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“We are asleep, Inspector. How could we possibly know what goes on with Mr. Miller’s men?” Felicity says.
The inspector’s pencil hovers over the page. His eyes flick from Ann’s face to the sudden hand-holding. He smiles warmly. “The smallest detail might be the biggest of clues. No need for shyness.”
“Have you any suspects?” I ask.
Inspector Kent holds my gaze for a second longer than is comfortable. “No. But that gives credence to my theory that these men, under the bottle’s spell, wandered away from the camp to sleep it off and then, fearing the foreman’s wrath, decided to leave altogether. Or perhaps it is an effort to bring suspicion on the Gypsies.”
“Perhaps it is the Gypsies,” Felicity adds quickly. I should like to kick her.
“That would be convenient,” the inspector says, stirring milk into his tea. “Too convenient, perhaps, though I did see that one of theirs was missing this evening.”
Kartik. He’s gone already.
“Well, the truth shall come to light. It always does.” Inspector Kent sips his tea. “Aye, that’s what’s right with the world. A good cup of tea.”
When we return to the realms, I’m ill at ease. The trouble with my brother, my visit with Circe, and the fight with Kartik all weigh heavily on me. But the others are merry and ready for a grand party. Felicity takes Pippa’s hands in hers, and they twirl about on the thick carpet of vines. They laugh like the old friends they are. I envy them. Soon, the others join in the dance. Mae and Mercy take Wendy’s hands and lead her about. Even Mr. Darcy hops in his cage as if he should like to take a partner. Only I stand apart. And secretly, I fear it shall always be this way, me alone, belonging to no one, no tribe, always standing just outside the party. I try to push the thought away, but it has already spoken truth to my soul. The sadness of my independence sinks deep into my blood. It rushes through my veins with a fierce, pulsing refrain: You are alone, alone, alone.
Felicity whispers in Pip’s ear. They close their eyes, and Pip calls out, “Gemma! For you!”
There is a tap on my shoulder from behind. I turn to see Kartik dressed in a black cloak, and my heart leaps for a moment. He could be Kartik, but he isn’t. The others laugh at Pip’s little joke. I’m not amused. I put my hand on his shoulder, drawing on my own magic, and he becomes a doddering old pirate with a peg leg.
“That one,” I say, pointing to Pippa. “She desires a dance. Off with you.”
It is a very happy party, everyone laughing, singing, and dancing, so they don’t notice when I slip away and walk to the river, where I find Gorgon returning from her travels.
“Gorgon!” I call, for I’ve missed her more than I realized.
She pulls to the shore and lowers the plank for me, and I climb aboard, happy to see the twisting snakes that flick their tongues at me.
“Most High. You are missing the party, it would seem,” Gorgon says, nodding toward the castle.
“I tired of it.” I stretch out and lie on my back, looking up at the few pricks of light peeking through the clouds. “Have you ever felt as if you were utterly alone in the world?” I ask softly.
Gorgon’s voice is tinged with quiet sadness. “I am the last of my kind.”
High-pitched laughter escapes from the castle as if from another world. Beyond the watery blue-ink sky of the Borderlands, the deep gray clouds of the Winterlands rumble with distant thunder.
“You never did tell me that story,” I remind her.
She takes a heavy breath. “Are you certain you would hear it?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Then sit close and I will tell it.”
I do as she asks, taking a perch right beside her enormous green face.
“This was many generations ago,” she says, briefly closing her eyes. “All feared the Winterlands creatures and the chaos they brought, and so, when the Order’s power began to rise, we welcomed it. The Order brought the tribes together, and for a time, the tribes flourished, the gardens blossomed; in your world men were influenced, history was made. But still the Winterlands creatures rode, drawing more souls to their side. The Order sought to stop the threat by taking greater control.
“There were small concessions at first. Certain freedoms were denied, for our own good, we were told. Our own powers atrophied from lack of use. And the Order grew stronger.”
I interrupt. “I’m confused. I thought the Order was good, that the magic was good.”
“Power changes everything till it is difficult to say who are the heroes and who the villains,” she replies. “And magic itself is neither good nor bad; it is intent that makes it either.”
The castle hums with music and laughter. The light shining from the windows does not quite reach us. Gorgon and I sit in our pool of shadows.
“The discontent festered,” Gorgon continues after a pause. “There was a rebellion, every tribe fighting for its own survival without a care for the others. In the end, the Order won the day, but not without cost. They no longer allowed the tribes to draw magic from the runes. The creatures in your world were stranded there. And my people…” She trails off, her eyes closed tightly as if she is in pain. Long minutes pass with nothing but the music drifting from the castle.
