Page 33 of The Light Between Worlds

The banquet begins, and it’s as if the Woodlanders have decided to remind themselves one last time of everything they love about this country by the sea. There are steaming tureens of fish stew; mutton roasted with phelamon spice; little cakes sweetened with honey and studded with addervine fruit; apples stuffed with nuts and goat’s butter and slow cooked in a bed of coals. Musicians from the singers’ school perform songs with melodies like heartbreak, and through it all, Venndarien picks at his food and broods. The laughter and tears and applause of the Woodlanders make one thing clear—this evening is not meant for him. He is nothing more than an unwanted guest.

A river girl with skin like red-brown clay is playing the harp, the sound of her music an echo of water over rocks, when Venndarien abruptly pushes his chair back and stands.

“Let’s have an end to this,” he says loudly enough that all those gathered will hear. “My father has humored these backwoods long enough. For the last time, will the Woodlands pay tribute to Tarsa, and will all those here gathered bend a knee before His Imperial Majesty’s rightful heir?”

There’s a long pause, followed by the loud scrape of chairs and benches as every Woodlander in the hall stands. No one kneels.

Until Philippa steps forward. Muttering voices nearly drown out her words.

“Don’t forget your promise,” she says to Venndarien, hands clasped desperately in front of her. “That if I come with you of my own accord, you’ll take my brother and sister back to Tarsa, too. That we’ll be safe, kept well away from the war, and when it’s over you’ll find a way to send us home.”

Something cold and sharp blossoms inside me as she sinks to her knees in front of the Tarsin heir. Something colder and sharper presses against my throat, and when I glance wildly to one side, two Tarsin soldiers hold Jamie, a blade against his skin. We’re dragged toward the door as Philippa watches in anguish. A dagger pricks my throat as I struggle against the arms holding me, and Philippa cries out as warm blood slicks my skin.

But the Woodlanders aren’t content to see us go. Metal clashes on metal, and the hall is suddenly an ocean of angry shouts that I feel like I’m drowning in. Fire blazes as the Tarsin soldiers channel their power. Wind howls and water roars as the Woodlanders summon theirs. I’ve never seen them so before, and the wrath of the Woodlands is a fearful, wondrous thing.

A sound cuts across the uproar, deep and full-throated and achinglyfamiliar. When the last echoes of Cervus’s call have died, he stands in the great hall’s doorway, and everyone within is still.

“Philippa Hapwell,” I say, my words dropping into that profound silence like pebbles down a dark well, “what have you done?”

It’s not just a question, it’s an accusation, and I mean for it to burn. Sorrow and anger war within me, though the fighting in the great hall has ceased.

Cervus steps through the chaos—dishes have been knocked from the table and wine puddles on the floor. I twist my head around, though the Tarsin soldier holding me is a leech I cannot shake. Cervus stops in front of Philippa and Venndarien.

“Leave,” the stag says. “Leave this place, and never return.”

At his words, I’m back in the bomb shelter with Philippa’s arms wrapped around me, keeping the worst of the fear away. I’m leaving home for the first time at seven years old, with Phil across from me on the train, making up games to pass the time and to help me forget how lost I feel. I’m walking into strange house after strange house, the only familiar thing in the world my sister’s hand in mine.

No matter what she’s done, if Cervus sends her away, it will tear me in two.

Venndarien’s face is pinched and furious, his eyes burning pits.

“The Empire does not hear you,” he snarls. “When I return it will be with fire and a sword, and every corner of this world will speak of how the Woodlanders burned as they died. Consider this Tarsa’s declaration of war. Philippa?”

He holds out a hand to her. Tears track down Philippa’s face, and she shakes her head. “I’ve done wrong, Venndarien. But I mean to do better, not to run from my mistakes.”

Venndarien’s mouth twists. “Do you know how we deal with traitors in the Empire? We flay the living flesh from their bones. You can expect no gentler treatment here if you stay. And if you survive, I will drag you back to Tarsa when I return, and make your life a misery for playing me false.”

Philippa flinches, but holds her ground. The Tarsin party storms from the hall and the gathered Woodlanders wait, utterly silent. Cervus turns to my sister.

“What happened, child?” Cervus asks, and there’s no judgment in his voice.

“I think—” Philippa swallows. “Oh, Cervus, I think I’ve lost my way.”

He steps closer and she puts an arm around his ruffed shoulders as if there’s no one else in the world who could hold her up.

“It’s always difficult for some to find their path in the woods,” the stag answers. In spite of his words, or perhaps because of them, Philippa breaks down and sobs.

By the time the sun rises again the Tarsin delegation is gone, traveling southward with the news that the Great Wood is at war.

23

GEORGIE TRIES TO MAKE CONVERSATION, BUT I SHUTher out with short, polite answers that lead to nowhere. I sit alone at dinner, remembering meals I’ve eaten, company I’ve kept, and when lights are out and Georgie sleeps, I slip into the quiet night.

I’ve always been discreet in how I exercise my freedoms. Now I have no interest in moderation. I stay out on the hills for hours, soaking moonlight and cold air in through my pores. It’s nearly dawn and I’m chilled to the bone when I finally turn back toward school. I go reluctantly—I’d rather just wander away, walking across the hills until I can walk no more, or until I slip from one world into the next.

But I go back. I always go back. I climb into bed with my coat and boots still on and fall into exhausted sleep for what little is left of each night. And when the morning gong sounds I get up and go through the motions of breakfast, classes, study hall. The whole time I’m dreaming, dreaming, half asleep and half alive.

When night falls, I wake. I come alive again. I go out and danceon the frozen hills. I wet my feet fording icy streams. I sing songs this world has never heard before in hopes the trees will lift their heads and join me. I raise my hands to the stars, a silent plea for one of them to come down, just for tonight.