Hazel gazed out the window as the carriage continued through the field of starlight. What was she supposed to make of this? Those couldn’t possibly be souls out there. Souls were incorporeal—an indescribable element that could not take shape in this world as blue lights or anything else. And yet how could she be sure? It was becoming increasingly apparent that there was more in the world that she didn’t understand than she did. Maybe necromancers understood more than she would have liked to admit.

In the distance, a great shadowed silhouette of a mountain loomed on the horizon, blotting out the stars as if someone had stolen them from that part of the sky. It towered ever taller the closer they got, and eventually Hazel could see man-made elements upon its natural surface.

Tall, rough-hewn pillars supported crags of irregularly shaped stone, between which tiny windows had been carved. Some emitted soft light, others remained dark. Lanterns of flickering blue-green flames illuminated narrow stairways that crisscrossed up the mountain face before disappearing into shadows. At the top of the mountain, a crown of silhouetted trees stretched towards the starlit sky.

The carriage stopped at the base of the mountain, and Verrin hopped out. Hazel, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, followed him to a narrow set of stairs.

He summoned a ghostly apparition—childlike in size—that was nothing more than a shifting haze of flowing ribbons, like silk swatches caught underwater. It emitted a pale white light that illuminated the path for them as it moved up the stairs.

The stairway was only wide enough for one person, so Hazel trailed after Verrin in silence. The stairs themselves were perilously narrow and slick with moisture, so Hazel dared not take her gaze off them. Ferns and other small, leafy shrubs grew out of cracks in the stone, thriving in small rivulets of water that dripped and dribbled along the rough rock.

They came to a cramped landing before the stairs switched back in their ascent of the mountain. Next to the landing stood a polished black door, its glossy surface reflecting the light of the apparition.

Verrin released his spell, and the apparition dissipated like morning mist. He opened the door. They walked into a snug stone chamber illuminated by sconces of the same blue-green light that had illuminated the stairs outside and the streets of Sarnum. The cold air bit into Hazel’s skin. It smelled of minerals and dirt, like rocks pulled up from a riverbed. At the other end of the chamber stood another black door. It lacked the swirling grain of regular wood, and when Hazel put her fingers to it, felt strangely sticky.

“Nightwood,” Verrin said. “It grows only atop this mountain, and it secretes a resin that is repellant to water. Useful, given the surroundings.” He opened the door and walked past her into another room.

Crags of rough rock jutted from the walls, casting irregularly shaped shadows from the flickering sconces. The middle of the floor gave way to a pool of water, fed from a narrow stream that trickled from a wall and collected into a basin encrusted with crystalline formations. Rivulets of water overflowing from the pool snaked across the uneven floor before draining into cracks in the stone.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Verrin said.

It was remarkable, but Hazel didn’t want to admit that to him. It didn’t seem right that such beauty could exist in a place like this, where necromancers congregated and worked their dark arts. Instead, she said, “Why are we here?”

He gestured to another black door on the other end of the room. This one led back outdoors, onto a narrow pathway bordered by cliffs of sheer stone on either side. Sheets of water glided down the cliff faces, polished smooth by what she could only assume were centuries of water passing over it. They crossed the narrow walkway and came to another door that led them into a cramped chamber illuminated by moonlight. A set of stairs led out of the chamber and disappeared into the darkness of the mountain. As Hazel started up them, the mountain above blocked out the moonlight and everything went black.

Her breath quickened, and she was about to summon the little glowing moth that Hemlock had taught her, but Verrin was quicker in summoning his ghostly apparition.

Hazel stood aside for him, but he indicated for her to go first. So she did.

She ran a hand along the wall as she ascended the stairs, partly to keep her balance but also to let its solidity reassure her. Where were they going? What would happen to her when they got there? How would she find her way out again if this all turned out to be a dreadful mistake?

Ahead, the apparition crested the stairs and rounded a corner. The stairwell darkened, but Hazel was close enough that a portion of its light still reached her. She rounded the corner after it and gasped.

The room before her was vast and open. To the right, the room retreated deeper into the mountain, the walls smooth and polished. At the far end, a vast hearth had been carved out of the wall, within which a lively fire burned. Black bookshelves and tables carved out of nightwood furnished the room, along with a comfortable-looking sofa and chairs and carpets that padded the cold stone floor. But what pulled Hazel’s attention was the left side of the room that opened up to the clear night sky. Great granite columns held up the stone ceiling, and beyond those a balcony overgrown with ferns, ivy, potted plants and herbs stretched into the star-encrusted night.

Verrin came and stood behind her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said a man who was not Verrin.

Startled, Hazel whirled around and staggered back.

There, smiling at her as if nothing were wrong, stood her father, Ash.

He put out his arms as if to embrace her, but she moved back.

All words escaped her. It had been so long. She hadn’t seen him since the day he left, close to sixteen years ago. He had changed very little from what she could remember, yet a spell was not at work here. His face bore lines she didn’t recall, his brown hair now liberally dusted with grey. But he looked healthy. Vibrant. Somehow that made her angry. Her mother had died, and here he was, vigorous and full of life.

Ash put down his arms. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Long time, indeed. Too long to stand there and chat as if more than a decade didn’t stand between them. Hazel clenched her hands and reminded herself why she was there. “What did you do to Mother?”

