Lyra’s eyes shone honey brown in the candlelight, arms tightening across her chest. “I bargained,” she said, voice clipped and measured. “My brother . . .” One hitch in her breath, barely noticeable, before she swallowed and went on. “My youngest brother became infected. So I bargained. Bound myself to the Wilderwood in exchange for a cure.”
Raffe’s face was unreadable. He looked from Lyra to Eammon and back, glanced around the Keep. “And you live here,” he said slowly. “With the Wolf. In the Wilderwood.”
“With us.” Fife took a small step forward. The spoon in his hand didn’t look foolish at all anymore.
Lyra shrugged. “There are worse places to be.” A slender brow arched. “And since you’re asking,” she added, “the Queen isn’t here.”
Raffe’s gaze flickered between Lyra and Eammon. His eyes closed, briefly, and the tension in his shoulders went slack, like his anger had been the only strength in his spine. “Then I have no idea where she might be.”
The floor was solid beneath her, but Red felt like she was falling. Eammon’s hand on her shoulder was all that kept her upright, a counterpoint to the chaos in her head. Neve was gone. Red had left her, pulled away by the roots in her bones, and now she was gone. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed needles.
“What happened?” Eammon asked.
Raffe sank to a seat on the bottom step, denting the moss. “No one has seen her in the palace since yesterday morning.” He sounded hoarse, like the words were too heavy for his throat to lift. “Not since the incident in the Shrine. The rumor was that the Second Daughter was there . . .”
“You thought I took her.” Red’s voice was harsh.
Raffe didn’t nod, but the tightening of his clasped hands was a sentencing. “I didn’t . . .” He stopped, started again. “I knew she was doing something that affected the Wilderwood. And I knew—”
“Then why did you leave her?” Red didn’t realize she’d advanced a step until the weight of Eammon’s hand fell away. “If you knew what was happening, how could you leave her?”
“You think it was my choice?” Raffe snapped the word, like he could break it between his teeth. “It wasn’t. The Order sent me away.”
“And you let them?”
“Arick all but forced me out.” Despite the blade of his tone, there was sadness in Raffe’s face. Arick had been his friend, too. “He said I had nothing to gain by getting embroiled in Valleydan politics, and he said it like a threat. I rented a room in the city, kept an eye on things as best I could. It’s all I could do.” He ran one hand helplessly over his shorn hair. “It wasn’t enough.”
Red took her grief and buried it deep, something to be dealt with later. For now, her mind whirred through possibilities, solutions.
One clicked.
“I know how to find her.” She spun on her heel, toward the back door. “Come with me.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
T he mirror was propped against the same wall where Eammon had first left it. Red half expected the glass to be clear, the healing of the Wilderwood reflected in its relic. But the surface was still matte and gray, touched by the subtly sinister twist of smoke. Maybe it would take time to heal, or maybe it was something that would always look foreboding.
Red swallowed. She wasn’t sure which option disconcerted her more.
“This . . . shows you Neve?” Apprehension made Raffe’s voice brittle. He’d balked at the sight of the tower, wrapped in vine and branch, bursting with as much golden autumn as the rest of the Wilderwood. Now he held himself carefully, arms crossed so he didn’t touch anything.
“Gaya made it so she could see Tiernan.” Red untied her braid, shaking her hair over her shoulders. She pulled out one strand, hesitated, then tugged a few more. Neve might be harder to find this time.
“And it works?”
Eammon’s eyes flickered from Red to the mirror, the same nervousness she felt etched into his face. “Mostly.”
“Strange magic,” Raffe murmured.
“An understatement.” Despite his nonchalance, Fife held himself stiffly against the stair railing. Lyra had gone to the Edge to tell Valdrek what was happening, to finally make good on his promise of help if the need ever arose. Red knew Fife would be nervous until she returned.
With one last reassuring look at Eammon, Red wound the strands of her hair through the mirror’s frame and sat back on her heels, waiting for the smoke and shine, waiting for her sister.