. Not a single round was made before the hour, and no guards came outside these scheduled rounds aside from delivering meals or to escort prisoners to their trials. Neither of those occurrences should be happening this late.”
I can’t help wondering if it had anything to do with the presence of Henry Duveau. “Did anything else happen?”
“Nothing that I saw.”
A dark silhouette enters the mouth of the alley, but I know at once that it’s Aspen. He rushes to me, hands framing my face. I’m surprised by his touch, and he seems to think twice about it as well. He straightens, pinning his arms to his sides, but remains close. “You’re all right.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“No, but Foxglove had me worried. He seemed to think the presence of the man he saw was something to be concerned about.”
“It might be worth some distress,” I say. “The guards made their rounds too early. They may have seen us escaping before we fled.”
“At least you’re safe.”
My eyes lock on Aspen’s, the words I said to my mother about him ringing in my mind. Did he understand what I hinted at? What my tears meant to convey to her? Who knows what he actually heard. How long he was there.
Franco clears his throat. “I’m going to fly back and see if I can figure out what triggered the guards. Wait here. I’ll let you know if there’s anything we should be concerned with.”
“Good idea,” Aspen says.
The prince shifts into his full raven form and flies off, leaving me alone with Aspen. I avert my gaze away from his face. “Is Foxglove all right?” I ask.
