She looked like a statue come to life.
Marisol went pale.
“I suppose it’s a good thing I wasn’t invited to this dinner. If I’d been given a gown to symbolize my life, it would have probably had a skull and crossbones embroidered over the chest.” Marisol said this as if it were a jest, but her voice was a little too high and a little too raw.
And just like that, the familiar wedge of guilt was back.
“It’s going to be different here.” Evangeline took her stepsister’s hand and squeezed. Once again, she was tempted to confess the truth and tell Marisol that her supposed curse was all Evangeline’s fault.
“Miss Fox!” Frangelica called through the door. “It’s time to depart, my dear.”
Evangeline closed her mouth and swallowed down her secrets. Confessing might ease her guilt, but it would ruin so many other things, and not just for her. If she told Marisol the truth, she might not feel cursed anymore, but she would feel betrayed.
For now, Evangeline would just have to hope that things really would be different here—and that the North had enough magic to create happier endings for both of them.
12
Evangeline didn’t know if it was the light of the moon or the North’s unusual magic, but the fog had turned to iridescent mist that set the streets aglow and made the tips of the needle-trees shimmer with hints of gold blue and fairy green as her carriage rumbled forward, over dips and divots and uneven roads that made her insides twist and churn. Or perhaps she was just nervous.
She told herself there was no reason to be anxious. Earlier, when the scars on her wrist had burned, she had feared seeing Jacks tonight. But given how exclusive the dinner was, any chance of the Fate attending seemed narrow. If Jacks was in this part of the North, Evangeline wasn’t even sure he’d want to attend. Most of the ladies would be there for a chance to meet Prince Apollo, and if Fates were as jealous as the stories said, she couldn’t imagine that Jacks would like that.
No, she reassured herself. Jacks would not be there. The only prince she’d see tonight would be Prince Apollo.
Her stomach tumbled once again when the carriage finally halted. Frangelica didn’t move to leave, but she cheerily said, “Good luck! And don’t pluck any of the leaves.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Evangeline said, mostly because it seemed like the correct reply as she stepped into the frost-touched night.
She’d expected to arrive at a snow-tipped castle or a storybook chateau, but there was only a forest of spindly trees dripping ice and an arch made of the same marbled blue granite that formed the Gateway Arch to the North.
This arch was not nearly as large as that one had been, but the torches on either side of it illuminated carvings that were equally intricate and far more inviting. Evangeline saw symbols from countless Northern tales and ballads: star-shaped keys and broken books, knights in armor, a crowned wolf’s head, winged horses, bits of castles, arrows and foxes, and twining vines of harlequin lilies.
It reminded her a bit of her mother’s embroidery. She was always stitching curious images like foxes and keyholes into dresses. Evangeline wished her mother were there right now and that whatever happened next would have made her proud.
“Are you going to stand here until you freeze, or step through?” said a smoky voice.
At first, Evangeline thought the voice came from the arch. Then she saw him.
The young man stood beside the arch the way a tree stood in a forest, as if he’d always been there. He wore no cloak or cape, just sinuous leather armor and an unusual bronze helm. The top portion almost looked like a crown, thick and decorated with unfamiliar symbols that wrapped around the young man’s forehead. The helm left most of his wavy brown hair uncovered but concealed much of his face with a wide curve of harsh, spiked metal that bracketed the sides of his head and covered his jaw all the way to the bridge of his nose, leaving only a pair of eyes and slashing cheekbones exposed.
Instinctively, she took a step back.
The soldier laughed, unexpectedly soft. “You’re not in any danger from me, princess.”
“I’m not a princess,” she corrected.
“But maybe you will be.” He winked, and then he disappeared from view as she stepped through the arch and heard a voice rasp, We’re so pleased you found us.
Another step, and the world transformed around her.
Warmth coated her skin like afternoon sun. Evangeline remained outside, but the fog and the mist and the cold were gone. Everything here was burnished bronze and red and orange—the colors of leaves on the verge of change.