17
Fi
fi sat on the ocean shore, watching the receding waves carry shells into the sea. Briar sat next to her, close enough that the trailing end of his coat brushed her leg. They weren’t dressed for the ocean. Briar wore his long velvet coat, and Fi was in pants and a vest—just like the day they met.
Fi didn’t look up at him. She wasn’t ready yet. She wanted to enjoy this peaceful moment, even if it was just a dream.
She had always loved the shores of Pisarre, bright with white sand and sparkling pink shells, the cries of seabirds carrying on the salty breeze. She and Briar had never gotten to see it together—one of so many things they had missed. The sky was filled with brilliant golds and soft pinks, the orange glow of the sun dipping beneath the white tips of the waves as they chased each other over the horizon. It was the most beautiful sunset Fi had ever seen.
She stretched her bare feet out, digging her toes into the sand and leaning into Briar. His coat was soft, just the way she remembered, and she pictured herself and Briar visiting this place. He would yelp when she splashed him, because he was still a prince and he wouldn’t be ready for the cold water. But then he would splash her back, maybe even tug off his shirt and dive under the waves, pulling Fi with him. And she would give him a hard time, probably through a blush she couldn’t quite fight down, because it was ridiculous to swim fully clothed, and then . . .
Then they would sit like this, side by side, and when Fi looked up at him, he would have that dazzling smile she’d grown to love.
Fi looked up. The bone creature sat next to her, nothing of Briar left. Massive claws had taken the place of his feet, glistening nails burrowing into the sand like half-buried shells. The velvet coat flapped over a brittle rib cage attached to the joints of his jutting spine. His skull head with the massive curling horns tipped as he looked down at Fi. Only a hint of red glowed in his eyes, even that malevolent spark almost swallowed in the empty sockets.
He lifted one clawed hand, seizing the golden thread that trailed from his empty heart. This time, the thread disappeared through the sand, into the waves, leaving with the tide.
Where does it lead? Briar’s voice begged.
fi shot up in bed, clutching her head as the world spun dizzily in a whirl of roses and gauze. She ripped back the white curtain and stumbled to her feet.
It took her a minute to remember where she was. Her eyes raked over the white stones and the sea of red roses that spilled through the window, choking her with their heady perfume. A small window was set into the far wall, the very same one Fi and Briar and Shane had escaped through at the beginning of this adventure, what felt like a lifetime ago. This was Briar’s tower, the one he had slept in for a hundred years in the castle of Andar. That was what the Spindle Witch had meant when she told Briar to take her home.
Fi waded through the roses and pressed her palms against the stone of the window frame, looking out over the castle shrouded in spiderwebs. The outer courtyards were dotted with fires and plumes of smoke from Witch Hunter camps, more than she cared to count. Fi had no idea how those extremists had been convinced to join the Spindle Witch. They seemed scared to take a single step into the castle, but she heard them through the windows, howling like dogs in the night. She hoped the giant cave spiders would pick off a few of them.
Beyond the Witch Hunters lurked the Forest of Thorns. The night was clear, full of stars, and Fi was reminded of the speckles of shells in the sand of her dream. She blinked hard, but she couldn’t shake the feel of Briar’s coat, the heat of the sun on her skin, and mostly, that voice ringing in her ears.
Where does it lead? Where does it lead?
Fi slammed her hands over her ears, jerking away from the window. “I don’t know!” she screamed into the room. Through the haze of the swaying curtains, Fi could almost imagine there was still a figure in the bed, sleeping there, unwoken. It was torture. “I don’t know what you want!” Fi yanked at the curtains. “I can’t save you, Briar, so stop it—just stop asking!” She ripped the last of the curtains down and then slumped to the floor with the cloth in her arms, staring at the empty bed.
No tears pricked at her eyes, but she suspected that was only because she’d cried herself out days ago. That first night, Fi hadn’t understood where Briar was taking her until he dropped her here, in this achingly familiar tower she’d seen so often in her dreams. Her first thought was that she was locked in the tower itself—a fitting punishment given what she knew of the Spindle Witch’s own life. But to her surprise, the door was unlocked. She’d crept down the stairs, intending to flee.
