You look just as I remember you, he had said not half an hour ago.
She breathed deeply until her lungs burned. Only then did she open her eyes and read:
Dear Iris,
I know you’re brimming with questions. You’re wondering why I just met you for tea, why I am in Oath to begin with, and why I haven’t written to you prior to this, letting you know I was coming for a visit. And I have the answers, but I can only give them to you in person, when we are not being watched. When we are in a safe and private place.
I will be here for one night only before I must return to my post. One night, and I would like to spend it with you.
I will have to sneak you into my house, of course. Be prepared for a climb. And I know this is not without its risks, to ask you to come by cover of night. But if you can … there is a break in my father’s estate fence, toward the northeast side of the gardens. Approach from Derby Road—there is a footpath between homes 1345 and 1347—and you will see the weak point in the fence, just beneath an oak tree. It is nearly concealed by brambles, but if you look, you will find the path. I will be waiting for you there at half past ten, when the moon rises.
Love,
Kitt
P.S. A final note written by my future self, because I know I will be feeling this as I walk away from you: gods, you looked gorgeous at tea. I would like to take you to all the places you love most in the city, and then beyond. Think about them. Make me a list. We’ll go anywhere you want to. We’ll go together when the war is over.
Iris made it to the end. She couldn’t quite read the words anymore, through the tears that stung her eyes.
Someone knocked loudly on the door. The sound brought her back to the present: she was sitting on a toilet lid, the sounds of a café muted through the walls. She pulled the lever to flush, alerting the person waiting that she was almost done, because her voice had rusted in her throat.
Rising, Iris tucked the letters back into her pocket and washed her hands at the sink, staring at her reflection in the speckled mirror.
She would not live in fear. She would not fulfill Dacre’s silver-tongued omen for her.
It didn’t matter how many years passed or what lay ahead for her. What the war would or would not bring.
Iris would never find herself lost to what could have been.
{34}
Twelve Past Eleven
Roman hadn’t been aware that there was a new watch in Oath and curfew was now at dusk. Not until his parents told him about it over a very awkward dinner. He now waited for Iris in the darkness beneath the oak boughs, a few minutes shy of ten thirty, and his worry was gathering like moonlight on the ground, making monstrous shadows out of harmless shrubs.
It had been an odd day altogether, and it almost felt like Roman had seen Iris at the café weeks ago, not mere hours. A memory that had already turned sepia in his mind. But when he had left her at Gould’s, he had walked the city until his emotions banked into coals and he could think clearly again.
He had remembered his hastily drawn map of the ley line, and the potential buildings that hosted magical doorways. Places that Dacre’s army could potentially use to invade the city. The map was in his pocket—he planned to hand it over to Iris that night—and while he wanted to pull it out and compare it to the street, he didn’t, sensing Val still trailing him. And so Roman had acted like he was casually walking, while in truth, he was studying the street and the buildings all the way back to his father’s estate.
He had wanted to spend time with his nan and his mother, and he arrived through the front gate and knocked on the bright red door, as if he hadn’t been there earlier. His mother had been thrilled, hugging him tightly in her thin arms, smoothing back his hair, pulling him into the sunroom, her favorite place in the house because it overlooked the gardens and Del’s small grave. But most of all, Roman had been shocked that his father looked relieved to see him.
“How long are you here for?” Mr. Kitt had asked, puffing on his cigar.
The smoke tickled Roman’s nose. He tried not to breathe too deeply, feeling his lungs wither in response. “I leave first thing tomorrow. I’ll be staying here tonight, though. In my old room, if that’s all right.”
“Of course it is, Roman!” Mrs. Kitt had exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “We’ll have a nice family dinner together. Just like old times, my darling.”
It was not like old times. There was no going back to those days, as much as they might long to or fool themselves that time could be wound back like a clock. But Roman had only smiled, and when his mother called for tea and his favorite biscuits, he drank and ate again, as if he were empty.