Page 130 of Stealing Tink

“Could I…” I’m afraid to ask, and I don’t know whether it’s because I’m afraid the answer will be no, or whether I’m afraid of the action I’ll take if the answer is yes.

“Yes. If that is what you want.”

I let out a sob.

“And the Nomad?”

To this one, Wendy seems a bit saddened. “I can weave him back in. Into a world my Sisters won’t be able to reach. Into a world where you and he can live peacefully the rest of your lives. It would be the last of them. The last of your lives, but you could be together.”

My heart shudders, and I hold my breath, waiting for something to come crashing down on me.

“I can’t promise he’ll remember you.”

“I understand.”

“And Tink…creating a world like this. It would need a powerful tether to hold it together.”

My hand finds my throat. I close my eyes, touching it longingly. “Can I have tonight with my family?” I ask. “To tell them where I’m going and why?”

“Of course,” says Wendy.

CHAPTER 57

That night, after tears and warm embraces, Blaise brings a mandolin out of the closet and insists I sing for them one last time.

We gather around the fireplace, my mother on one side, my father on the other, and I sing into the night.

It’s a farewell that makes my throat ache, but I welcome the pain. Welcome the catharsis.

Eventually, the night grows dark, and my niece displaces my father on the couch and tucks her head onto my shoulder. She falls asleep like that, until Nox eventually scoops her into his arms and carries her upstairs to her room.

The greatest surprise comes when, at the end of the night, my mother doesn’t fight me.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her as I pull on my cloak.

She holds my cheeks in her hands, tears brimming in her eyes. “For what, dear?”

“You already lost me once. And now I’m leaving you all over again.”

My mother’s smile is pained, but soft. Brave. “When I lost you the first time, you were a child, and I didn’t know where I had lost you to. Oh, the horrors I imagined were happening to you. I believed you dead. And now—dear, I never thought I would see your eyes open again. I’ve even heard you sing. I have suffered too much in losing you to let you suffer the same. All of those nights I worried for you, well, now I can go to sleep and know you are safe, and you are happy, and you are loved. Please just do me a favor, and tell my granddaughters that I love them.”

When I climb up onto the dais, my entire family joins hands, gathering around me.

Wendy, her shadows still swirling around her, places a fingertip on my throat. I clench, and she whispers a quiet apology. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I whisper, then decide that if these are the last words I’m to speak aloud, I’m rather proud of them.

This time, when a Sister takes my voice, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t fill me with panic.

And this time, when she weaves me into a tapestry, I remember.

EPILOGUE

FARIN

I’m playing cards with my fellow crew members when a woman slips into the seat next to me. I’ve never seen her before. I know, because I would have remembered a woman like that.

Her hair is long, falling in golden waves down one side because of how she has it pulled across the back of her neck and over one shoulder. There’s a slightly unkempt look about it. Like she’s not used to the upkeep.