She made it all the way to the vast front entryway, her footsteps echoing as she raced through empty rooms and hallways, before she realized the truth of her prison—and she should have realized so much sooner, because those hallways had not been empty the first time she walked this castle. They’d been strewn with sleeping bodies.
Now the slumbering people were serving a different purpose. And Fi had met her true jailor—though not in his own body.
The second Fi’s hand closed over the door handle, two women grabbed her from behind, a fair-skinned woman in rider’s livery and a tan lady in a jeweled gown. Their movements were jerky and forced, their eyes blank. The rider dragged Fi back by the waist while the glittering lady fastened a hand uncomfortably tight around her arm. Fi kicked out, managing to slam the woman in the knee. Those dark eyes didn’t so much as blink. All she was doing was hurting the people of Andar.
Together, they dragged Fi as far as the stairs before dumping her onto the floor and turning away, slumping lifelessly into an alcove in the wall.
“I see you’ve met my little puppets.”
She heard the voice before she saw him, a man in a rich blue tunic striding down the stairs. Even without the shimmer of his crown, she would have recognized those features that were so much like Briar’s, soft blond hair and the shadow of laugh lines on his slack face. One of the fingers on his right hand was conspicuously crooked, as though from an old break badly set. This had to be Briar’s older brother, Sage, the king of Andar. Or at least his body.
When he looked at her, his eyes weren’t blue, but shining silver like something watched her from behind the king’s face.
“Who are you?” Fi demanded, backing away.
“Not someone you can escape that easily,” the man warned.
At his nod, a dull-eyed man in guard’s livery appeared behind Fi, grabbing her elbows tight enough to bruise.
“Much better. I hate being forced to run in a new outfit.” The body thief cracked the king’s neck sharply, watching the play of muscle and tendon as he curled his fingers. “And these things get so stiff just lying around.”
Fi’s blood curdled at the thought of someone wearing the people of Andar, putting them on and discarding them like clothes. “So you’ve stolen that body,” Fi said. “Are you some kind of Witch?”
“You can call me the Wraith,” the man offered, which she would take as a yes. “I doubt we’ll ever meet in person, but I just wanted to greet the castle’s newest guest. And to assure you that you’re not alone.” There was menace in it, an unspoken threat.
Fi swallowed. “And what about them?” she asked, tossing her head toward the slumped figures in the alcove.
“Little more than tools.” The Wraith gave a careless shrug. “I can only occupy one body at a time, but the people of this castle are just so empty I’ve found it doesn’t take much more than a suggestion to move them around.”
His silver eyes cut to the figure at her back, and the man let go of her, walking jerkily away. Fi resisted the urge to rub at the ache in her arms. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“So you’re here, what—to watch me? To stop me if I try to escape?” Fi asked.
“I could.” The man sneered. “But something tells me I won’t have to worry about that with you. You seem like the intelligent type. How far do you think you’d get?”
Fi’s hands curled into fists. Even without the Wraith’s puppets in her way, giant spiderwebs still covered the castle like a shroud, the deadly arachnids lying in wait on every tower and wall. Beyond them were the Witch Hunters, bored and ruthless. And even if she somehow survived that, all that waited on the other side was the Forest of Thorns and the monstrous wolves—and this time there would be no Shane to watch her back, no Briar to light up the dark, no Paper Witch to guide her out.
“What a lovely expression,” the body thief crooned. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye.” With one last mocking wave, the man left, taking Sage’s body with him.
Fi had retreated to Briar’s tower—the only place with any good memories at all. Then she’d cried in Briar’s canopy bed until the dawn light swept through the window.
It had been three days since then, or maybe four. It was easy to lose track here. Another time, Fi would have given anything to explore the castle of Andar, but she could barely make herself leave Briar’s bed, much less the tower. The silver-eyed Witch always seemed to be watching her, slumbering figures coming awake all at once to stare at her with that glowing gaze as she passed.
