Page 35 of The Light Between Worlds

Hector smiles. “He says ‘a Woodlands heart always finds its way home.’ And we believe that, with everything in us. We know where we belong.”

Philippa chews on her lower lip and shakes her head. “I don’t know where I belong, Hector. Here, or in the world I came from.”

Hearing her speak such words pains me. I want so badly for Philippa to feel the sense of rightness I’ve known in the Great Wood.

“Then stay alive when the war comes,” Hector answers. “Keep searching, until your heart finds its place.”

Philippa’s face remains troubled as Hector walks away. Then she turns to me and smiles, so that I’m dazzled by her light.

“Evie, love, I’ve forgotten something upstairs. Don’t wait for me.”

I watch her go, gnawing at a hangnail before making up my mind. Rather than follow Philippa, I hurry after Hector.

He’s in the great hall, which serves us as a makeshift armory. The hooded coat has been shed, but his swords are back in place, one over each shoulder. Hector’s pushed one of the tables that litter the hall closer to the warmth of the fire. He stands before it, fletching crossbow bolts with practiced hands.

“Hector?” I say anxiously. “I need your help. I’ve learned everything Dorien and Vaya can teach me about trees and plants and things that grow, and Cervus says if these were brighter days, he’d let me bring in the light with him at midwinter. But I want to learn something they can’t teach me.”

Hector sets another bolt into his wood and iron clamp, silent and waiting for me to speak again.

“Look,” I say, finally managing to get the words out. “I’m asking you to show me how to kill a man.”

Hector stills. “And why would you want to learn such a thing? When all of the Woodlands and its people lie between you and the Empire? When you have your own world to return to should the Great Wood fall?”

“I’m not a soldier or a diplomat,” I confess, picking at a splinter fraying from the edge of the worn wood tabletop. “I’m not brave the way my brother is, or clever like my sister. But if the Great Wood is taken, I think Venndarien Tarsin will come for Philippa. I swore on my own blood that I’d end him if he touches her and I plan to keep my word. I won’t lie to you, though—the idea of killing anyone, even him, makes me sick and afraid.”

For a long while, Hector does nothing, but I wait. Finally, he reaches across the table and pushes a belt and dagger toward me.

“If it’s your heart that fails you, we’ll teach your hands what to do. Then they will act before your heart can stop them.”

25

THE DAY BEFORE HOLIDAYS, JAMIE APPEARS. I’M IN THElibrary, dozing in a reading nook since there’s no more studying to be done. I’ve made a mess of my exams, but it’s been years since I cared much. Jamie pops his head round the corner of a bookshelf, nods once at the sight of me, and vanishes. He returns with a chair and sets it down across from me.

Thin December light spills in through the window and pools around us, pale as snow. Jamie leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“I don’t want you to come home tomorrow,” he says without preamble. It’s so entirely not what I expect that I sit without moving, unsure if I should feel hurt or confused or relieved.

“Tom’s offered to take you up to Yorkshire with him,” Jamie carries on. “I know Christmas isn’t ever your best time, and I thought with everything that’s been going on, a change might help.”

I stare at him blankly. “We’re always together at Christmas.”

Jamie looks down at his boots. “Don’t be difficult, Ev.”

“I’m coming, and that’s the end of it.”

Jamie sighs and pushes himself up out of the chair. “Think about it, at least. It would be better for you.”

I let my eyes drift to the patch of sunlight on the library floor and unfocus them, so all the world is white and indistinct.

“I’m coming back to London. But don’t call it home.”

The train ride is quiet, and a little lonely. I breathe on the glass until the frost melts and I can see the winter world outside.

At the station, Jamie is waiting. He waves when I step off the train. He’s so desperate in his need to make things alright for me that I want to be alright, if only just for now.

We’re two-thirds of the way to whole, and I try to make the best of it. I steal looks at Jamie as we ride home, squashed together by my luggage in the back of a cab. He’s the same as he was when we were older, in the Great Wood—it’s like he’s grown back into himself, though he hasn’t realized it yet. His enthusiasm burns brighter than ever as he talks about labor reform and prison reform and goodness knows what else. Underneath that fire he’s steadfast as a stone, and I know that he’ll do good in this world if it gives him half a chance.

We get home and tumble out of the taxi and I paste on my most brilliant smile. There are breathless hugs with Dad and Mum, who are careful not to mention Phil, and a cold supper and hot cocoa in the kitchen and then, quite suddenly, it’s dark outside and the clock is chiming midnight.