Page 20

Her voice made me jump and then curse as the movement jarred my head.

“Okay, that bad,” she said, a bit of humor in her voice. “You should lay down and sleep. Or maybe I could see if Natalie has something that will help?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

No way was I trusting any of these people for longer than absolutely necessary.

“It’s going to be okay, Mimi,” she whispered. Then her hand fell away, and she stood up, climbing back into the cot. I twisted just enough that I could see her slide under the blanket and turn her back to me, her shoulders tense. Then I eyed the other cot. I should lay down like she suggested, try to fall asleep to see if this headache would get any better. Without moving, though, I knew it would be impossible for me to fall asleep right now.

Too many questions swirled in my mind, keeping me in a state of half-panicked stress.

Was Sloane right and the people involved in all of this were wealthy elites taking part in some ritualistic method of finding a wife? What kind of society even did that?

Well… ours, I supposed. How many dating shows had we watched, picking our favorites of the candidates? But they chose to participate, were selected out of thousands that applied.

I thought back over the robed person who’d given me the tattoo and what they’d said.

Was an omega just another name for those who were deemed qualified for this rite? They’d said it like it was some grand title, though, the way someone might use a rank like duke. What had they meant when they said this whole thing was to keep peace between kingdoms?

The air cooled around me, and I shivered before pulling the cloak tighter around me. When I shivered again, I pressed my hands to the jar of fire. The glass was warm but not burning hot like it should have been. The flickering flames caught the green ink on my hand.

I wasn’t an idiot. Even if we were in a place with literal, bonafide magic there was no way we were going to find a way back. Ripping over whatever portal the mirror hid couldn’t possibly be something just anyone here could do. Otherwise Lillian would have heard about Maine or America or had the thought to double-check if we’d come from some place other than… here.

Sloane stirred in the cot.

“Sloane?” I asked into the darkness.

There wasn’t a response, only the small trembling of the bed under her unconscious shivering. With a sigh, I stood from the floor, grabbing the blanket from the other cot and easing onto my side next to my sister. The fire cast shadows on the wall of the tent, but I did my best to ignore them.

Eventually, Sloane stopped trembling, and my hands didn’t feel quite so frozen. I sunk into a half-awake haze where questions still roiled but the throbbing in my head faded.

At some point, the low murmuring of voices drew me out of the calm in-between.

The small gap between the tent’s entrance and the ground let in a bit of light, muted but growing steadily brighter. I carefully sat up, braced for my head to still be aching, but there wasn’t the low throbbing I’d had before. The brain fog was gone, too, my thoughts clearer. Despite everything, my concussion seemed to be improving.

Shadows moved outside the tent, interrupting the sliver of light. I quietly shook Sloane awake.

“I think it’s almost time,” I whispered.

She nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, then quietly pulled on the leather shoes, tying them with the same bow as the day before. I fixed a couple flyaways in her braids, and she did the same for me. She didn’t seem nearly as nervous as yesterday, a fire in her eyes I hadn’t seen in a while. Maybe she thought we could still find a way back home.

“We’re doing this?”

She pursed her lips, her gaze flicking from me to the jar of fire to the bit of light sneaking under the tent’s flaps.

“Yes,” she said. “I think it’s the best option.”

Well, she certainly wasn’t doing it by herself.

We sat in silence as the tent lightened, the sunlight bleeding through the thick fabric of the tent until the fire was only needed for its warmth. More shadows passed by the tent, but no one stopped, their voices low enough I couldn’t make out any specific words.

“Just like when we were kids,” Sloane whispered.

I whipped my gaze to her, but there was a small smile curving her lips, and her shoulders were more relaxed. Her experience waiting with the social workers was a lot better than mine, apparently.

“Yeah, it is,” I managed to say, though I couldn’t muster a smile.

I hated those days when we were stuck in an unfamiliar office while someone was on the phone, trying to keep us from understanding what was happening while they called through various contacts trying to find a place for us to go. I resented that this entire thing was dredging up those memories I’d kept locked down for nearly a decade at this point.