Hawthorne was lying in order to save her.
Angry that he would try to trick heragain,this time at the cost of his own life, she gritted her teeth and stepped closer. “One of these days, your lies are going to catch up to you, Hawthorne Fell.”
His mismatched eyes lifted to hers, taking her in. “Trust me, darling. They already have.”
When the guards yanked him back, tearing him away from her, Hawthorne didn’t take his eyes off Emeline. There was something sorrowful in his gaze. Something that reminded her of the way she looked at Pa, on his worst days.
It was an odd thought to have as they marched him away. Yet it lodged like a leaden weight in her rib cage.
IT WAS ALMOST DAWNby the time Lament delivered Emeline and Pa to the tree line. The sky lightened above them as Emeline dismounted. After she helped Pa down from the saddle, they turned towards the farmhouse together.
She almost didn’t believe it.
Emeline breathed in the smell of the farm, letting its calm wash over her. The sun hadn’t quite risen yet, and there was a glow in the air, like a promise. Her heart hummed with it.
Home.
And yet it was a bittersweet sight. Instead of feeling free of the Wood King’s court, she felt as if invisible shackles hadlocked around her ankles, the chains of which led all the way back to the king.
She’d lied to him. She had no idea where the missing music was and doubted completely that it was here beyond the woods. Now, if she didn’t return in two days with the music in hand, Hawthorne would be executed.
Her heart twisted.
At least I set Pa free,she thought, watching her grandfather cross the tree line and move towards the house.
But if in two days she was dead, who would make sure he was taken care of?
She started to follow her grandfather when Lament bit her sweater, preventing her from moving forward.
Emeline frowned up at the horse. “What is it?”
Letting go, Lament nudged a small saddlebag with her nose. As if to say,Open it.
Emeline undid the brass buckles and reached into the leather bag, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in midnight-blue silk and tied with a gold ribbon. Curious, Emeline untied the ribbon. The silk fell away to reveal a small, sheathed knife. The same size as the utility knife Pa once carried on his belt while working on the farm.
Emeline’s fingers curled around the leather sheath, which had been oiled and stitched with care, then drew out the knife.
The handle was carved out of a ruddy wood—cherry, maybe—with a knot left in at the base, giving it an elegant strangeness. But it was the blade that held her attention longest. The surface glimmered in the same way as Hawthorne’s sword. As if it contained some spell.
With it was a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, Emeline read the shaky script:
Normal steel can’t cut through shadow skins, but this can.Keep it close.
—Sable
Emeline thought of the golden-eyed shiftling and quickly glanced back into the trees, which were only just starting to lighten. But there was no one there.
Feeling unworthy of such a gift, she said to Lament, “If you see her, thank her for me.”
The ember mare snorted in response.
With that, Emeline turned and left the woods.
TWENTY-SEVEN
WHEN MAISIE FOUND OUTPa was home, a feast was planned and their neighbors were invited over for dinner.
Now it was nearly sunset, and Pa’s farmhouse was bustling.
