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“I’ll be fine in a minute,” she said, certain that she would be.
“I don’t doubt that.” And then, in full view of his mother, he linked his fingers into hers and kissed the back of her palm.
Juliana wasn’t sure what shocked her more: the action, the audience, or the fact she didn’t immediately remove them.
She didn’twantto remove them.
She chanced a look outside the carriage, the castle vanishing into night, distinguishable only by tiny spots of colour in the sea of ink. All too quickly, colour vanished entirely.
They were alone in a black sky, and everything Juliana had ever known and loved was lost beneath endless, invisible clouds.
To begin with, Maytree attempted to make small talk. That went about as well as could be expected. She’d uttered little but forced pleasantries, instructions and condemnations in Hawthorn’s direction for years. In fact, Juliana was inclined to thinkshespoke to the queen more often and at more significant length.
Someone banged against the roof of the carriage. “My Queen,” came the voice of Maytree’s personal guard, Kieran.
The Queen rose as a hatch opened up in the ceiling. “Stay here,” she commanded the two of them, and took Kieran’s hand, levering herself onto the roof.
Juliana could see little in the dark, little that wasn’t illuminated by the faint crystal lights of the carriage’s interior, just enough to display the sharp lines of Hawthorn’s face. The carriage gave a strange, shuddering lurch, and faint light crackled along the horizon—not dawn, more like soundless lightning.
Something like a cold fog ripped through them.
“What was that?” Juliana gasped.
“Mother opened a portal,” Hawthorn explained, peering outwards. Juliana felt something slump in the seat outside. “Not easy to do—not easy at all. She’s transported us several miles. I don’t think she can do more.”
“Is she all right?”
He nodded. “She’ll be fine with rest.”
He hovered by the hatch, but she did not rejoin them. Eventually, he closed the opening, and slid back into his seat. Even in the dark she could see how tight his body was, coiled with nerves. She wished she knew how to dispel that, but she was busy battling her own.
She sat down beside him, and waited.
More hours passed. From time to time, Juliana asked Hawthorn if he could spot anything. He’d mumbled a reply, saying he expected they were flying over such-and-such a town, but he had little to offer.
Time, both endless and unstoppable, flooded before them.
“We’re not too far away from the border now,” Hawthorn remarked.
Juliana glanced out of the window. The inkiness of the sky was starting to recede. Dawn was not far off.
It was Hawthorn’s eighteenth birthday.
She turned towards him, wondering if she should make a joke, or whether that was too much, too horrifying.
Hawthorn stared at the carriage floor, twiddling his thumbs. His blackthorn ring had vanished. “Jules, seeing as you can’t come with us, it may be that…”
“That what?”
“It may be some time before we’ll see each other again, and—”
Or never. It could be never. If Serena didn’t make it back, if Maytree didn’t have another plan, if Ladrien chased them there—
“I’m not fond of grand goodbyes,” she snapped.
“No. I suppose not.” His twitching fingers moved towards his pendant, still not looking at her. There was no need for him to wear it now, and yet he’d taken it anyway.
“Why did you give the witch your years?” she asked him. “Truly?”
