Under The Willow Root

“The devil’s finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.” ― Charles Baudelaire

“Ack.”

I look down at the dead rabbit that appeared so suddenly in my lap and then at Pretty Girl. She looks so pleased with herself that I have to laugh. It’s the first thing she’s caught on her own.

“Good girl, Pretty,” I say, ruffling her ears. “Good job.”

Kirit puts his paws on my knee and whines, nudging my arm with his nose. I smile and give him a cuddle, too. I put him aside and get up to skin the rabbit. I make a face as I cut into the furry little body. I don’t like it. I’ll never like it. But I don’t like being hungry, either.

“Look what Pretty Girl brought us,” I tell Sadra when she comes back from the stream. “I feel like we should celebrate. Have a party or something.”

“If only,” Sadra says, and sits down with a sigh. “I can barely remember what a party is.”

“I’m not feeling that festive, either,” I admit.

“You’re alright, though?” Sadra asks. “You were falling behind a little bit today.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “I’m just sore from the festival.”

“That was four days ago,” Sadra reminds me. “It’s not just that.”

“Well,” I say, jamming Pretty Girl’s rabbit onto the spit. “My legs are shorter than everyone else’s.”

Sadra smiles, but she still looks worried. “Yes, that must be it.”

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“Luca and Bard have finally decided to clean themselves,” Sadra says with a snort. “Thanks be. You could smell them coming. I don’t know where Ismeni is, but I’m sure she’ll show up when the food’s ready--and then disappear when it’s time to clean up. Lazy pig.”

“Be nice,” I murmur.

“I don’t know why you keep defending her,” Sadra says irritably.

I shrug. I don’t really know, myself. Part of it is that I still feel I owe her something for saving me from the oily man, but the rest...I’m not sure. I would never admit it to Sadra, but a small part of me just wants Ismeni to like me again. She treated me well when I was her slave, for the most part. She thought of me as a pet, but she still cared for me. I realize it’s kind of--actually completely--disturbing and twisted, but I miss that.

Sadra turns out to be right. Not that I doubted her--Ismeni does have a habit of making herself scarce when there’s work to do. And it is beyond annoying, but I can never bring myself to say anything about it. Not to her face, anyway.

Ismeni-bashing is one of Sadra’s principal comforts after a long day of hiking, and I usually join in for at least a little while to vent my frustration. And then I feel bad about it and try to be nice to Ismeni and she makes it clear that she despises me and I sulk under my blanket and kick myself for giving in to my creepy inner fan-girl.

I try to break the cycle, but I can’t. The pattern continues and even worsens as we make our way deeper into the mountains. The trail, if you want to call it that, is rough and uneven and never anything less than a forty-five degree incline whether going up or down. No one seems to have any energy to spare for being nice.

Food isn’t a problem, at least. Game practically falls into our laps and Bard shows us some greens to look out for as we walk. We usually have quite a spread by the time we stop for the night. All the makings for a nice evening under the stars: cold mountain spring water, tasty food, warm(ish) blankets. Everything except good company. That’s certainly thin on the ground these days.

Each day--each hour--is harder than the last. I start falling further and further behind until I’m trudging along just behind Ismeni, which does nothing for my ego. Especially because she seems so pleased about it. It’s nothing I can call her out on, just something about the set of her shoulders and chin that oozes satisfaction. It reminds me of Pouter.

I’m glaring at Ismeni’s back and not paying attention to my feet when a loose stone slips from under me. I pitch forward down the frighteningly steep slope and curl into a ball just in time to keep my head from splitting open on a small boulder twenty feet below. Instead my shoulders and back slam into it with a sickening thump. I keep my arms tucked firmly around my head to protect it from the stream of rocks that followed me down.

I lie stunned for a minute and then cautiously try to move. My back is on fire and my arms and sides sting where I scraped them coming down. I bite my lip, trying not to cry. I’ve been hurt worse, but the fall scared me. If my head had hit…I swallow and take a deep breath and try to extract myself from the rubble.

“Don’t,” Ismeni says, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. I didn’t even realize she was there. “Stay still. Did you hit your head?”

“No, my back,” I say, trying not to whimper. I can hear the others rushing back up the slope. “It’s fine.”

