Page 31 of The Light Between Worlds

“I saw your brother on my way in and he says you’re going to give me the boot. He told me you can’t tell me why, but that you’ve got a reason, which he thinks is a bad reason but you think is a good one, and he wants me to stick by you no matter what you say. To be honest, I’m a bit confused about the whole thing. I thought we were getting on well?”

Curses, Tom. I could drive you away with silence and indifference, but I can’t bear lying to your face. I fold my hands in my lapand stare down at them. “We have been, yes.”

“And you like me well enough?”

I swallow. Too much. I like you too much. “Yes.”

“And you know I like you?”

“Yes.”

“But you think we ought to stop seeing each other and won’t tell me why?”

“Exactly.”

Tom nods his head slowly. “I’ll go, then.”

Relief washes over me, tainted with regret. I’d expected a fight, though I’ve barely got the strength for one.

But Tom hasn’t finished. “On one condition. Look me in the eyes, and tell me truthfully you don’t want to see me anymore. As soon as you do, I’ll leave you be.”

Let my blood turn to ice. Let me be a hundred years’ winter. I look up and fix my gaze on Tom, meeting his sincere grey eyes. The words form on the back of my tongue. My hands tremble. I am Evelyn of the Woodlands, walker of worlds, teller of truths.

“Tom Harper, I don’t want to see you again,” I lie.

Tom nods. He’s red-faced and flustered with unhappiness, and though I thought I was already broken, it breaks me a little more to see him so. “Right, then. I’m going back to St. Joe’s. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He leaves without a goodbye, and the lie burns my tongue worse than hope ever did.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

I don’t know who I am.

20

THE LAST TRACES OF DIRT AND THE FINAL WHIFFS OFfarm smell have been scrubbed from my skin by the time I head downstairs to the great hall. There’s a chill in the air, and the kirtle I wear is thick forest-green wool embroidered with rust-red threads. I can’t deny it’s beautiful, but it was Philippa’s choice, not mine. I’d rather be in my farm clothes, if this is really the beginning of the end.

I meet Jamie on my way down the stairs. He’s in the same dark green and rust colors, with Anvar, the sword Hector gave to him to carry, belted around his waist.

“Has anyone seen Venndarien yet?” I ask as we continue down to the entrance hall together. “I haven’t noticed any of his retinue underfoot.”

Jamie’s face is grim. “Most of them are in the courtyard. He’s brought a hundred soldiers at least. Hector’s furious. As for Venndarien himself—” Jamie’s mouth twists. “Alfreya set aside the entire east wing for him and his party. They went straight there and have been holed up ever since. We barely caught a glimpse of him or his courtiers on their way in.”

The hall is half full of Woodlanders already, come to hear what theTarsin heir has to say. I smile and nod to those I know as we take our place at the long table. Dorien’s already sitting, and a breeze shifts my hair as Vaya drops down beside me in her girl shape.

I glance this way and that, looking for Philippa.

“Where’s Phil?” Jamie whispers, our minds on the same thing. “She’s never been a moment late in her life.”

A gentle cough draws my attention. Alfreya stands next to me, and for some reason, my stomach ties itself into knots. “Alfreya, what is it?”

“Your sister asked if I’d give this to Jamie.”

When she hands Jamie a note, he unfolds the scrap of parchment and scowls as he reads. “What does she mean by this?”

But Alfreya’s already gone. Jamie hands me the note and I scan it quickly.

Jamie,