BACK IN THE SAFETY of her rooms, Emeline took Pa out onto their shared terrace beneath the stars—to soothe them both. The garden was aglow with fireflies, and alive with the chatter of night birds. But the night was cold. After seating Pa in a chair, she tucked a thick blanket around him, then went to fetch one for herself.
When she returned, stepping out through her door and onto the darkened terrace, Pa jumped.
“Who’s there?”
Emeline hesitated, frozen between the door and her grandfather. “It’s just me. Emeline.”
Her voice scratched like sandpaper. Startled, she reached protectively for her throat, rubbing it gently to assess the damage. She remembered the feel of the Wood King’s hands. The painful squeeze. The terror of gasping for air to find there was none.
I need to get Pa away from this place.
But even here, there were hedgemen stationed at the doors of their quarters as well as patrolling the garden, their gazes glued to Emeline. Even if she could get past them—even if she could get Pa past them—the palace gate was even more heavily guarded.
And then there was the city gate to get through.…
“Emeline, yes.” The night hid Pa’s face from her. “Of course I know who you are.”
The admission shocked her. You do? she thought, lowering herself into the chair next to his.
“I planted a tree for you. On the day you were born.” He smiled at the memory.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Whatever happened to that tree?” he asked, suddenly frowning. “One day it was there and the next it was gone.”
Emeline glanced away from him. “You cut it down after I left.”
“What’s that?” He turned sharply towards her. His face was all shadows. “Why on earth would I cut it down?”
Emeline shrugged. She’d believed it was because he forgot her and, with her, the reason he’d planted it.
She’d loved that tree as a kid, climbing up into its boughs, telling it all her secrets and singing it her songs. It had been like a good friend.
“Listen, duckie, I know I’m losing my mind,” he spoke into the darkness. “I’m forgetting things. I know. But I would never cut down your tree.”
There was something about the way he said it that made her look at him. He was strangely lucid, remembering her name and who she was. Remembering her tree.
“That tree was an offering,” he said softly, as if to himself. “A gift to the Wood King. If I wanted the forest to keep you safe, I had to offer something in exchange.”
Emeline frowned. He’d never told her that before. But it made sense: the residents of Edgewood were superstitious people. It was no different from hanging boughs of hawthorn over their lintels to protect themselves from the Hunt.
Emeline and her grandfather fell into a companionable silence. It made her long for her guitar, in order to imprint this moment into a song. The way his eyes recognized her. The way he spoke her name—warm and familiar. Like before.
“Emeline,” he said, breaking the silence. His blue eyes were earnest as they peered into hers. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to get out of this place.”
She nodded. “As soon as you’re safe, I will. But I need to get you home first.”
He turned fully towards her, leaning across the arm of his chair. She studied the familiar lines of his face, the cowlick in his gray hair. “My time is running out, duckie. But yours…” He looked down at his open hands. “I never wanted this.” He shook his head. “It’s my fault that you’re here.”
She was about to argue when he reached across the space between them, taking her slender hands in his big ones.
“I want you to leave me here and go home, Emeline. I want to live out what little time I have left knowing you’re happy and safe.” He smiled a sad smile. “Will you do that for me?”
Emeline swallowed the lump in her throat, then squeezed his hand.
She couldn’t leave him again.
You should have seen the way he paced those halls, looking for you.
A sudden knock echoed from inside her room, saving her from answering his question.
“Emeline?” a voice called out from the other side of her door.
This is it. She pulled her hands from Pa’s. The king’s guards are here to drag me away.
“It’s Sable.”
Oh. Emeline pictured the golden-eyed girl stepping between her and the king, like a shield. Putting herself at risk by challenging him.
Why?
Walking back through her rooms, Emeline swung the door open.
Sable leaned against the adjacent wall, her head tipped back to the ceiling, her body radiating tension. When the door opened, she snapped to attention. Like a cornered wolf, she seemed suddenly wary.
Until her gaze fell on Emeline’s bruised throat.
The wariness fell away. Frowning, Sable pushed away from the wall. “Hawthorne never should have denied you.”
In one hand was a rolled piece of parchment; in the other, a black fountain pen. “Here.” She held them out to Emeline. “Write your letter.”
Emeline stared as the words sank in. “Is this a trick?”
Sable shook her head. “No trick. Hawthorne will deliver it tonight. I’ve ensured it.”
A featherlight feeling whooshed through Emeline. Maybe she could save her career after all.
Taking the parchment and pen, she ran to the desk near the windows, pulled out the chair, and sat on its green velvet cushion. Drawing in close, she pressed the parchment flat against the dark wood and wrote quickly.
She kept things vague: telling Joel she was safe, that she’d found her grandfather, and that she needed to take care of some things. She told him she’d be back before her tour and to please tell his dad not to do anything other than cancel her gigs before then.
Emeline blew on the ink, then folded the parchment once it was dry. Rising, she returned to Sable and handed it over.
“Rooke has persuaded the king to give you another chance,” said Sable. “But there’s one condition: he wants you to perform all eleven of the Mage’s songs.”
Eleven songs. She only knew four right now. “How much time do I have?”
“Your final demonstration will be at midnight in three days.”
Seven songs in three days.
Her heart plummeted into her stomach.
But if it would make up for her disobedience tonight, if it would set Pa free, Emeline would do it. She had to.
If the Wood King was willing to give her a second chance, Emeline wouldn’t screw it up. She would learn the rest of the Song Mage’s music, prove herself to the king, and save her grandfather.
And then she would escape.
Before turning to leave, Sable paused in the doorway. “My advice? Don’t defy him again.”
THE NEXT MORNING, EMELINE’S fingers trailed the cool stone walls of the palace, her breath bunched tight in her chest as she walked to the crystal dome. She’d been practicing what to say when she saw Hawthorne. He would have delivered her letter to Joel by now, so it seemed only fair that she apologize for what happened in yesterday’s lesson.
We started off on the wrong foot, she would tell him. Let’s start over.
But when she stepped into the sparkling sunlight of the domed room, it wasn’t Hawthorne who awaited her. It was a small woman with bark-brown hair shorn close to her face.
“Emeline Lark?” The woman’s ochre eyes folded into half-moons.
Emeline nodded, scanning the room. There was no sign of the tithe collector.
“I’m Calliope.” The woman clasped her small hands in front of her. “Your singing instructor.”
“Oh.” Emeline stopped scanning. This was the woman Hawthorne had been temporarily filling in for. The one who’d been waylaid by shadow skins on her way to the city.
Emeline forced a smile as she stared at the spot near the music stand, where Hawthorne had stood these past two days. Feet planted firmly. Arms tightly crossed. Watching her sing.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
This was good, she told herself. What had she been thinking, anyway? That she and Hawthorne could be friends? The idea seemed absurd to her now. All they ever did was argue.
No, the more distance she had from the tithe collector, the better.
“Shall we begin?”