The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,157
needed to ask for that promotion from the dead man’s shift so he could work a normal person’s hours. His mind was starting to unravel.
“I’m really not sure I’m the right person to arrange an audience with the king—I mean queen,” he said finally. The closest he’d ever been to a member of the royal family was when the prince used to try to pass incognito around the city and everyone pretended they didn’t recognize him. He’d certainly never talked to him, except to play along and wish him a good evening.
The girl’s face grew somber. “And yet here we are. You are all I have.” Something lurked on the end of that sentence, an empty space shaped for more words.
You are all I have … so far.
The conductor sighed. “All right. I can bring you to the palace, at least. Perhaps one of the guards will know what to do.” It was a stab in the dark, but the girl’s face lit with satisfaction and approval so warm he almost felt it on his skin.
He went to the carriage door and waited, offering her his hand as she stepped inside. Her touch was cool and steady—she wasn’t trembling anymore. He closed the doors behind them both and went to his chair at the controls. “I feel like a fool for not asking sooner … but what’s your name? What do I tell the guards when we get there?”
“My name?”
She paused while the carriage eased slowly back into motion, as if the answer to that question was one she had to search for—but then the conductor realized she was only shy, and it was the strip of black makeup across her eyes that made it difficult to read her expression.
“Tell them … ,” she said slowly, her voice thoughtful. “Tell them my name is Nimhara, and that I bring news of their lost prince. Tell them I will share it with them, but only after.”
“After … ?”
“After I have been brought before the man who returned twenty years ago from the other side of the sky. There are things to be said between him and I. He has much to answer for—and I have much to do here.”
The carriage sped off into the night, its spotlight diminishing into a tiny pinprick of light among the other twinkling stars of Alciel’s nighttime skyline.
The conductor never saw the thing half-concealed behind the bushes where he’d stopped the carriage. He never saw the body of the other girl.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was a dream of ours for many years before it was a reality, and we’re both so happy to be sharing Nimh and North (and, of course, the bindle cat) with our readers. We pinch ourselves every day, almost unable to believe our good fortune at telling stories for a living, and telling them together. But there are plenty of people to whom we’re grateful as well, and we’d like to take a moment to thank them.
We must begin with you, reader. The readers, booksellers, and librarians who pick up our stories and share them with others are the reason we do what we do. It’s a big world, and we all have towering piles of books we’d like to read—we’re so grateful you pick up ours, and pass them on to your friends and loved ones.
Our amazing team at Adams Literary—Josh, Tracey, Cathy, and Stephen—are there with us every time we take a new leap of faith, always wise and always kind.
Our team at Harper has been wonderful every step of the way. We have no higher thanks to offer our editor, Kristen, than to dedicate this book to her. Many thanks also to Clare, Caitlin, Alexandra, Jenna, Alison, Michael, and to the fantastic teams in sales, marketing, publicity, and managing ed. Heartfelt thanks to Artem, for one of the most beautiful book covers we’ve ever seen. To Anna and all our Australian team at Allen & Unwin—thank you, as ever, for being such a wonderful home.
Many, many thanks to the friends who have been there to advise, support, or bring cups of tea (or occasionally something stronger) as we’ve written and rewritten this book: Michelle, Steph, Marie, Leigh, Jay, Kiersten, Eliza, Peta, Alex, Sooz, Nic, Kacey, Soraya, Ryan, the Kates, Cat, the Roti Boti crew, the House of Progress, the Asheville crew, and in particular to C. S. Pacat, for a helpful and thoughtful read of the seven millionth draft. Special thanks and love from Meg to Ryn, who kept her going through flu and fatigue while she edited.
Endless thanks as well to our families—the Spooners, Kaufmans, Cousinses, and Mr. Wolf. Jack, Sebastian, and Viola kept us company for several million drafts, but it was Icarus who lent us his very self, and lives on as the bindle cat in these pages. We miss you, buddy. To Brendan, as always, an I love you from Amie, and to Pip, enough love and welcome from both of us to fill two worlds.