I shake my head slowly. “That’s all right—”
“Iinsist,” the man demands, his voice a tad harsher than it’d been seconds before. And that mustache… it curls above an almost-nefarious grin. My hackles rise at the sound, at the sight, my heart already racing. This is bad.
But—
“My sweet, you are far too beautiful to strut about the isle in rags,” the man says. “You will stick out like a sore thumb amidst a forest of green.” He grins, and his expression no longer seems nefarious at all.
Maybe it never was.
Maybe I’m merely losing my mind.
Arion glances between us warily, studying my face as if I am, infact, the problem here. Not this man. Thisniceman who seems to only want to dress us. I shake my head again in an effort to stop my negative thinking in its tracks and instead focus on the man before us.Just a man.He seems familiar in the way that everything here does. His bald head reflects the sunlight streaming through a thousand willow branches, and a bright-green-and-purple plaid cloak hangs from his slight frame, his feet bare and large and horribly calloused. I don’t think about how gross the sight ofthatis. I think about how glad I am he saved me.
“Thank you,” I manage through a tight smile. “For not letting the tree kill—”
He presses his umbrella to my lips. “Don’t say it! Cheshire is very triggered by thoughts of…you know.”
I do know. I know very well.Death.I smile harder against his umbrella, and he relaxes with an exaggerated sigh. “You and your gentleman suitor are not fit to be wandering around with your limbs out. It’s quite cold on the isle—”
Arion steps forward. “It’s fine. We don’t mind—”
“Nonsense! Clothes make the man!” The mustachioed man hooks an arm through mine and drags me forward, weaving us with spritely speed down the trail before I can think better of it. Before I can fight him off. “You are in luck, you know. I am Gerald. Yes,thatGerald—of Harold and Gerald’s Fine Fineries. It would be my pleasure to find you both something suitable for your visit. I dress everyone here. Whether they like it or not.”
At the very least, Arion’s disguise seems to be working perfectly. This man—Gerald—doesn’t seem offended by my merrow hair or Arion’s warlock wings, which means he definitely doesn’t see them. Although, that doesn’t stop making this a complete nuisance. We don’t have time for Gerald, and certainly not for Harold or fine fineries. The less time spent here, the better, and we have a library to rob—
The tree nearest me groans, uprooting as if to stomp down on me. Gerald frowns at it and whacks it too with his umbrella, pulling me faster along. “These fuddy-duddy dryads. I swear—sometimes they don’t know up from down or side from side, never mind thatmost sides are the same side so long as you’re on a different side. Names, my sweets?”
It’s hard to keep up with the words spilling from his lips in a fast torrent of nonsense. Almost as hard as it is to keep up with his pace. “Uh, pardon?” Arion follows behind us, maneuvering easily over fallen leaves, twigs, and acorns.
“Yournames,” Gerald urges. “I can’t well call you ‘my sweets’ in front of my truest sweet.”
Without thinking better of it, I say, “I’m Zephyra.”
Abruptly, Gerald pushes me through the hollow of a willow, and I trip into a shoppe smothered in rich fabrics and vibrant textiles. Another man waits inside, dusting first gossamer curtains and then a hive of buzzing bumblebees that hangs from the curtain rod. His dark brown head shines the same as Gerald’s, though he has no other facial hair in sight, and he wears mismatched stockings with a fuzzy robe. He whirls when he hears Arion enter, waving kindly before his gaze falls to me. “Well, well, well,” he says with an impish expression. “Just look what the cattails dragged in.”
I don’t respond.
I can’t respond.
Because Gerald turns at the same time, pokes me in the stomach with his umbrella, and says, “Zephyra! Ha! I knew I remembered you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ZEPHYRA
You—yourememberme?” I ask breathlessly. Anxiety curdles in my veins. My head pounds, blood roaring in my ears. How much does Gerald remember?
The theft? The bloodshed? The sobs that racked me on that empty shore?
Once the dryad wrought justice, no one seemed to care what happened to us. They just went about their lives as if nothing had happened. As if Jacin hadn’t…wasn’t…
Fuck.Fuck the Greenwood Isles. Fuck this island and its people and its enchantments. I can’t breathe through the pain. This was a terrible idea. As reckless as everything else I’ve done. I shouldn’t have come here.I shouldn’t have brought Arion.
Gerald lifts my chin with the umbrella, pushing my cheeks in every direction as I stare at him in wide-eyed worry. He doesn’t speak. And the bees—they’ve flown from their hive. They buzz towardmenow, condemning me. Damning me. The flowers growing from crevices in the floor reach up as if wanting to drag me down. I glance behind me, desperate for help, but Arion towers in the threshold, his hands gripping the entrance, knuckles ghost white. Power roils off him. It throttles the air, an electric current that snags the bumblebees’ attention. His gaze doesn’t leave myface, and our silver cord—it pulsates with anger.Hisanger. I can’t understand why, however. Other than the fact that at the very first opportunity, I’ve already—probably,somehow—ruined everything.
And if my memories don’t get us killed, Arion’s rage surely will. Aren’t warlocks supposed to forsake emotion? He isn’t exactly being subtle. Not as the bees swarm to sting him instead, and his hands nearly snap the doorframe in two. I jump backward, directly in their path, waving them away before hedecimates another island. His wings seem to understand and undulate, scattering the bees with a lazy breeze. Although, it appears no one but me can see them.
“Hmm.” Gerald’s brow pinches. “Harold, my sweet, did you carve another window in the shoppe? There seems to be more wind.”
