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Branches knocked against the windows, and she smiled. She felt his eyes on her as she dressed.
“Enjoy the sight whilst you can, Prince.”
The banging branches assured her that he was.
She got dressed very slowly.
Savour this,she reminded herself—or both of them, she wasn’t sure—because by tomorrow, all being well, she’d reach the capital.
Tomorrow, all being well, Hawthorn would be awake.
And engaged to someone else.
She tried not to think of that. It was definitely future Juliana’s problem. This Juliana needed to work out how to get into a heavily-guarded city and free him, first. Maybe she’d die in the attempt. At least then she’d never have to watch him marry someone else.
She wondered, if she was a faerie, what words she could speak, what truths she could utter. Could she say,I’d rather die than watch him marry Serena?What utter insanity would it be to admit such a thing?
She shook it away. No point dwelling on that.
She finished getting ready and headed off.
A quietness had settled over both the wood and the two of them, but it was not uncomfortable. She had a feeling she was smiling as she walked, the memories of the night before swirling through her, tempering her grief.
She’d been unable to read the letter Markham had written for her mother. She wasn’t sure it was right to. They weren’t her words.
She’d left it under the floorboards in the hut, a place she was sure she would never return to.
Much like Markham never would.
He’d never make amends, never apologise for his misdeeds, never live to see the consequences of his actions or her triumphs over them.
And she would triumph. She had to.
A root twisted from a nearby tree and prodded her in the side.
“I’m all right,” she assured Hawthorn. “I promise.”
And somehow, she felt that was the truth. She was all right, or would be, because he was beside her.
For a little while longer.
Night came again eventually, and Juliana was forced to make camp. She was almost certain it was the same fallen tree that had been their shelter three years ago, but she couldn’t be certain. The woods largely looked the same here.
But she knew where she was. Half a day from the Autumn Gate.
She lay down and struggled to sleep. Tomorrow, tomorrow. It could all be over tomorrow. This might be their last night together. She couldn’t stomach the thought, and yet she wanted sleep to come more than ever, to bring them together.
One last night.
Still unable to sleep, and desperately aware of the dwindling hours, Juliana sat up. “Hawthorn,” she said, “if you’re waiting for me, would you mind just disappearing for a little while? Maybe half an hour?”
There was a rustle in the bushes, which she took to mean a yes, and after a moment she reached into her pack and brought out his notebook.
There were still a few pages she’d not read.
If she couldn’t be with him in the dream, she’d have his words instead.
She worked her way through the remaining entries, savouring every line of dire poetry, every scribbled insult, every minute entry mocking and praising her physical attributes.