The silver-eyed Witch always seemed to be watching her, slumbering figures coming awake all at once to stare at her with that glowing gaze as she passed. She could see the Spindle Witch’s gold threads glimmering around their necks, keeping them under the Sleeping Curse. Trapped just like she was.
There was no escape. And worse yet, just as the Wraith accused, Fi wasn’t even really trying. She’d found a path, through back hallways and flights of forgotten stairs, to a door set in the outer wall. She got all the way to unlocking it before she realized she could never delude herself into going out. She wasn’t Shane, the type to throw herself at impossible odds. She was a pragmatist, a planner, a chess player. And she was out of moves.
Fi stared down at the mark on her palm with a twisted smile. She’d been right all along. She was no hero of Andar, no destined savior of Briar Rose. The bone spindle had chosen her by mistake. It was an unbearably bitter thought.
There was only one thing she hadn’t tried yet. By night, Briar haunted the rooftops like a grotesque gargoyle. From the castle’s highest windows, Fi had seen him perched up there, his gaze following her even through the thick walls.
Fi slipped into her boots, stealing down the dark stairs. She passed two slumbering figures whose eyes sprang open like silver lamps as she made her way to a lower tower with a parapet, where she knew she’d be able to reach the roof. Her boots chuffed against the stone as she reached the top of the stairs, the door at the top opening with a gentle creak. It was a clear night, the light of the waning half-moon glowing on the high spires and making the almost invisible threads of the spiderwebs shimmer.
“Briar?” Fi called.
She walked to the edge of the wide embrasure. One side looked over a sheer drop into the courtyard with the broken statues of the Great Witches. She could see dark shapes moving among them—crows, dozens of them perched on the Witches’ gray marble shoulders and the spine of the castle wall. Fi made her way along the edge until she could climb up into the gaps between the wall’s teeth and jump down to the slanting roof of one of the lower buildings. She wobbled on the slick shingles, her arms thrust out to catch her balance.
“Briar Rose!” she called into the night. Almost at once, she heard the familiar sweeping of the giant wings. Briar let go of a towering spire roof where he had been perched, taking off and flying toward Fi. Her hair and shirt flapped with the force of the wind as he landed next to her. Shingles broke beneath his clawed feet, sliding to the edge and falling to the courtyard far below.
“Briar?” she asked, inching toward him.
It was impossible not to notice the way his face had sunken in, the great wings and bone claws longer every time she saw him. He stood silently before Fi, his empty eyes locked on hers without even a spark of recognition. Fi reached up to lay a hand against his face.
“Tell me you’re in there,” she begged. “Tell me there’s still a connection between us—that everything we had wasn’t just some mistake.”
His cheek was cool under her palm. His lips unmoving.
Fi would have given anything to have the old Briar next to her right now—the Briar who would have told her it didn’t matter if they were destined or not because he loved her anyway and he always would.
“Please,” she said. She fisted her hand into the lapel of his soft coat. “I need your help. I can’t get away from here without you.”
Briar’s head tipped as he looked down at her, the white horns gleaming.
“That’s right!” Fi said, feeling the prickle of tears after all. “It’s me—it’s Fi. Help me, please.”
The black wings creaked, stretching as Briar prepared to fly. Hope rose in Fi’s chest, a sweet, warm feeling that made her want to throw her arms around his neck. It was crushed as Briar shook Fi’s hand away, spreading his wings and taking off alone.
She tumbled back on the slanted roof, losing her balance in the whirlwind of Briar’s flight and sliding toward the edge like the broken shingles. The ground yawned beneath her. Fi scrabbled at the slick tiles, trying to get a handhold. She had the feeling that, if she fell, Briar would not be swooping back to catch her this time.
At the last second, she managed to dig her heels in, dislodging the final row of tiles as she caught herself. One of her heels dangled in the empty air, and Fi pressed herself back against the roof, breathing hard. A fall from here would certainly shatter both her legs, or worse. She didn’t even have her rope anymore.
