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It’s not.
The tunnel leads us further into the belly of the island, the idea of which causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on edge.
When we reach the end of the tunnel and step into a section of cavern that branches outward into a wide alcove, Zora lets out a puff of air that hovers somewhere between a gasp and a sigh.
Of relief, I’m hoping.
When I turn the corner, I understand her reticence.
Covering the alcove is a web, much like the one that saved us from falling to our deaths only hours ago. The glow that originates from within the threads glitters across the cave, casting speckles of light upon the walls. Specks of green and pink dance in a brilliant waltz, highlighting every corner of the cave.
It reminds me of the shrine, the dazzling ballroom in which Zora’s body lies dormant.
The investigator in me can’t believe that’s a coincidence.
“Are they all like this?” I ask, though I think I already know the answer.
To my surprise, Zora shakes her head. “No. No, they’re…well, they’re usually quite terrifying.”
Personally, I find the light shimmering from spiderwebs alarming in its own way. I imagine the Zora from thirty seconds ago would have agreed with me. It’s of no use arguing, though. Zora’s face is struck with wonder, her eyes shimmering with the weblight that dances in her bubbling tears.
She reaches out, as if to touch the dancing light on the cavern wall, but she withdraws her hand, remembering that, of course, it’s only a glow. Nothing tangible.
“Home looks like this, doesn’t it?” she whispers as she clutches her chest.
I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s only her prison, the room in which Abra has her locked away. That the beautiful speckles of light that glitter in through the glass windows are simply a sorry apology, the remnants of a cold female’s conscience, otherwise seared numb.
But then I remember a way it can be true.
“The land we’re from—it’s dreadfully cold,” I say. “Everyone stays miserable most of the year. But at night the sky lights up with swirls of color. Mother, our mother, always says that’s why the people in Mystral stay. Because we can’t bear thinking that there are parts of the world where the sky doesn’t shimmer with colors.”
“Our mother sounds painfully sentimental,” Zora says dryly, but she wipes her sleeves on her cheeks just the same.
“So you think we can get through this way?” I ask, unsure of where to go from here.
Zora tears her gaze away from the wall, then turns to face the web at the far end of the cave. As she approaches, she brings her sleeve to her mouth and chews on it absentmindedly.
When I examine the wall more closely, I understand why.
This web is much more intricate than the tangle of string that broke our fall. In fact, this web is a masterpiece.
The sparkling tendrils curve and cross and turn and pivot, all to form the likeness of a girl.
A girl who looks a tad too much like Zora for my comfort.
“Well. I guess that erases any doubt we might have had about this being the correct location,” I say, and even as I gaze up at the portrait, my chest begins to ache.
“I used to think it was the Fates who drew these for me,” Zora says, running her hand across the likeness of her fingers until she ends up pulling strands away and the fingers crumble to decay. “That they were trying to send me a message—a confirmation that I’d done their work during the times I struggled with doubt.”
Zora blinks hard, then turns back to me. “Now I know it was just a curmudgeon of a male who had nothing better to do than collect knowledge of worlds unknown.”
Something sharp lodges itself in my throat at the prickle of hate on my sister’s tongue. There’s a part of me that’s still horrified by what Gunter did to her, the fact that he hid the reality of her dream state from me all these years. I wish that I could go back and ask him why he did it, if he had a good reason.
But I can’t ask him. Not anymore.
“Nox? Nox.”
Someone’s shaking me, startling me back to reality, anchoring me until I can survive the storm of my memories, of what they say about me.