“Just don’t move until we’re sure of that,” Ismeni insists, and backs away to make room for Bard.

“What happened?” Bard asks, pushing Pretty Girl away as she tries to lick my face.

“I fell,” I grunt. “Hit my back.”

“Lie still for a moment,” he says, and feels along my spine and neck. “Nothing broken, thanks be.”

“Thanks be,” Sadra breathes. “She needs to rest. You told her to tell you, but she won’t. So I’m telling you.”

“I’m fine,” I protest. “I just tripped.”

“You’re not fine, and you could have died just now,” Sadra snaps. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not--”

“We can’t stop here,” Bard says, cutting us both off. “We need to make it down into the gully, at least. We’ll discuss it there.”

Bard and Sadra help me to my feet and we slowly pick our way down the slope. It was hard before. Now, with my back radiating pain and my knees trembling from shock, it’s all but impossible. I want to sit down, but I know that if I do I won’t get back up.

When we finally make it into the little dip between this slope and the next, I sit down in the first clear space I find. It’s not like our other campsites. There are thorny bushes all around and no water that I can see. And it’s starting to rain. Fantastic.

“Are we stopping?” Ismeni demands as everyone sets down their packs. “We can’t stop here.”

“We’re going to have to,” Bard says calmly. “Sasha can’t go any farther.”

I close my eyes. Is he trying to make her hate me?

“Can you stop doing that?” I demand in English. “Everyone’s going to blame me if we stop. I’m fine. I can keep going.”

“Cara, it is clear that you cannot,” he replies in the same language. “And no one is blaming you.”

“She is,” I say, scowling at Ismeni.

“Stop that,” Ismeni snaps angrily, but she looks almost frightened. “What are you doing?”

“Conversing,” Bard says in Common. “In Sasha’s native language--one of them, anyway.”

“Native language,” Ismeni scoffs. “That was no more language than is a dog’s barking.”

At this, Luca rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Kirit climbs into his lap and curls up with a yawn.

“We’re stopping here,” Bard says as if Ismeni hadn’t spoken. “Sasha needs rest.”

“Forgive me,” Ismeni says with exaggerated surprise. “I didn’t realize. The thief is tired. Of course.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Bard says with a smile.

I sigh. He has to be baiting her on purpose. There’s no way he’s that dumb. Anyone can see what’s going to happen.

“Of course I don’t understand!” Ismeni yells. “I don’t understand anything. I don’t know where we’re going or why you won’t tell me, and I certainly don’t understand why you insist on coddling that--that thing. What could possibly be so important about her?”

“Sasha has already explained to you what and who she is,” Bard says sternly. “That you refuse to believe it is your own affair. You chose to come with us even without knowing our destination. I see no reason that should change.”

“Maybe we should tell her,” I say, again in English. “Maybe it would help.”

“It’s up to you,” Bard says with a shrug. “But I wouldn’t. I’ve seen the type--it won’t help.”

“Stop it,” Ismeni yells again. I don’t know why another language is so upsetting to her. “Somebody tell me what’s going on!”

“We’re going to someone who can remove the shadow on my mind,” I tell her, hoping that Bard is wrong. “The House of Light and Shadow doesn’t create thralls. They take people and put a shadow on their minds to keep them silent and controlled. It uses up a person’s energy--that’s why thralls don’t live as long. It’s why I’ve been...having a hard time.”

“This--this is all for you?” Ismeni chokes. She looks around wildly. “You believe all that nonsense about thralls? That’s why we’re out here?”

“I,” Bard says with a slight emphasis, “am here because when I was in Sasha’s position, I had help. Sadra is here because she’s controlling and paranoid, and Lucoran is here because, as he so rightly pointed out, he owes us a debt. Let me remind you that you are here because it’s the safest place for you to be and Sasha was kind enough to allow it.”

“When you were in her position,” Ismeni repeats. “You’re saying--”

“I was once a thrall,” Bard says. “I spent five years in the mines of the Iron Hills before I found help. Five years without sunlight.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Ismeni says flatly. She looks at Luca. “Lucoran, you can’t possibly believe this. That the House of Light and Shadow masterminded some sort of conspiracy? It’s preposterous.”

“I believe they killed my brother,” Luca says. “Or had him killed.”

