Hazel and Hemlock walked down the streets of Sarnum, heading towards an inn that Hawthorn had recommended. Apparently, after Hazel had run off to the field, Hemlock had sent the others away, and Hawthorn had said they would wait at the inn until she and Hemlock arrived.

Though as they turned down one road and then another, passing shops and doors and people disinclined to meet her gaze, Hazel wasn’t sure she and Hemlock knew where they were going. Then again, she wasn’t sure she cared.

They walked in silence, sidestepping oncoming people and the occasional dog. Even through all the bustle, Hazel had to keep reminding herself not to smile like a moonstruck idiot. Especially when Hemlock would take her arm and guide her away from stepping into a filth-laden gutter or—when she was looking up at him—from walking into a lamppost. She suddenly felt so foolish around him, and yet somehow that foolishness was wonderful.

Not that he was faring much better. In the reflection of a window, she saw his gaze fall upon her just as he walked headlong into a man wearing a cape of a brilliant, shimmering material that would likely have made Hawthorn blanch with jealousy. Hemlock murmured an apology, but the man just huffed, swept his cape over a shoulder, and strode away.

Hazel bit her lip, but it wasn’t enough to suppress a giggle. Hemlock smiled. He took her hand, and they continued on.

The chill morning waned into warm afternoon, finally taking on a semblance of summer. And though Hazel was reluctant to admit it, Sarnum really didn’t seem so bad in the daylight. They passed jewelry shops displaying amulets that had been wrought into twining serpents with crystalline scales that sparkled in the light. Pastry shops boasted layered tortes and columns of cookies bundled together with bands of colorful ribbons. A tobacco shop sent an earthy, sweet scent wafting into the air, mingling with the smell of onion and meat, beer and char that came from elsewhere on the street. They even passed a dressmaker’s shop that displayed an elaborate gown in the window; it had so many frills and flounces that Hazel could practically hear Holly squeal with delight.

The thought of her sister, and what Hazel had said to her, made her wince. She needed to make it right, though she wasn’t sure how. By the time they finally found the inn—the Backwards Buck—Hazel was exhausted and filthy from the blood and dust that clung to her dress, and she could think of little beyond a bath and going to sleep despite the early hour.

They stepped inside, and Hazel hesitated at the threshold as she waited for her eyes to adjust. Her heart quickened, sweat stinging her cut palm as memories of Baern’s dark home surfaced, and she clutched Hemlock’s hand. But then she took in the flickering blue light from the sconces, and the dim interior of a common room came into view.

Tables littered the expansive room, populated by numerous patrons talking over mugs of beer or playing at cards. No one looked up as Hazel and Hemlock passed, even as she studied them while looking for Holly and Hawthorn.

They came to a counter, behind which stood a disinterested woman, her brown, greying hair pulled back into a single frizzy braid. When Hemlock enquired after Holly and Hawthorn, the woman raised her eyebrows, shrugged, and moved her gaze elsewhere. When they remained, the innkeeper sighed, murmured some room numbers as she waved a limp hand towards a set of stairs, then moved further down the counter.

Hazel and Hemlock headed upstairs and found one of the rooms the woman had mentioned—the other one further down the hall.

“Is this Holly’s or Hawthorn’s room?” Hazel asked.

“I don’t know. The woman wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information.”

Hazel knocked on the door.

“Go away!” came Holly’s reply.

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” Hemlock said.

“I should talk to her alone,” Hazel said.

Hemlock nodded. “I’ll go find Hawthorn.” He squared his shoulders and straightened his jacket. “This should be bracing, as always.” Then he walked to the other door down the hall.

Hazel eased Holly’s door open and slipped inside, not wanting to make too much noise. Holly lay on top of the bed, her back to Hazel.

Holly turned, scowled at her, then turned back around. “What do you want?”

“To say I’m sorry. I had no right to speak to you like that. I’m sorry, truly.”

“You’re always sorry, but you keep doing it anyway. I’m not a toy for you to kick around, Hazel.”

Hazel sat on the edge of the bed behind Holly. “I know. I was scared and hurt and confused, and… I know that’s not an excuse—I’m not trying to excuse it—but I don’t deal with all that very well. Sometimes I need time to think, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you just say that? ‘I need time to think.’ It’s not hard.”

Hazel swallowed. “It shouldn’t be, but it’s hard for me.”

Holly said nothing.

Hazel knotted her fingers together as she stared at her sister’s back and her mess of golden hair spilling over the pillow. She opened her mouth but snapped it shut again. Then, gathering her courage, she said, “Hemlock and I kissed.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Hazel blinked a few times. “Well, I suppose it’s more accurate to say that he kissed me, but it happened.”

