The outside of the apple was the caramelized color of gold, and when it finally cooled enough for Evangeline to bite, it tasted like hot, searing sweetness and Jacks—
Evangeline closed her eyes and cursed.
Suddenly, she didn’t want an apple anymore.
A pair of stray speckled blue dragons flew about her hands, and she gave them her treat as she started toward the climbing spire shops.
It was growing close to sunset. The sky was a haze of violet light and gray clouds that told her it was probably time to head back to her room at the Mermaid and the Pearls and dress for Nocte Neverending. But Evangeline wasn’t quite ready.
She and Marisol must have visited at least fifty stores that day, and there was one shop she was keen to revisit. Lost and Found Stories & Other Distinguishables. The storefront was tired and covered in faded paint, but when Evangeline had peered in the dusty window, she’d spied a book that had never found its way to a shelf outside of the North. The Ballad of the Archer and the Fox.
The story her mother used to tell her, the story that she’d never heard the true ending of. It had been such a thrill to spy the book until she’d also noticed the sign:
Gone for Lunching
Should Return Eventually
Unfortunately, it seemed eventually hadn’t happened yet. Evangeline now found the sign still nestled against the scuffed door. She knocked, in case the proprietor had returned and had just forgotten to remove the sign, unlock the door, and light any of the lamps. “Hello?”
“The door’s not going to answer back.”
Evangeline startled as she turned, noticing how dark the spires had grown, how night had overtaken twilight quicker than it should have. The soldier looming before her looked more shadow than man. She might have run if she’d not recognized the punishing bronze helm concealing all but his eyes, his waves of hair, and his striking cheekbones. He was the soldier who’d been guarding the arch last night. He’d jokingly called her a princess and charmed her just a bit. But tonight he didn’t seem so charming.
“Are you following me?” she asked.
“Why would I be following you? You planning on stealing the fairytales?” He said it as if it were a joke. But there was a predatory spark lighting his eyes, as if he wished that she were there to steal something so that she’d give chase and then he’d be able to hunt her down.
Covertly, Evangeline cast a look behind him, to see if anyone else was nearby.
The soldier made a soft tut tut tut. “If you’re searching for someone to help you, you won’t find it here. And you shouldn’t be here either.” His tone was unexpectedly concerned. But his presence continued to unsettle her as he lifted his head toward all the steps that now ended in errant banks of fog and the narrow bridges that disappeared into dark instead of storefronts. “The spires are not safe at night. Most of the people who get lost here don’t ever get found.” He nodded toward the door behind Evangeline.
On instinct, she turned. It was almost too dark to read the sign now, but she could see that it was weathered and worn, and from that moment on, she’d always wonder if it had been sitting on that door longer than just a day.
When she turned back around, the mysterious soldier was gone. And she did not wait to see if he would return. She hurried back along the closest set of downward steps, tripping on her skirts more than once.
She’d have sworn she’d been in the spire for less than an hour, but more time must have passed. The gas lamps had come alive, and the streets were thick with coaches, all carrying people to Nocte Neverending.
Marisol was already dressed when Evangeline finally reached their room at the inn.
Since Marisol loved baking, the empress had sent her a frothy gown with a scalloped, off-the-shoulder neckline and a double skirt that looked as if it were made of one layer of honey and one of pink sugar.
“You look as if you were born to attend balls,” Evangeline said.
Marisol beamed, appearing more radiant than she ever did in the south. “I’ve already set your gown out on the bed.”
“Thank you.” Evangeline would have hugged her stepsister, but she didn’t want to wrinkle her. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Evangeline tried to hurry. There wasn’t time to curl her hair with hot tongs, but she managed a quick waterfall braid, which she decorated with the silken flowers she’d purchased earlier that day.
Tonight, her dress was designed to mimic the flower trellis in her mother’s garden, where she’d saved Marisol’s wedding. But no one looking at her would think about that. The base of Evangeline’s bodice was nude silk, making her look as if she were wrapped in nothing but the crisscrossing cream-velvet ribbons that went to her hips. There, pastel flowers began to appear, growing denser until every inch of her lower skirts were covered in a brilliant clash of silk violets, jeweled peonies, tulle lilies, curling vines, and sprays of gold crawling paisleys.