I had my magic back. I wanted, needed, to share it with someone who might actually be excited about it. South was still sleeping. I had to tell someone who would understand. Someone who loved magic more than anyone else in all the Queendom: Bari.
And with every step toward Bari’s room, I began to hear other voices in my head . . . other wishes . . .
From what I could gather, they were Cinderella’s neighbors. The Harts were a seemingly loving couple on the farm that shared a border with Cinderella’s property. But their wishes told another story. They were not as loud as Cinderella’s. They were whispers. Luckily, the Gray manor was miles away from the nearest city. Unfortunately for the Harts, I was not quite sure if they were going to have a happily ever after.
A voice sharp and screeching wished, I wish that my husband would just die.
A male almost simultaneously wished, I wish she could love me again. And when I closed my eyes, I could see them preparing for a morning ride into the city. They both had smiles plastered on their faces as he helped her into their carriage.
As the sound of hooves receded, I opened my eyes and proceeded to Bari’s room.
The door was ajar. I knocked and entered, then stopped in the doorway, surprised: it looked identical to the room we had shared back at the Entente. There was my pink bedspread and her yellow one. And the pink-and-yellow wallpaper that glittered with actual magic. She’d re-created it with an illusion. It was a sentimental feat. Despite her bravado, she missed our old home just as much as I did.
“Bari . . .”
But I suddenly couldn’t focus on the room. I was confronted with something unexpected. Bari was sitting in front of our old dressing table. She was looking at her beautiful face, only, half of it was missing and there was a jagged, ugly scar that made a red, angry jigsaw of a line, cutting from the center of her forehead, down the left side of her nose, and traversing her lips. She tapped her wand in the space where her cheek and jaw should have been, and, in its place, hundreds upon hundreds of black beetles began to fill it. They climbed over each other, directed apparently by Bari’s wand to mirror the shape of her existing cheek, jaw, and chin.
Finally, her eyes lit upon me in the reflection and she addressed me.
“Oh, hello, Farrow . . .”
“I’m sorry . . . I . . .”
“Don’t be,” she interrupted without an ounce of self-consciousness. “Come on in. I took the liberty of re-creating our old room.” She waved her arm to reveal that the room was very different underneath. It was rustic and charming in shades of blues and grays. Then, she waved it back. Our old room returned, but I no longer felt the comfort it had given me. All I could see was Bari’s face.
“Your face . . . the scar . . . What happened?” I asked, the words coming out in a rush. I put a hand over my mouth, realizing how insensitive every word I had uttered was.
“The explosion in the square after Hecate was burned,” Bari said.
“I don’t understand. Galatea said she whisked everyone away.”
“She did, but she was a second too late. I don’t fault her. She didn’t have the power of foresight. We’re lucky to be alive at all.”
I felt tears welling up in me and I blinked hard to fight them, thinking of little Bari realizing she was alive but part of her was gone.
“You always were squeamish for an Entente,” she said ruefully. Bari’s eyes had no trace of hurt in them. Just as when she was small, her beauty held no interest for her. Her scar was just more proof of the Entente’s power and ability to survive.
I had stared too long. I feigned a sudden interest in our old wallpaper.
“I’m not—All that matters is that you’re okay. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Hecate’s ashes rustled in the pouch around my neck.
“I’m more than okay. I’m more, Farrow . . .”
I nodded, forced a smile, and felt the tears recede. We could never be the same Entente, but Bari had just reminded me what it meant to be one. She had taken me back to our childhood room in more ways than one.
“I wasn’t the only one the explosion touched,” she continued.
I felt my confusion return. I had seen all the other Entente, and I had seen Galatea’s memory of the day. If the other Entente had scars, they were hiding them too.
“Who else was hurt?” I asked, feeling gutted all over again for what had happened to us that day.
“Amantha,” she said after a pause. “Amantha was blown up while she was traveling from one spot in the square to another.”
“Are you saying that Amantha is dead? That she’s a ghost?” I demanded, remembering how Amantha had appeared by her side when she was turning that soldier into beetles.
“Amantha isn’t a ghost.”
I waited for more of an explanation.
“She’s Entente, but”—Bari paused dramatically before continuing—“Amantha’s physical body expired in the fire. Her essence stayed with us. Galatea had given her a kiss of protection.”
“Just like she gave Hecate . . . ,” I said, understanding.
“So when the dust settled, Amantha reappeared. But she wasn’t the same. Galatea saved her from the Ever After. But Amantha’s body is gone. She can’t stay put for more than a few hours at a time. She’s mostly wind and magic. But then, she always was.” Bari said the last part lightly, as if it were no great loss for Amantha to have lost her body.
“She was torn apart by Iolanta’s Black Fire, but she can still come together using her magic. Poor Amantha,” I said.
I digested this: Amantha was a scar. There was nothing left of her. Her pieces never came together again, except under the power of magic.
I tried to process what Bari was telling me and what I was seeing with my own eyes. Bari’s wound looked angry even though it was a decade old. Why hadn’t she healed herself?
“Why can’t you heal with magic?” I asked finally.
“The explosion was Iolanta’s magical Black Fire. And because at that moment she was at her most powerful, it has lasted that much longer.”
I tried to reconcile this information as she continued. The Entente had been creating moments of magic for years, the effects of which changed the course of humankind, but the magic itself was ephemeral. It lasted only so long. The spells that warded the Reverie and decorated it were renewed every moonrise. Love spells were not only forbidden; they were impractical as well. They, too, had to be renewed every night.
“Don’t give my face another thought. I can hide it. And I do when there is a risk of me being seen by them. But I don’t want to. I want to remember. I am not ashamed of my scars. They should be.”
“Who?”
“All those who watched as the Entente burned.”
I gulped, aware that whatever I said in the next moment mattered. I didn’t have any scars, at least none that could be seen on the outside. And I didn’t want to hurt Bari any more than she had been already. But at the same time, I didn’t believe all of Hinter was responsible for the Queen’s actions. I didn’t think I ever really had.
“I hate that this happened to you.”
“It didn’t just happen. The humans put it in motion.”
In this moment, I couldn’t tell if it was better to have stayed with the Entente or to have been left behind. In all these years with all these scars—the Entente had twisted into something new.
“We spent a lifetime serving humans, and we paid with our flesh. It’s their turn to pay,” Bari vowed. “If the humans we served had stood between us and the soldiers, Hecate would be flesh; Amantha would be whole. We would still have our innocence. You would still have your magic.”
Her words struck a pang inside me. Our separation, our pain, our loss would not have happened if humans had stopped the Queen that day. I felt rage fill me. They had taken so much from us. Hecate. Iolanta. Amantha’s body. Bari’s face. We couldn’t let them take any more.
“You’re right.”
I took a beat.
“Galatea said that she had a plan to take down the Queen, but she still hasn’t told me the details. What is she doing? What are our sisters doing?”
“We all have a part to play, Farrow. Galatea will tell you yours in due time. Just trust her, and trust Fate.”
She reached for my hand and squeezed it.