“What?” Ismeni gapes at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true. I thought you knew,” Luca says. “They were the ones who cast the blame on you, after all.”

“What--nevermind, that’s not the point,” Ismeni huffs. “The point is that we’re out here because that--that thieving, manipulative little leech has fed you a story. A completely ridiculous, laughable story.”

“Miocostin believed me,” I say hotly. “That’s why the House had him killed. He was going to tell the Council what they were doing.”

“Why would he believe you,” Ismeni sneers. “You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing--you don’t even have your own body. You had to steal Blue’s.”

“I am Blue,” I yell. “How many times do I have to tell you? Miocostin recognized me and wanted to help. He wanted to help me--he wanted to do what’s right. He died trying to tell people what we’re telling you. Why can’t you even listen?”

“If that’s true, then you’re the reason he’s dead,” Ismeni snarls. There are tears mingling with the rain on her face. “That’s reason enough. I won’t listen to you because what you’re saying is impossible--and because I hate you, you vile, evil, disgusting creature.”

She looks at me with hot, glittering eyes and leans in so that her face is inches from mine.

“I was there, you know,” she says softly. “When he died--when he was murdered. I saw his throat open up like a flower and felt his blood run over my hands. I saw the life leave his body, and I could do nothing to save him. The assassin held the knife, but you killed him.”

She stomps off unsteadily, slipping on the slick rocks. Bard and Sadra wander away, muttering something about finding water and shelter. I lie back and put my hands over my face. The anger that carried me through that completely avoidable shouting match is gone. All I feel now is regret that I didn’t listen to Bard--that’s starting to become a familiar sensation--and shame.

No one has ever truly hated me before, not even Cimari. She’s just a sadistic bitch--it wasn’t personal with her. But Ismeni...she really meant what she said. I know that Miocostin’s death isn’t actually my fault, though the thought of how things might have turned out if I had told Luca the truth still haunts me. I don’t believe what she said about that, but part of me believes the rest of it--that I’m worthless and manipulative and disgusting.

Right now I feel like all those things. I’m the reason we’re all tired and miserable and shivering in the rain. It makes me feel even more ashamed that, until now, I took it for granted that people were going to help me. Now I ask myself...am I worth it? What have I done to deserve Bard’s guidance or Sadra’s devotion? I wonder uncomfortably if I’ve been taking advantage of her feelings all this time. She said she doesn’t care for me like that, but what if she only said it so that we could stay friends?

And Luca...I look at him through the raindrops coating my eyelashes. Even though it’s not technically my fault, his brother died because of me.

“Ismeni is wrong,” Luca says softly. “You can’t listen to her.”

I shrug, swallowing against the lump in my throat. I feel like my whole head is filling with fluid: tears, snot, more tears, maybe some bile. It makes me mad. I was fine--well, not fine but at least able to speak--two minutes ago. And now, when Luca is finally talking to me, saying nice things, even, I choke up. Absolutely typical.

“You didn’t kill my brother,” Luca continues. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine. You told me it was dangerous. You told me not to tell anyone, and I didn’t listen. Now Costi is dead and you’re on the run without any of the supplies or help you were supposed to have. I’m so sorry, Sasha, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” I whisper hoarsely. “I’ve been waiting for you to forgive me.”

“For what?” Luca asks, genuinely shocked.

“You wouldn’t even look at me,” I explain, tracing a finger in the mud. “I thought you were angry because I didn’t tell you the truth--because I didn’t trust you. I’ve been thinking that if you had known, maybe you wouldn’t have told your brother...and he’d still be alive.”

“But you did trust me,” Luca says in a low voice. “You trusted me enough to be with me and I let you down. I couldn’t look at you because I was ashamed.”

“You’re not anymore?” I ask, meeting his eyes for the first time in what feels like forever.

“More than ever,” he says. “But I can’t stand this anymore. Will you forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive me,” I counter. “I should have told you who I was, I should have told Bard about who you are. Or I should have left you alone like I meant to. None of this would have happened. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Luca says, seizing my hand. “Don’t apologize for that. Don’t apologize for any of it. I won’t have you blaming yourself for my mistakes.”

“Well, I’m not forgiving you unless you forgive me,” I say stubbornly.