Part of Fi felt like she was still falling, still reeling. Even Briar was truly gone. She was utterly alone.
When she could breathe again, she looked at the long climb up the slippery roof and then glanced down instead. She could see some kind of balcony there—not directly below her, but just to her left—and it wasn’t too far a drop. Fi inched along the roofline. When she was in the right spot, she lowered herself until she was dangling by her fingertips and then swung back and forth, clearing the railing and dropping onto the balcony.
The hard landing sent shudders through her body. She straightened quickly, shaking it off. A glass-paneled door etched with flowers separated the balcony from the room beyond. Fi pushed against it, wondering if she would have to shatter one of the beautiful panels to get in, but the door was unlocked.
She ducked inside, determined to return to the tower and never come out again. Then she got a look at where she was.
It was a library—the great library of Andar that Briar had wanted to show her. She couldn’t make out everything in the dark, but her eyes drank in the gleam of lacquered shelves and the ceiling soaring over her head, chandeliers tinkling in the soft night breeze. The library was two stories high, and from the second floor, Fi leaned out over a sturdy railing, turning her head to take it all in. The shelves were endless, and every one was crammed with books, more than she could count—more than she could read in a lifetime.
This was the true treasure of Andar, the only prize she’d wanted when she and Shane first set off on their quest. Fi relaxed into the banister, breathing in the familiar scent of dust and old pages and linseed oil for polishing the shelves. Books always made her feel like she was home.
She picked her way down the twisting staircase to the ground floor, trailing her hand along the smooth cherrywood balustrade as she descended. A pair of unlit candles waited in a wall niche, and Fi smiled her first real smile in days. This was a problem she was prepared to solve. She pulled the flint and tinder from her pocket and then stopped, staring at the rock and curl of iron in her palm.
Having these with her wasn’t destiny—it wasn’t even luck. It was Nenroa knowledge. She always carried them. As she raked the flint against the iron, she could almost feel her father’s hands wrapped around hers, teaching her to strike a perfect spark the very first time.
Fi lifted the lit candle high. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—a distraction, an escape, an answer. She had found all those things in books before. She rounded a sweeping shelf and found herself face-to-face with another wide glass door, this one leading out onto a lower balcony.
Her candle flickered, and for just a second, Fi could have sworn she saw a flash of something moving in the glass. She rushed to it, holding the candle close. There was nothing there, and nothing outside.
She didn’t trust herself right now, dreaming about bone creatures, surrounded by spiders and thorns and the silver-eyed Witch who was everywhere at once. Maybe her mind was just playing tricks on her.
Fi turned away, trailing her hand gently over the books as she headed farther into the library. She loved the feel of them under her fingers—the stiffness of the casings, the way the leather was stretched over them with painstaking care. She imagined she could almost hear the stories whispering to her just by running her hand along the spines . . .
Wait.
Fi froze in the center of the library, spinning around as she looked at the hundreds of thousands of books—hundreds of thousands of spines.
“In the forest of spines, where the thorns gather . . .” Fi whispered the beginning of Camellia’s riddle, staring wide-eyed into the dark. This was the place the Rose Witch had been pointing to—this library. Whatever the Spindle Witch was looking for, it was right here.
In spite of everything, Fi had solved another piece of the puzzle. It wasn’t destiny that had led her here. She’d found her way into the library by chance. By mistake.
But not all mistakes were misfortunes, were they?
Fi’s hand clenched around the flint and tinder in her pocket. Even if the bone spindle had chosen her by mistake, did that really change anything? No matter how she ended up here, she was here now, and what mattered was what she chose to do next.
That was what she had always believed. What her parents had taught her, what she had learned studying history and outsmarting ruins. The choices she made would determine who she was and what she could accomplish—not some spell, not some prince, not some destiny, and certainly not the Spindle Witch.
Fi didn’t have much hope left, just a little, just a spark. Sometimes, a spark was enough.