“I’m of noble blood. There’s no such thing as normal.”
Amaris raised her nose in the air, brushing the end as she spoke with a nasally voice. “I’m a snobby noble. All look upon me in shame.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he whispered, pushing past her to descend the steps.
“Hey, I’m not the one with blood of gold coursing through my veins. Do you shit diamonds and wipe your ass with dollar bills too?”
“How does anyone tolerate you?”
They stepped out into the library, and Amaris held the journal tight to her chest. Her mind begged to devour the rest of the entries. Whoever the journal belonged to, they had a lot of explaining to do.
“I’m an absolute hoot back home.”
He didn’t even let out a tiny laugh, but Amaris’s was an awkward chuckle. She tried to picture him smiling and hunching forward in laughter. She even eyed him in her periphery to see if he had crow’s feet around his eyes. Of all the people who could’ve believed she wasn’t a murderer, it had to be him. The giant with a face of stone, who no longer had an ounce of humor in his body.
Chapter 21
Amaris
Theodoric locked thedoor behind Amaris. She leapt onto her bed, setting the book on her lap. For a second, she stared at the cracked leather, tracing her finger down the largest one. In her hands she held what was either the worst trick in the universe or a clue to learning what happened to her. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that the man wrote of falling from a tree to end up on some other poor forsaken planet—world, realm?
Amaris breathed, settling her shaking hands and fidgeting knees. She could do it. All she had to do was open the page.I’ve experienced one outrageous anomaly. What’s another?
She flipped to the next entry. Hours passed, or minutes, maybe even seconds. Time was nonexistent as Amaris read and deciphered the scribbled mess. Each turn was a new boost of adrenaline shooting through her veins. She’d never been this on edge before. Her feet fluttered as she absorbed each morsel of information.
The man was named Valentine Wineman, and he’d recorded his journey. He’d even described the same blue stars that had swallowedAmaris whole. As she read further, she learned their stories were reversed. He was from Magoria. Based on the entry dates, Wineman had traveled to New York and stayed for two years, meeting a woman named Sarah, before heading out west. He rambled on about her beautiful features and gushed about her striking personality.
Amaris’s fingers skimmed over the words of love, wanting there to be a journal stashed somewhere in their house where Derek poured his heart out. He’d always been caring, but had never offered a love letter, nor been overly affectionate. Derek was a private person.
Amaris read on, her heart heavy as his tone grew angrier and frustration bled from his words. He didn’t say what was bothering him, but he felt an overwhelming burden affecting his relationship.
As the pages grew scarce, her heart hammered. She tucked her legs in to keep her nervous energy from sending her pacing about the room. Was there enough ink left to give her the truth on how to get back? Amaris turned the last page, begging he’d written the answers on the back, but it was blank. Her finger dragged along the binding. Pages had been torn out. She slammed the book shut and tossed it across the room.
“That’s it?” She pulled at her hair and screamed.
The universe was laughing at her, giving her a bit of hope and then ripping it from her grasp. He’d grown discontent in life, like every other fool, and never made it back. Amaris hugged her knees, staring into the void darkness of the room, her tiny prison.
Is this going to be the rest of my life?She was going to be forced to remain the duke’s prisoner, acting as his mystique, but how long could she keep it up? When would he decide he’d waited long enough or that she was inadequate? Theodoric said to make herself valuable, indispensable, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t a mystique and didn’t belong here.
Amaris crawled from the bed, fishing the journal off the floor. It was surprisingly sturdy; not a single piece of paper slipped from the binding.A sturdy journal indeed.The pages of the journal were worn, but their initialcolor of white showed through. There were no ink blots but cursive lines drawn with a ballpoint pen.It wasn’t of Magoria. Wineman had made it back. Her shoulders sagged.Of course he made it back.How else would the journal with his adventure have found Pricilla? Unless the tree could transport only books, he’d returned from Earth.
Amaris flipped back through the pages, noting the differences in their stories. She’d completely dismissed the old willow, but seeing it was likely her way home, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Was the way home only a day’s ride into the woods? What about Charibert?
Wineman had mentioned the city in his first entry. Amaris hadn’t heard of it before, but it was possible there were multiple trees leading to different locations.Or I’m screwed and now have to find this Charibert.What if there was only one tree that spit the person out wherever it pleased? She could work with New York. Calling Derek from a pay phone or contacting the authorities to get a hold of him would be easy. Wineman may not have known if there was a tree in Luana Bay, but he’d traveled through the one in Charibert. She could scour the forest in Luana and if she couldn’t track down the willow, she’d find a way to Charibert. She owed it to Derek and Viv to try. If they were using their time to search for her, then she could do it.
She grabbed the empty satchel from her visit to The Merry Sheridan and threw the journal inside. Her hands trembled as they wrapped around the strap. She was going to do it. It was too late for anyone to be up. She would sneak into the library, steal a map, and be gone before daylight.
She unlatched the window. A breeze caught it, dragging it open with a slam, tensing her muscles. Seconds passed, but there wasn’t a cry of alarm or the shouting of a mob armed with torches and pitchforks. She was only a few stories up, but it was still higher than most standards.
In high school, Amaris had challenged the ultimate feat on a weekend basis and snuck out a window and scaled down the downspout to meet up with Derek. One time, she’d slipped from the window and miraculouslydidn’t wake Gran. She only hoped that wasn’t to be repeated. There weren’t bushes below to catch her fall now.
She slid her feet out first, finding a rock to brace herself. She shimmied off the windowsill and began her methodical trek to scale down the wall. She’d go to the library and then head out to the stables. The journal had found her for a reason. Esaias had taken the last tonic. She needed to quit being afraid and do something about it. Tonight was it.
She jumped the last two feet and landed near the garden. Unease warped her stomach. Why did it feel wrong? She was going home. She’d gone into the river to save Theodoric, and now she’d done all she could for Esaias. Hunched forward and following the shadows, she found the kitchen doors. The loudest creak ever erupted through the massive kitchen, but Ms. Borstad wasn’t around. She’d said she wasn’t looking to stab her in the heart, but if Amaris snuck up on her, she didn’t want to learn what the old lady was capable of.
She moved swiftly through the halls, stopping at each corner to make sure she didn’t face-plant into anyone. Even if only soldiers knew of the accusations against her, she couldn’t risk being spotted. The last hallway sent shivers through her. She swore the portraits were haunted. The frames’ occupants were waiting for a single soul like her to show their ghostly forms. Her feet sped along, her eyes focused on the floor until she slipped safely through the library doors. She brushed a line of cold sweat beading her forehead.
She hadn’t ventured much farther than the mystique tower or Pricilla’s little alcove, but it couldn’t be that difficult to find a map. The challenge would come with trying to find one that would fit in her satchel. Pricilla’s ancient scrolls were at least three feet wide.
