only just begun, and it’s already made me a fugitive and gotten my sister captured.” She shakes her head. “And released.” She gives me a small smile. “Especially after seeing just a glimpse of all of this.” She motions toward the caves surrounding us. “This is not what I believed the Night to be. Not even close. And, Veda”—she glances my way—“if what you said struck a chord with me, I know it’ll resonate with many more, Dogio and Basso alike.”
“She’s right, Veda,” Bronwyn adds.
“Problem is, Imi, what you’ve seen is unique, and it took you being forced to come here to realize it. Most Bellonians think we’re evil and, I fear, always will.”
“Then you’ll just have to find a way to spread the truth … Lunalette.”
* * *
WITH IMI SETTLED in her new cave, Bronwyn getting her fresh clothes and probably several varieties of baked goods, I look toward my own cave. I’m surprised at how much I can’t wait to go in and lie on that woolly mat. But when I arrive at the door, I’m stopped by yet another Lunalette memorial.
And it’s the grandest yet.
My likeness has been painted on the stone wall, the scar over my heart emblazoned with metallic gold paint. There are wilted flowers, pieces of sea glass, tens upon tens of candles atop a sea of melted wax, a handful of star-shaped cookies, and a couple of glass pantera fish.
Footsteps coming down the tunnel break my concentration just as I notice another collection of small glass five-pointed stars. I look up to see it’s Dorian.
He continues walking toward me, and I look back to the altar. Before long, he stops beside me.
“You’ve been missed,” he says, his arm grazing mine so his body heat radiates like sunshine against my shoulder. “By everyone.”
I stifle both my reflex to shiver because he’s suddenly standing so close and the urge I have to lay into him because I’m still angry … So conflicted.
When I set my gaze from the altar to him, he’s staring down at me. My butterflies—or maybe they’re wasps—long dormant, awaken. I quickly look back at the memorial.
“Did you think I was dead?”
“Some did. I mean, we were trying our best to hold out hope—these candles have stayed lit since that first attack—but with each passing day…” His voice breaks, and he swallows the emotion, clears his throat. “But with each day that passed … it seemed less and less likely you’d return.”
“I wasn’t so sure myself.”
When I look over at Dorian, I see he’s watching me from the corner of his eye.
“Come on, Winters.” I motion toward my cave. I can’t avoid him forever.
My cave is exactly as I left it, down to my small collection of glass figurines left on the ledge and my teakettle and cup on the floor beside my mat. Walking inside, when I reach the mat, I slowly sit, then recline onto my back, and it’s glorious. The most comfort I’ve felt in ages.
As Dorian settles next to me, sitting on the floor, I note two very out-of-place items. First is the handkerchief I received my first night here what feels like a lifetime ago from a small girl, Ruby. The name Lunalette is embroidered across the front, along with the phases of the Moon. I last left it in the Sindaco’s map room, spread out next to the children’s storybook the Sindaco used to make up the entire Lunalette legend. I’d pierced the book with my mother’s atlatl spear. The same spear that now sits sentry to the handkerchief. The message, whatever it is, leaves me seething.
I lift my head up, eyeing Dorian and pointing at the two items laid out without ceremony on the ledge below the glass trinkets. “Did you put those there?”
He follows my eyes. Shakes his head. “No.”
I breathe in and then out my nose. Notice my hands are squeezed into fists. I sit up, and Dorian grabs the quilt, hands it over. “You should probably rest.”
“Later.” I wave him off. “Did you know?” I decide to dive in headfirst. I’m too tired to draw it out any longer.
Slowly, he settles back into the spot where he was sitting. Crisscrosses his legs. “Did I know what?” He says it like there are so many possible things I could be referring to. Because one huge lie apparently isn’t enough down here.
I sigh. “About the Lunalette legend. That the Sindaco made the whole thing up.”
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Like