He lets out an exasperated breath and looks at me. I stare back expectantly with pursed lips. I realize I’m being childish but, as always, I can’t help myself. Luca opens his mouth, closes it, and groans, rubbing a hand over his face. He glares at me and I glare at him and then suddenly we’re both laughing.

Luca tugs on my hand and pulls me into his lap. I kiss him, tangling my fingers in his hair, until I can’t breathe. When we finally come up for air, I find Kirit and Pretty Girl sitting side by side staring at us with their heads cocked to the side in confusion. I let out a sniffly giggle and slip my arms around Luca’s neck.

“Kirit and Pretty found shelter,” Luca murmurs in my ear. “A cave.”

“I guess we should go find the others,” I sigh, and move to get up.

Luca’s arms tighten around my waist. He kisses my neck.

“We will,” he says. “But maybe we should have a look at it first. Make sure it’s safe.”

The cave, as it turns out, is perfectly safe, but it’s a long time before we leave to find the others. They’re gathered under an overhang, trying to get a fire started. Rather, Bard and Sadra are. Ismeni sits with her back to both of them, staring angrily at nothing. When Luca and I approach, holding hands, she narrows her eyes and breathes heavily through her nose, practically snorting with rage.

“We found a cave,” I say, shooting for nonchalance. Sadra smirks in a way that makes it clear she has a very good idea of what we’ve been up to. “Is there water?”

“There’s a spring, but it’s not close by,” Bard says. “We filled all the water skins if you’re thirsty.”

“I don’t mind walking,” I say, shifting uncomfortably. I need to clean up.

“You can follow Kirit back to the cave,” Luca says. “Where’s the spring?”

Bard points us in the right direction and I set out with Luca, leaning heavily on his arm. No matter what I told Bard, I really am wiped and my back hurts like hell. But I’m so relieved and so happy to have Luca back that I don’t mind it.

We take our time at the spring. The sun has come out, so we take our clothes off and let them dry on a bush while we bathe. Afterward, we sit with our feet dangling in the pool and the sun warming our backs. I can’t enjoy it as much as I want to, though, because there’s something Luca and I still have to talk about.

“Luca,” I say. “How much do you know about what we’re doing? What has Bard told you?”

“Bard didn’t tell me anything,” Luca says, surprising me. “I only know what you told Ismeni.”

“And you still came,” I say. My stomach twists painfully.

“Of course I came,” he tells me. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say, my voice catching. “And I need to tell you why we’re going...wherever it is Bard is taking us.”

“Is it not to take the shadow off your mind?” Luca asks. There’s no judgment in his voice, just curiosity.

“No, that’s part of it,” I say. “But there’s something else. Or there may be. I’m hoping this man--the Apostate--he might be able to send me home.”

“Home,” Luca says. “You mean…”

“To my own world,” I say. “To my old life.”

“That’s what you meant when you said I couldn’t go with you,” Luca says sadly.

“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to look at him. “If I were sure I’d be coming back...you have to know I would have begged you to come with me, or wait for me. But I have to go home, if I can.”

I tell him everything--my grandmother, the hallucinations, the Cage, the dreams, anything I can think of. He listens patiently, keeping my hand in his the entire time. When I’m done, he pulls me to his side and kisses my hair. A tear slides down my face and drips off the tip of my nose.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be,” Luca says, touching my cheek lightly. “I’m not. Whatever happens, I’m glad I got to love you for a time.”

“It hurts,” I sigh. “I wish…”

“I know,” he says. “So do I.”

“Hi, Sasha. Here, let’s get you a little more vaseline.”

I continue to stare at nothing. I barely register the girl’s words or the greasy goop she puts on my lips. They’re chapped from constant smacking and chewing. My hand wags back and forth incessantly, flopping like a fish in my lap. It hurts my wrist, but I can’t stop.

“Tara wanted to come, but she has an audition in the morning,” the girl says. “For a professional company. I was hoping she’d go to Joffrey with me next year, but...anyway. She wanted to be here. I brought some music. What’ll it be--Prokofiev? Shostakovich? Or I’ve got American stuff, too. Appalachian Spring, maybe?” She pauses, then continues as if I answered. “Copeland it is.”

