Page 28 of The Light Between Worlds

“Dismissed.”

I’d planned to stay in tonight, and perhaps, wonder of wonders, to study for Latin. Instead I wait until the moon rises and Georgie drops off to sleep. Then I drift through the quiet dormitory and out into the night.

Gorsley’s smoking behind St. Joe’s, as always, and obligingly fetches Tom for me. No sooner have we made it into the cover ofthe woods than I turn to Tom Harper, rise up on my toes, and kiss him, mouth soft against his.

He flushes so fiercely I can see it even by moonlight.

“Now then, Ev. What’s this about?”

“Honor,” I tell him, knowing he won’t understand.

And then, pride satisfied, I kiss him again just for the joy of it.

18

VENNDARIEN TARSIN, RIGHT HAND TO HIS FATHERthe Emperor and heir to a kingdom that covers half the world, is returning to the Woodlands. The news ripples through the Great Wood, and everywhere I go, I find Woodlanders preparing for war. Water spirits sit on the banks of the river, naked except for their long hair, sharpening knives made of stone. In the glens, centaurs sing war songs or spar with one another, and the clash of their weapons is thunderous. A hundred stonewardens have come from the western mountains, armored and armed with pikes. They camp below the palace.

Even the tree folk are on edge. I stop at Vaya’s towering beech for no reason other than to say hello, and she dances about as a drift of leaves, never taking shape, never speaking a word.

Philippa is at her most unreachable the day the Tarsin heir is due to arrive. She glides about the palace with Alfreya, in constant motion as the two of them ensure everything is ready for the coming delegation. I know from experience that the best thing I can do is keep out of the way.

So I put on a faded old tunic and breeches and disappear Downhill, to the rambling farmstead far below Palace Beautiful that supplies our kitchen.

Dorien blinks at the sight of me when I come upon him overseeing a line of workers with loaded handcarts preparing to make the climb to the palace. “Evie, it’s an important day up the hill. Don’t your brother and sister want you with them?”

I stand with my hands clasped in front of me. “I need to be busy, Dorien. Please.”

At last, he nods. “Very well. There are weeds that want pulling, down by the icehouse.”

The icehouse is out of sight of the palace, away from the organized chaos of preparations. Tangles of addervine and white-flowering hemephore clamber along the walls, grasping at the doorposts and tugging at the roof. I set to work tearing them away, and it’s not long before I’m slick with sweat. When the walls are clear, I rip up toadfoil and pennythread from around the base of the building. I’m so distracted, trying to forget the inevitability of war, that it’s ages before I notice the first notched leaves of priest’s thistle.

By then the damage is done. There are dozens of wicked sprouts on the pile of pulled weeds in my wheelbarrow, and the skin on my hands is going blotchy. Frustration ties my insides up in knots, and Dorien comes around the corner just as I give the crumbling wall of the icehouse a vicious kick.

“Here now!” he blurts out, hurrying over. “What’s the matter?”

I hold my hands out and blink back angry tears. “Look at this. I’ve pulled up a bunch of priest’s thistles without gloves. I wasn’t payingattention at all. Could I have done anything more stupid?”

Dorien clucks like a concerned hen, shaking his head. “Now, now. Getting upset won’t heal those hands. Let me see if I can find you some salve.”

He disappears around the icehouse and I tuck my hands in between my upper arms and sides, willing the pain blossoming across my skin to vanish.

Nearby, a wind rises up, whispering through the beech trees. It plays through their leaves and tugs at my hair, pulling me toward the wood. With a backward glance in the direction Dorien went, I step into the forest.

Immediately, I feel calmer, more centered. The strong, rich scent of bark and leaf mold rises up around me and I take a deep breath, holding it in. The wind continues to tease and tug, leading the way further into the trees. I let it take me where it will, pulling and prodding this way and that, over fallen logs and across little streamlets, until I come to a stand of young oaks.

The green of their leaves is shocking, and the small plants carpeting the forest floor beneath them are just as bright. All that green casts the rich red of Cervus’s hide into stark relief, and I run to him, silent on my bare feet.

“Where have you been?” I ask, throwing my arms around the stag’s neck as he lowers his head to rest on my shoulder. “We haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“The southern border.”

“Oh dear. Is it dreadful?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry. Cervus, I’m glad you’re here. Can’t you do anything about all this? The Empire, and everything that’s coming?”

When I step back, the stag’s dark eyes are sad. “I’ve done all I can. I’m only the Guardian of the Great Wood, little one. I’m meant to ensure the trees stay green and growing, and to stand watch in the birch ring on the longest night of the year to see that the sun rises again. The fate of the Woodlands rests with its people.”