It’s funny; Emmett and Ivy may be skeptical of his devotion to Lydia, but I have little doubt it’s genuine. It’s hard to fake looking that forlorn. The way he yearns for her is nearly palpable.
We all face the bridge, waiting for Ivy, but minutes tick by and she doesn’t appear. Marion and I share an uncomfortable glance but don’t voice our fears.
Finally, we hear the dull echo of footsteps, but it’s not Ivy who comes down from the bridge. It’s Emmett’s boots that step onto the soft spring grass.
He scans the four of us, and a look of panic crosses his face. “Where is Ivy? She went through before I did.”
Rhion curses under his breath and, without hesitation, steps back onto the bridge, disappearing like vapor.
Lydia stands on her toes and strains to look after him, but he’s vanished completely.
She lets out an audible sigh of relief when he reappears, just moments later.
“I have good news and bad news,” Rhion announces. “Which would you like first?”
“The good news?” Lydia says cautiously.
“Ivy is fine.”
“What?” Emmett roars.
“I just said she’s fine.”
“Little comfort when you just said there’s also bad news.” Emmett’s brows furrow in anger.
Rhion’s dark hair is wild and tousled. “The bridge spirit didn’t accept Ivy’s button. He was very offended by the lack of memories attached to it. He’s sent her back to the castle.”
Emmett’s shoulders drop and he exhales. “She’s safe, though?”
“As ever.” Rhion nods.
Lydia presses her lips together hard enough that the blood drains from them, then takes a sharp breath. I can tell she’s uncomfortable with the whole purpose of this quest but is trying to be strong for Ivy. Perhaps for Emmett as well, but I can’t quite parse the particulars of their relationship. Marion says I’m too nosy, but I prefer the termcurious.
“Let’s keep going, then,” Lydia says quietly. “Where to now?”
Rhion points up ahead, to a path of pastel cobblestones that winds through the darkest part of the wood. “You must remember, for most of Bram’s life, he was the crown prince and the castle was his parents’ home. We constructed this cottage when we were little more than boys as a private retreat. The night Bram—” Rhion hesitates, searching for the right word. I also believe his love for Bram is real. He and Lydia seem similarly pained at the prospect of harming him. I don’t share their reservations.
“The night Bram took the throne,” Rhion continues, “we came here, to the cottage.”
Lydia’s eyes flash, and I know she’s picturing it. Bram’s hand dripping with blood, Rhion beside him, panicked as fires burned and chaos reigned in the castle.
It was the night Mor came to England and made the bargain with King Edward IV, the night that started everything.
“What was Bram’s dad like?” I ask.
Rhion takes a sharp breath through his nose. “A lot like Bram.”
We walk for another half hour or so, and no one seems brave enough to talk. There is an omnipresent eerie feeling that there are many listening ears in this wood. I hold Marion’s hand and hope it communicates all I am unable to say with words:I’m here, I love you, don’t be afraid.
But I know Marion well enough by now to know she’s not afraid. Much like me, she reaches anger much quicker than she gets to fear.
She’s been particularly outraged these last few days. At first, she wanted to wring Ivy’s and Rhion’s necks for getting us kidnapped and stuck in the dungeons for a night. She tolerated the discomfort just fine, but she was incensed I was uncomfortable for even a moment.
Our quarters now are much more comfortable, but we still spend most of our time talking about what we’ll do when we’re home. Marion’s bargain with Queen Mor to make her a talented writer might have been broken, but she never needed it in the first place. Her ability to sell her stories, to make income on her own, has opened the whole world to us.
It’s Emmett I can’t quite read. It’s eerie to see this new, slightly older, faerie-touched version of him. The humidity is causing his longer hair to curl around his ears and his mouth is set in a scowl. Somehow, I think he’s gotten even taller than the last time I saw him in Kensington.
There was a time I thought I knew him better than anyone. I don’t think I know him at all anymore.