She puts the music on and sits, spreading books and notebooks around. The music gets my attention in a way her words didn’t. It carries meaning, though I’m not quite sure what that meaning might be. It makes me want to do...something. But I can’t do anything but sit rigidly in my chair, wiggling my hands and chewing on myself while my mind starts and stops and turns in on itself in an endless loop.

Eventually, the girl gathers up her books. She reaches for me and my hand shoots out to grab hers in a vice-like grip. She kisses my cheek and tries to pull her hand away. It takes her several tries but she eventually works her hand free and walks away. She doesn’t look back.

We stay in the cave for two days until I’m strong enough to keep going. Ismeni is still mad, but there’s not much she can do. I finally accept the fact that there’s nothing I can do, either. She’ll believe what she wants to believe no matter what I say. So I don’t say anything, and she jumps through whatever hoops she has to in order to avoid saying anything to me.

Now that Luca and I have made up, a lot of the tension in the group eases. I wonder if maybe I was imagining it. Or what if I was actually the one causing it? Whenever I think like that, I start to squirm like I have ice cubes in my pants. I don’t like the idea that it was me making everyone miserable.

As we start to come together as a group, it becomes more and more obvious to everyone that Ismeni is not a part of that group. The part of me that’s petty and mean is viciously pleased by this, but most of me is sad--and worried. I don’t know what I’m worried about, exactly, but I do know that ostracizing someone who’s already angry and bitter is bound to cause problems at some point.

I try talking to the others about it and they agree with me. We try to be nice and reconcile with her and include her, but Ismeni doesn’t cooperate. She’s mean and grouchy and sarcastic and just...unpleasant. After nearly a week of it, we all give up and leave her alone. But I hear her crying at night and feel like it’s my fault.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Sadra tells me as we hunt for edible plants. “She’s dug herself into this...snit...and she’s too proud to come out of it even if she were willing to listen to us.”

“But maybe--”

“No,” Sadra cuts me off. “No ‘maybe.’ You’ve tried so many times and gotten slapped down for your trouble. Stop torturing yourself. It’s annoying.”

So with that sage and oh-so-sensitive advice, I do my best to stay out of Ismeni’s way. I turn my back on her tears at night and return to ignoring her during the day. One morning, though, I pass by her sleeping pallet on my way to the latrine and see her bare arm sticking out of her blanket. There are marks on it--tattoos of some kind. I don’t think they’re letters. I don’t know what they are, but I don’t think they were there when we left the palace. I know they weren’t there when I was her thrall.

I wonder if I should say something to the others. Then I imagine how that scenario would play out and shake my head. I’ve had enough of drama and crying and yelling of hurtful things. It’s probably nothing. The rest have all told me at some point (some more bluntly than others) to stop fussing about Ismeni, so I’ll take their advice and leave it alone. It’s nothing.

That night, Bard stops Luca from casting the usual wards. Everyone looks at him quizzically until he explains.

“We’re in the real mountains now,” he tells us. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s dangerous to put up safety wards?” Luca asks sardonically.

“The real mountains?” Sadra cries. “What have we been climbing for the past five days? Gentle bumps in the road?”

“The creatures that live here...don’t like Light,” Bard explains, ignoring both of them. “The wards will only attract and agitate them.”

“Then they’ll come straight for Sasha,” Luca protests, pulling me to his side.

For a minute I’m confused, then I remember--I don’t know how I’ve forgotten--that I’m emitting Light like a beacon.

“Hey!” I yelp. “You’ve been using my Light all this time?”

“What else would I be using?” Luca asks.

“Is that what’s been making me so tired?” I demand.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Bard says soothingly. “You project Light whether someone is using it or not.”

“Can we go back to how mountain beasts are going to come after Sasha?” Luca says loudly. “What are we going to do about that?”

“Send along a perfumed invitation, perhaps?” Ismeni grumbles.

“It is impossible for you to give up an opportunity to be a hateful she-vulture, isn’t it?” Sadra snaps. “Sew it up before I do it for you.”

“You are vulgar,” Ismeni says icily, “and utterly objectionable in every way. I don’t know what my husband saw in you.”

Luca makes a sound low in his throat like an angry wolf and Bard holds his hands up in a “calm down” gesture. Sadra opens her mouth to respond to Ismeni and I kick her sharply in the shin. Everyone glares at each other.