Holly shook her head, an awkward motion as she lay against the bed. “You want me to think you did so I’ll forget about what you said. But I won’t forget. Not ever. Not this time.”

“I don’t want you forget, Holly. I hope you’ll forgive me, but that’s not the same thing. I’m not lying though. I…” She took a breath. “I think I might love him.” Hazel stared at her hands as Holly sat up and studied her. Then before Hazel knew what was happening, Holly embraced her in a crushing hug.

Tears filled Hazel’s eyes, and she smoothed Holly’s hair as she hugged her sister back. They stayed there for a time until Holly pulled away. She grinned. “Now are you going to get married?”

A short laugh escaped Hazel as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know. One step at a time, all right?”

Holly pursed her lips, but she nodded. “Let me see your hand.”

Hazel let Holly take her hand, wincing as she poked at the wound.

Holly screwed up her face. “Why’d he cut you? He sick or something?”

“Probably, but he did it to make this.” Hazel fished out the bloodied bone from her pocket and set in on the bed.

They stared at it as if the bone might scurry off the blanket and cavort about the room.

“W-what are you supposed to do with that?” Holly said.

“Find Father, apparently.”

“But you’re not a necromancer.”

“Baern wasn’t too concerned with that detail.”

Holly stared at her, but Hazel kept her gaze fixed on the bone.

“What are you going to do?” Holly said.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe if we returned to Elder…”

Hazel shook her head. “I think we’ve gotten all the help we’re going to from Elder. And I’m not sure I’d want his help anyway even if he offered.”

“But what choice do we have? You can’t do necromantic magic, Hazel.”

Hazel said nothing and continued to stare at the bone.

“Hazel?”

She looked up and met Holly’s puzzled gaze, then forced a feeble smile. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

Holly frowned, but before she could say anything, Hazel swept the bone off the bed and returned it to her pocket. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat.” Hazel hurried out of the room, leaving her silent sister behind.

Holly glowered at Hazel’s back as she followed her sister down the hall. This was all wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to find their father, yes, but not with necromancy. Hazel couldn’t possibly be considering it, could she? Holly wanted to believe that, but there had been a look in Hazel’s eyes. A look of… resignation. Holly almost wished that the look meant Hazel was giving up, that they’d soon return home, and everything would go back to normal.

Except it wouldn’t be normal—it hadn’t been normal for a very long time, only Holly had been too preoccupied to see it. It seemed so frivolous now, all her fussing over dances and making the perfect dress. What did dresses matter when the person you loved most in the world was probably in trouble?

Holly had been so happy letting Hazel shoulder the burdens of their life while Holly did nothing. She had told herself that’s how Hazel wanted it, but now Holly wished she had done more. If she had, maybe they’d have found another way—maybe Hazel wouldn’t now be walking with a bloody bone in her pocket as she pondered unthinkable thoughts.

Hazel hurried downstairs, but Holly lingered on the landing. Hemlock and Hawthorn sat at a table in the common room. Hemlock waved Hazel over, and she joined them. When Hazel looked back at her, Holly followed and sat between Hazel and Hawthorn.

Hemlock and Hawthorn were eating pies stained with thick, dark gravy that had bubbled over the crust. A serving girl came and gave Holly and Hazel pies of their own. Holly poked at hers. She wasn’t hungry. It probably had meat in it anyway.

Holly studied Hazel as she and Hemlock talked. Her sister looked different. There was color in her cheeks, a brightness in her eyes. It should have made Holly happy seeing her like that, but she only felt sad. She couldn’t let Hazel ruin everything now, not after her sister finally found happiness. And how could Hazel’s life not be ruined when necromancy was involved?

Holly murmured a half-sincere apology as she got up from the table and headed upstairs. Returning to her room, she went to the trunk housing her good dress and unlocked it with a key she kept around her neck. She rifled around the layers of taffeta and mismatched beads. Why had she brought the monstrous thing; did she expect to go dancing? Underneath the fabric, she found a narrow wooden box.

She pulled out the box and opened it, her heart thumping a little harder as she peered at the clear liquid in the crystal vials that Odd had given her. Before, Holly had been so eager to try the mysterious potions, but now she wasn’t so sure. Now she was desperate; she didn’t know what to do. It was hard to be enthusiastic, feeling like that.

Holly put the box in a dresser drawer, ready for when she might need it, though she didn’t know when that would be. Hopefully never, though she doubted it.