A flicker of emotion passed over his features that she couldn’t quite read. Was it remorse? Anger? Or was it something else entirely? But a heartbeat later the look faded and he smiled. “You’ve come a long way. Let us first talk as father and daughter before venturing to less pleasant topics.”

Hazel narrowed her eyes. “Father and daughter? We haven’t been father and daughter for sixteen years! I am not here to sit with you and hold polite conversation. I am here because you trapped Mother’s soul in a geas. I am here to make you undo it!”

He smiled at her again, but this time it was a knowing kind of smile that made Hazel’s anger deepen. “You always were such an extraordinary girl. I saw it in you as soon as you began to speak your first words. I’m glad to see nothing has changed.”

Hazel’s voice turned cold. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know a great deal more than you think.”

Hazel had opened her mouth to protest when Verrin walked up behind Ash, holding an empty silver tray.

“I’ve set some tea and refreshments out on the table. Will there be anything else?”

“No, Verrin,” Ash said. “Thank you.”

Verrin nodded and left.

“A considerate young man,” Ash said as he turned back towards Hazel. “And gifted too. I’ve always liked to think that if I’d had a son, he would have been much like Verrin.”

“Sorry to be such a disappointment.”

Ash gave her a saddened smile and shook his head. “Oh, you misunderstand me, Hazel. You were never a disappointment. And now with you standing here…” He shook his head again as his eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I have never been so proud to call you my daughter as I am tonight.”

Hazel frowned, uncertain how to react.

“Shall we have some tea? The view is beautiful, but at this time of year it becomes too cold to stay out here for too long.” He swept an arm towards the inner portion of the room. “Please.”

Hazel tensed but remained still. She did not want to go inside and drink tea, even though the wind was harsh and cold and she was more than a little hungry. She did not want to let herself get comfortable. She did not want to let this man think, even for a moment, that she had forgiven him. So instead, she stood there, giving him a look cold enough to match the wind.

Ash gave her a wan, tired smile. “Well I, for one, am quite hungry. You are welcome to join me, should you so choose.” He walked into the room and to the table.

Hazel remained on the balcony, clenching her jaw at the ridiculousness of it all. She felt like a child, pouting because she wasn’t getting her way. What was she supposed to do now? Stand out here and freeze? Leave? That, of course, wasn’t an option. So, straightening her back, she walked inside and joined her father at the table.

He passed her a cup of tea, and Hazel said nothing as she took it. She assembled herself a sandwich from the platter of bread, cold meat, and cheeses. She was hungry; she wouldn’t apologize for that. Them eating a meal together didn’t mean anything.

“How have you been?” Ash said. “And Holly?”

Hazel chewed a mouthful of food a long while. “I told you, I’m not here to chat. How I’ve been is none of your concern.”

“Do you blame me for caring about your welfare?”

“You don’t care about me. You never have.”

“That is absolutely not true.”

“Then why did you leave? Why did you never show any interest in my life? You never came to check on us after Mother died—not once. You didn’t even send a letter! Instead, you trapped her soul and left Holly and me to fend for ourselves. You don’t do that to people you care about!”

Ash’s expression tightened. “You don’t understand the situation.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. You left your family behind to pursue necromancy. Then when the opportunity presented itself, you trapped Mother’s soul in a geas, for whatever twisted ends I’m sure I don’t know. I am wondering, though, did you kill her? Or was her illness just a convenient coincidence?”

“I loved your mother,” he whispered.

“You ruined her!”

Ash slammed his hand on the table. “I saved her!” He took a deep breath as he regained his composure. “You’ve spun quite an elaborate fiction. Is that what your mother told you?”

“Mother refuses to even utter your name. And I can’t say I blame her.”

He looked down at the table and nodded. “I see. So, then you know that our arrangement, as she liked to call it, was her idea and not mine? You know that I wanted us all to live together like a family, and she refused? You know of the other men she consorted with, despite our vows of marriage? She told you all this, yes?”

Hazel’s heart hammered in her chest. “You’re lying. When you left, Mother was inconsolable.”

“Yes, because she no longer was getting her way. I loved Willow, more than you could ever know. And in the beginning, I think she might have even loved me back. But as time went on, it became clear to me that she never wanted a husband so much as she wanted someone to father her children. And once she got her two daughters, her need for me rapidly dwindled. She grew restless and increasingly difficult. She sought out other men, but I forgave her that. I of all people know what it’s like to be searching for something, for a sense of completeness. But I wanted more. I no longer wanted to be just one of her many diversions, to be a… convenient element in her life. I confronted her about it, and when it became clear that our aims in life were no longer compatible, then yes, I left.

“But what she did not tell you—and I knew she would never tell you—was how badly I wanted to take you with me. We fought about it. Bitterly. Cruel words were exchanged that hurt us both deeply. But in the end your mother prevailed, and I left you and your sister in peace, as she wanted it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hazel said. “If you had truly wanted to take Holly and me, you would’ve contacted us somehow. Especially after she died.”

Ash shook his head. “I didn’t want to take both of you. Just you, Hazel. Holly was always your mother’s daughter. But you… you were always mine. And I did contact you. You know I did.”

A chill crept down Hazel’s spine. “What are you talking about? You never contacted me.”

“I suppose not in the traditional sense of written letters or messages, but I most certainly did contact you. How else could you have found your way here? Did you think it was coincidence? Luck?”

“I…”

“You were always my daughter, Hazel. Always.”