“There is danger,” Bard says firmly. “But we will be vigilant, and we will be careful, and everything will be fine. Let’s not kill each other and save the beasts the trouble. Now, get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“You’re not leaving my sight,” Luca informs me, his arm tightening around my waist.

I go to sleep nestled against Luca’s side and don’t wake until dawn. I’ve been exempted from watch duty both because I need the rest and because I can’t shoot a bow. Ismeni doesn’t have to take a turn either, simply because no one trusts her. Yet, even though everyone knows that’s the reason, she still manages to act smug about not having to take a watch and imply at the same time that I’m just a lazy jerk for sleeping through the night. It’s maddening.

Even more annoying is the fact that Luca was apparently serious about not letting me out of his sight. Not when I’m eating or sleeping or walking or bathing, which isn’t all that bad, really. Bathing in particular. But when he tries to follow me to the latrine, I lose it and we hiss at each other for the better part of twenty minutes until he agrees to wait some ten yards away with his back turned and I agree to bring Kirit with me.

When I complain to Sadra, she just laughs and cracks jokes for the rest of the evening about the importance of compromise in romantic relationships. I try appealing to Bard, but he thinks Luca’s being “admirably cautious.” I can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not, but either way, he’s no help at all. I go to bed disgruntled and headachey, but I can’t help smiling when Luca positions himself protectively at my head to take first watch. Kirit and Pretty Girl flank him like two little soldiers on duty.

Over the next few days, my feelings about this new arrangement shift from annoyance to amusement to tenderness and back to annoyance more times than I can count. I thought that Luca would relax or at least get bored of it, but he takes his self-appointed role as my bodyguard obnoxiously seriously. I remind myself periodically that he’s not being a pain on purpose and that there is real danger. In the back of my head, though, there’s a little part of me rolling my eyes.

I really, really try hard to humor him, but he’s driving me crazy. When I wake up one morning before everyone else, I seize the opportunity to get a few minutes to myself. I’m not going far, I assure myself. Just to the stream to wash my face and clean my teeth with the little stick-brush Luca made me. I’ll be back before anyone’s even awake. I’ll take Kirit with me, even. Perfectly safe.

I scoop the sleepy fox into my arms and slip away, breathing a sigh of relief. Glorious solitude. Kirit yawns and licks my chin, his tail thwacking against my stomach. I congratulate myself for unintentionally covering my tracks. If Kirit had woken to find me gone, he would have roused Luca. As it is, he can’t tell on me without leaving me alone, and he knows he’s not supposed to do that. If only I’d thought of it ahead of time, it would have made quite a crafty plan.

When I get to the stream, I put Kirit down and dip my hands into the cool water. It feels wonderful. We must be getting into June, I think, but the Empire--or the City, at least--doesn’t have months, as far as I’ve been able to tell. They use moon phases and holidays to mark time, which isn’t as difficult as you might think. There are a lot of holidays.

I smile, remembering my too-brief time with the Temple. The City was always celebrating something, and the Temple was always right at the center of it, no matter what bizarre hero or prophet or historical event was being honored. Most holidays, no one even seemed to really know or care what was being celebrated. I certainly didn’t. I just liked to watch Sadra and my friends perform. Sometimes I even got to dance myself.

Before each performance, Mother Wenla would bless the dancers. I murmur the traditional benediction under my breath:

“In beauty there is kindness, excellence, and honesty. May you find beauty in yourself, in others, and in all that you do.”

I always liked the sentiment. I sigh, thinking that I could have been happy at the Temple. Even Luca wouldn’t have been too big an obstacle. Mother Wenla told me once that I would have been considered an adept and given my own talisman. I would only have needed a few months of instruction in the spiritual and procedural side of things. It would have been a good life.

My thoughts are interrupted by what sounds like a woman’s scream. I jerk around and prepare to run, thinking something’s happened to Sadra or Ismeni, then realize that it was Kirit making the noise. He makes the awful sound again and runs back and forth between me and the stream, like he’s trying to push me back. He snarls at something across the water that I can’t see.

Slowly, a shape emerges from the brush that I can’t make sense of at first. When it finally comes into focus, my knees give out and I fall to the ground. An unbelievably large cat crouches on the opposite bank of the stream, its amber eyes fixed on my face.

