Shadowlark (29 page)

“Wesley,” I found myself saying, “back in CeePo, when Adjutant called Basil Prometheus. You weren’t surprised.”

He inclined his head, conceding the point. “The possibility had crossed my mind.”

“That the author of the journal was Prometheus himself?” He nodded, and I struggled to understand. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Wesley ran a hand across his scalp, not replying immediately. “Because when you’re fighting an impossible enemy, your best weapon is hope.”

“I thought I was your best weapon,” I said dryly.

“Indeed,” he said, although his tone was serious, not echoing the humor in my voice.

I swallowed, scanning Wesley’s face. He was still a little haggard, dark circles under his eyes. He looked wan in contrast with the brightness of his peacock coat, which no one had dared suggest he get rid of even though he was no longer posing as one of Prometheus’s highest lackeys.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I said softly.

He gazed back at me for a long moment, reminding me of the teachers I’d had back in my home city, pinning me to my chair and making me want to squirm. Then he nodded. “I know you are. But I knew what I was offering. And I
did
offer.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

Wesley smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“But I
could
have.”

Wesley laughed. “We could be at this all night, Lark. Life is full of coulds and shoulds. Those things have no bearing on reality. You do what you do, you make the choices you make. I respect your choices. You should do the same.”

When I had no answer for him he straightened, reaching for the handle of the door. “Goodbye, Lark. Be well.”

I was left staring after him as the door swung loosely closed, thinking of all the exercises he’d made me do, learning how to recognize the point of death, how to automatically stop myself before I passed it.

Did he know? Could he have somehow suspected, all along, that it would come down to that moment—him offering his magic to me, me having no choice but to take it?

Before I could consider that idea any further, the door squeaked open again, shattering my thoughts. Oren was there, one palm pressed against the door, his expression locked down. His eyes were on the supplies strewn over my bed, and for a wild moment I considered using my reserves of magic to slam the door in his face and pray he hadn’t seen.

But it was too late. I could see the betrayal in his gaze, the way they flicked from object to object, avoiding my face. With a tiny whir, Nix darted out from behind Oren’s head, and hovered over his shoulder.

“Told you she was leaving.”
Though it was impossible, I could have sworn it sounded smug and petulant.

Traitor,
I thought. When I turned my furious gaze on the pixie, it gave a startled screech and fled. So much for loyalty.

And so much for getting out of here without telling Oren.

“What is this?” he asked, stepping into the room and letting the door bang closed behind him.

“Oren, I wasn’t going to—”

“No, you tell me now. What is this? Are you planning another scouting mission somewhere?”

He knew I wasn’t. He was giving me a chance to lie, so we could both pretend. I lifted my chin. “I’ve been headed back there ever since I left, I just didn’t realize it. I’ve got to go back. I’m done running away.”

He closed the gap between us so he could speak in a low voice. “You’re still healing. Your arm—”

“Is fine. The splint will stay on another week or two, and it’ll be good as new. The healers have done what they can, now it’s just time. There’s no reason I can’t travel.”

“And the people here?” Oren’s pale eyes were icy hot, jaw clenched. “You’re just going to up and vanish on them?”

“They’ve got Basil and Dorian. They’ll be fine.”

Oren took a breath in and then let it out audibly—it was shaking. “And me? Were you going to leave without telling me?”

I stared at him, trying to catch my breath. “I don’t know.”

His throat moved convulsively as he swallowed. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Oren, you’re happy here!” I burst out, suddenly angry— angry that he wouldn’t just let me do this for him, angry that this wasn’t just my choice to make. “You have friends here, you can do some good here. You’re in control. You’re living an actual life. You’re safe here. How can I ask you to leave home behind?”

Oren was breathing hard, as though he’d just sprinted up a hill—as if standing in front of me now was some monumental feat of strength. “You think it’s this place that’s done all that?”

“Of course it is.” I gazed back at him, the fury draining away.

“You still talk too much,” he said wearily, taking another step forward so he could reach up, fingers tracing the line of a healing gash along my cheekbone. “And you don’t pay any attention to what’s really going on.”

I wanted to shake my head and deny what he was saying, but his fingers were like fire tracing down from my cheek, across my jaw, down my neck.

“It’s because of you, you stupid girl.” Oren’s brow was furrowed, his eyes not quite meeting mine—scanning my face. “This place is just a place. It’s the place where you are. If I’m in control it’s because I fought for it, to make sure I never lost it and hurt you. If I’m happy here, it’s because I’ve gotten to see you become this warrior. It’s you, Lark. It has nothing to do with where we are, except that it’s the place where you are.”

