It was a single word carved along the side, where it was not readily visible. The lettering was scripted, even graceful, although stone meant to withstand the ravages of a catapult must have been damned difficult to incise.
Just as I had perceived the flicker of thoughts behind Gladys’s eyes, somehow, inexplicably, I understood that this word had been meant to serve as a final admonition, engraved as deep as desperation could manage into unyielding stone.
The word was: Don’t.
• • •
What if, that moment in the grotto when I asked Jesse if I was crazy, he had answered yes?
What if all this persistent strangeness about me, all the dreams and songs and the wicked voice, was not the product of mysterious magic but merely my own mundane insanity?
No such things as dragons. No such things as boys made out of stars or girls going to smoke.
I would do anything to avoid being imprisoned again. I would absolutely lie or cheat or steal.
Perhaps I would even kill.
I would kill myself. I knew that. In a soundless and static corner of my soul, I knew that.
If it meant I’d go to hell—well, it happens that there are many levels of hell, and I’d already visited a few of them.
Jumping off a castle roof would be no worse a fate.
• • •
I waited until twilight before attempting to find him again.
Unlike the last time I’d ventured outdoors for Jesse, I did not run through this descending eve but walked most decorously from the main doors of the castle instead. Bundled in my shawl and uniform, I might have been partaking in any one of Mrs. Westcliffe’s permitted after-supper al fresco activities, like:
Strolling to the edge of the rose garden to admire the sunset.
Strolling to the edge of the orchard to admire the sunset.
Strolling to the edge of the bridge to admire the sunset.
At England’s foremost educational opportunity for young women, strolling to the brink of things was allowed. Leaving the green—plunging beyond brinks—was not.
As the sunset tonight consisted of a watery gray cloak of clouds, it was not especially worth admiring. I was the only student even pretending to want to slog along the grounds.
Still, I tucked my shawl closer to my chest and glanced around very carefully before easing into the woods. I even scanned the castle windows, searching for telltale faces, but the panes all shone empty. If anyone did see me go, they didn’t care enough to raise a fuss.
Twilight is the best time for Fay trickery, or so I’d read. Not yet all dark, the last brief luminance of the sky fighting its inevitable death. Shadows that seemed to reach out and snatch at you; rustlings behind trees too near for comfort. Wisplights blinking off and on in the distance. Birds skipping from crown to crown of the blackened trees, calling Farewell! Farewell! in full-throated, mournful cries.…
Gooseflesh pricked my skin, and it had nothing to do with the cold. But I was not going to be afraid of these woods, not for any reason. These were the woods that led to Jesse, so I would not be afraid.
From far away, the false thunder of airships and bombs began, a short shuddering of the air that rippled through me, but feebly, like the echo of an echo.
I walked a little faster.
In the end, it didn’t matter. By the time I found Jesse’s cottage, twilight had faded into ordinary night, and Jesse wasn’t there.
I knocked anyway, in case I was wrong. Maybe he was muting his music, like before.
The door swung open on silent hinges. No lock. No candles lit inside.
With my hand on the jamb, I took a half step forward into his home, breathing in the scent of him, subtle cinnamon overlaid now with pinewood and soap and coffee—and something else. Something that smelled very much like grass, sweetly pungent but fading rapidly.
My fingers found the bump of the cat’s-eye knot. I traced three long circles around it before turning about and leaving.
My path back to the castle looped toward the stable. I looked askance at its plain stone sides in the distance, the light leaking through the planks of the doors to lay stripes across the dirt. It appeared dollhouse small next to Iverson’s walls but in reality was likely large enough to keep horses for an entire manor.
No Jesse-music emanating from there, either, but the sweet grass smell of before billowed up and over me in waves.