The tree cat I could explain away, but this animal is definitely not something that existed in the world I came from. If I could stand, I would come only to its shoulder. It’s sleek and gray, with cloudy markings somewhere between spots and stripes. Each of its paws is twice the size of my head.

I edge backwards on hands and knees, my eyes fixed on the cat. I watch the cat’s shoulder blades shift slowly under its shadowy pelt as it follows after me, matching me inch for inch. The stream separates us, but I know it won’t provide me any protection. The cat could probably simply step over it without even needing to jump.

I thought I would know when the cat decided to jump--I thought I would be able see it in the cat’s eyes--but I was wrong. When it happens, the cat simply disappears and I find myself knocked to the ground...but not by the cat. I wheeze, pinned underneath Luca’s full weight. The cat stands over us both, tail lashing back and forth like a whip.

“Move,” Luca pants. He pushes himself off of me and grabs my arm. “Get behind me.”

I scramble backwards in a graceless crabwalk until Luca is between me and the cat. Kirit slinks into my lap and crouches there, trembling and whining anxiously as Luca kneels in front of the cat with his head bowed and his neck bared. I watch with my heart in my throat, waiting for the cat to take Luca’s head off with one swipe of its massive paw, but nothing happens. Neither Luca nor the cat moves a muscle. Finally, Luca gets to his feet and holds his hand out to me.

“She wants to meet you,” Luca says. He sounds calm, but I can see the pulse in his throat racing.

I don’t want to do that at all. I don’t want to go anywhere near the cat. It takes me a minute to make my voice work.

“I’m not--I don’t--”

“Just do it,” Luca hisses, flicking a panicked glance at the cat.

I lever myself off the ground with shaking limbs and force myself to approach the cat. Luca grips my hand so tightly I can feel the bones rubbing together. The cat stretches out her head, sniffing me from the top of my head all the way down to my toes and back again. When she pushes her nose into the curve of my neck, I feel the point of an enormous tooth on my collarbone and almost faint.

I close my eyes as she sniffs delicately at my mouth and around my ears, puffing her warm breath onto my face and tickling me with her whiskers. I fight a bizarre urge to laugh. I almost want her to attack--it would at least put an end to the suspense. I suck in a trembling breath and focus on Luca’s painfully tight grip on my hand, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.

“She’s gone,” Luca says finally, and I sag against him in relief. He takes me by the shoulders and shakes me. “What were you thinking? She would have killed you!”

“Why didn’t she?” I wonder dazedly.

“Because I begged her not to and she listened,” Luca said. “She might have chosen to kill you anyway, just to be safe, but she was curious about you. Do you understand that, Sasha? You are alive because she thought you were funny looking.”

“There are worse reasons, I guess,” I mutter.

“You could have been killed, you little idiot!” Luca shouts, nearly lifting me off my feet. “This is the second time, Sasha. Just because you weren’t born in this world doesn’t mean you can’t die in it.”

Luca lets me go and turns away with his hands on his hips. He tilts his head back and breathes deeply and slowly, obviously trying to stay calm. Kirit stretches up, whimpering, to put his paws on Luca’s thigh. When Luca ignores him, he comes to me. I pick him up and hug him so tightly he squeaks.

Luca just hit on something that I never fully realized until now. Somewhere in the back of my head, I’ve been not only wondering if this world is real but assuming that it isn’t. Somehow, despite my numerous injuries, I think I always believed that nothing could happen to me here because I was never really here to begin with. I move to slip one arm around Luca’s waist while keeping hold of Kirit with the other.

“Luca, I’m sorry,” I tell him, laying my cheek against his back. “I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

Luca turns, putting his arms around me. Kirit wiggles out of my grasp and onto Luca’s shoulder, where he washes Luca’s ear energetically. Luca makes a sound almost like a giggle and twists his head away. His shoulders twitch like he’s throwing off a weight and he sighs, leaning his forehead against mine.

“I can’t lose you,” he says. “Not yet.”

My stomach twists. Bard says we’ll be out of the mountains in two weeks at most. After that, we’ll travel another week or so until we reach the Apostate’s hideaway. That’s it. In three weeks, I could be home, provided my subconscious doesn’t get me killed in the meantime. I should be glad or relieved or excited. I should be thrilled. But I’m not. I’m not at all.