We were standing so close that I could smell his scent— here in civilization he was clean, with no traces of dirt or blood or sweat, but I could smell him all the same. Some fiery hint of the wilderness about him, that quality I could smell in the rain and the wind in the world outside.

“I should’ve told you before,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Before everything, before it could’ve been too late. But I meant it when I said I’d follow you anywhere, Lark.”

“And if I’m going back to where this all started?” I asked.

“Then I’m going with you.” He paused, breath catching. “That is, if you want me. If you can see past what I am.”

“You’re Oren,” I replied, dizzy. “That’s all I care about.”

“I’m a monster,” he said gently, firmly.

“So am I.” It came out in a whisper.

His mouth twitched again in that little smile, helpless, exhaling half of a laugh. Then, as if he couldn’t stand it anymore, his mouth was on mine, and for the first time it was real, normal. He still had his darkness and I still had mine, and we were going to have to find a way to deal with them both. But for now it was just him and me, and our monsters would have to wait.

He learned harder against me—my good arm wrapped around him, pulling him close—I stumbled back a step until I hit the end of the bed. He gasped for a breath, then ducked his head, burying his face against my neck, lips finding my pulse.

Then something clanked, a whir of mechanisms interrupting us. We flew apart, Oren’s preternatural reflexes sending him halfway across the room before Nix even popped out of the ventilation shaft.

“Are you done yet? Can we go?”
The pixie affected boredom, sounding impatient. And, perhaps, just the tiniest bit smug.

I looked back up, meeting Oren’s eyes. He inched back toward me, reaching for my hands again. His gaze was steady, calm, certain. And behind that all, I thought I caught a glimpse of excitement.

And I knew why, because I could feel it rising in myself. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who had missed this. The journey, the danger, the sky overhead. Wind and stars and sunlight, and not knowing what lay over the next hill. A world so vast we could walk forever and never see everything there was to see.

Oren squeezed my hands.

“When do we leave?”

Second books are hard. If there are any writers reading this, right now they’re snickering and thinking, “Yeah, understatement of the century.” The pressure is high, the glamour is low, and the novelty’s worn off. (Well, for everyone else, that is. To me it’s still pretty crazy that I get to do this!) But that just makes me even more grateful to the people around me who’ve cheered me on and supported me just as much, if not more, as on the first exciting day when I got to tell everyone I’d sold my trilogy. For those people who kept listening, even when I was in the depths of writerly despair, and considering changing my name and fleeing the country.

I’m so glad to have my family, my mom and dad and my big sister, all cheering for me—and commiserating with me when things aren’t all sunshine and roses. And I couldn’t do without my extended family of friends and relatives: the Miskes, Harry, Natalie and Rod; the aunts and uncles and cousins who ran out to buy the book as soon as they could;
my strong Nana and my fearless Grandma—I feel so lucky to
have all of you.

Thank you to my agent, Josh, and to Tracey as well, for being such awesome warriors. You make me glad you’re on my team. And special thanks to Abby and Jessie too, for making me feel like part of the family!

I also want to thank my editor, Andrew Karre, for never flagging in his faith in me and my writing. To the rest of the team at Carolrhoda Lab, thank you for believing in my books!

To the other authors I’ve met and gotten to know over the past few years: I never would’ve gotten through this without you. Veronica, Beth, Kimberley, Megan, Kat, Sarah, Susan, Lindsay, Stephanie, Diana—having people to talk to who know what it’s like on the other side of the manuscript has made all the difference.

All my friends are forever in my debt for being so understanding of my occasional crazy, especially my roommate, Caitlin, who’s heard me run the gamut from shrieking about awesome news to throwing tantrums about feeling stuck and blocked. Also Kim and Frazier, for going out of their way to see me when otherwise, left to my own devices, I’d become a complete hermit and lock myself in my writer-cave for months on end. My Australian friends and family have been
extra awesome—the day science invents a long-distance tele
porter, I will be visiting you every day.

And finally, there’s no one who deserves my gratitude more than Amie Kaufman, my critique partner, co-author, and all-around pillar of sanity. This book very simply wouldn’t exist without her.

MEAGAN SPOONER
grew up reading and writing every spare moment of the day. She graduated from Hamilton College in New York with a degree in playwriting and spent several years living in Australia. She’s traveled with her family all over the world to places like Egypt, South Africa, the Arctic, Greece, Antarctica, and the Galapagos, and there’s a bit of every journey in the stories she writes. She currently lives and writes in Northern Virginia, but the siren call of travel is hard to resist, and there’s no telling how long she’ll stay there.