Page 10 of The Light Between Worlds

The sun went down in its blaze of glory while we were at dinner, listening to the Curmudgeon drone on. Now the moon is up, casting quiet and friendly light across the sheep fields and wooded copses behind St. Agatha’s. I sit and look and breathe. For the first time today, I’m myself—Evelyn Hapwell, a girl caught between two worlds. But the moon looked the same in the Great Wood asit does in England, and so did the sheep and the tree-cloaked hills. The sight of the silent, dreaming countryside knits the crack inside me back together.

The far, white moon is the curve of a smile, and for all my loneliness, I can’t help but smile back.

6

WIND SIGHS IN THE BRANCHES ABOVE, AND SOMEWHERE,a lark breaks into song. We still stand beside Cervus in the birch ring watching the gathered Woodlanders, who silently watch us, too.

Cervus steps past my brother and sister and me, careful on his cloven hooves. He stops in the middle of the Tarsin delegation, his velvet muzzle only inches from Venndarien Tarsin’s face. “Go back to the Emperor and his armies. Tell him the Woodlands offers no surrender.”

Venndarien’s eyes blaze and sparks snap between his fingers. “If the Empire had no need of fuel for its siege fires, I would burn this little wood to the ground.”

Cervus says nothing, merely twitches an ear as if troubled by a fly. For a moment, it looks as if Venndarien will speak again. Instead, he turns and stalks out of the birch ring, beckoning to his retinue to follow.

The Woodlanders remain still as stone until the last muffled sounds of hooves and tack die away. Then they all begin to shout at once.

“Cervus, what were you thinking, calling those three?”

“It’s been centuries since a Guardian called beyond.”

“Where did they come from?”

“Are you sure of them?”

Cervus swings round to look at us, for all the world as if the clearing still remains silent.

“Children, welcome again to the Woodlands,” he says, and his eyes are kind.

Philippa presses her lips together and Jamie shifts his weight.

“Perhaps they could be of use,” a voice I recognize says.

The Woodlander who spoke against the Tarsin heir steps out into the middle of the clearing. He’s tall and sparely built, with dappled copper-brown skin, the loose curls of his black hair cut short. Leather straps hold twin scabbards secure against his back, and his clothing is simple—tan breeches, and an unbleached linen tunic. Like everyone else I’ve glimpsed in the Great Wood, his feet are bare. The rest of the Woodlanders are silent, eager to hear what he has to say, though he seems young—certainly no older than the haughty Tarsin heir.

“We all know the Tarsin Imperials are creatures of ambition and intrigue, and they’ll want a measure of these children. The Empire never destroys a thing if it can be bought, or used. Let the young ones convince the Emperor that they might be persuaded to become oathbreakers—that the Empire has a chance to steal them away from us. It will take time for him to realize that will never come to pass, and that time can be spent preparing ourselves for the war to come.”

“How can you be so sure of us?” Philippa asks.

The Woodlander shrugs. “I can’t be sure of you, but I’m sure of Cervus. Break your oaths, and he’ll simply send you back to the world you came from.”

“Perhaps we don’t want to be of use,” Philippa says. “There was enough danger at home. Perhaps we don’t want any more of it, and we’d rather be sent back now.”

The Woodlander gives her a long, inscrutable look. “No one will hold you against your will. You’re free to return home if you wish.”

I can’t breathe. I won’t go—not back to the dark and the bombs and the gunmetal smell of our frigid shelter, and after that (if there is an after) the endless parade of strange houses and strange beds, and never knowing where I belong.

“No. Thank you,” Jamie cuts in. “We swore to help, Phil. We’ve got to stay, at least for a little while—until we’ve done what we said we’d do.”

The forest dwellers break into conversation again. I watch them quietly, wondering what it will be like to live among them.

Jamie’s already deep in conversation with a stonewarden when I notice Philippa walking across the clearing alone. I drift after her, but hang back when I see Cervus following, too.

“How long will it take to honor our oaths?” she asks when he joins her. “It’s not—it doesn’t seem clear-cut. There’s no real end to it, and no way for me to hurry things along.”

“I don’t know,” Cervus confesses, and his head droops. “I’m sorry, little one. Perhaps I did wrongly in calling you.”

Philippa wraps her arms around herself. “No. We’re here now. And Ev—well, I haven’t seen her look so happy in years.”

“What about you?” Cervus swings his head round to look at her. “I could send you back alone. You’d never know the time without your brother and sister had gone by.”