Once Millie had eaten a little, she seemed to relax. Despite the missing roof, the space between the mossy old walls had grown warmer and it was almost cozy. I tended to the fire, then laid out the ground sheets and blankets. When Millie set down her cup, I pushed her to the warmest corner, furthest away from the entrance.
“I’ll join you soon,” I said. “I just have to help Osan finish packing for tomorrow.”
She nodded. “El?”
“Yes?”
She looked down. “No matter what happens, thank you for trying.”
I stooped and kissed the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”
Osan was rearranging the supplies for a fourth time while pretending that he had not heard our conversation. His face was drawn and tired; he seemed older than when we had first met.
“I want to talk to you,” he muttered as I joined him. “Alone.”
I made a subtle questioning gesture.
“It isn’t an emergency. Just want to ask you something.”
I glanced over at Millie. She had curled up on her side with the blanket tight around her. Her eyes were shut.
“In a few minutes,” I said.
He nodded.
I carefully filled our canteens from the pot, then collected more water from the edge of the jetty. The moon had yet to rise, and the lake beyond the boathouse was vast and dark and quiet. The water lapped against the smooth stones at the base of the house.
I returned to the fire and set the pot back over the flames. Millie’s breathing had eased and her face was slack. I smiled slightly. She must have been exhausted to fall asleep so quickly. A stray lock of her hair had slid across her cheek, and her forehead was smudged with ash.
“El?” said Osan from the entrance.
Outside the boathouse, the temperature dropped sharply, and I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. A yellow semicircle of firelight gleamed through the gap in the crumbling wall. Beyond that, the landscape was only illuminated by the stars.
“What is it?” I asked.
Osan stood, looking out at the water, his back to me.
“You still aren’t telling the truth,” he said.
It was not an accusation, just a statement of fact, but I noticed his fists were balled. I stayed silent. He turned to face me.
“Last night, you were only worried about our provisions lasting long enough to reach the mountains,” he said. “That struck me as strange. Almost as strange as the fact you concealed the possibility of curing Finn. Why hide that?”
“Because I might be wrong.”
He shook his head. “You promised Kamillian that she would see Ceyrun again. You haven’t once mentioned your own future—because for you, it all seems to end at the mountains. So please, I’m begging you, tell me what is going on.”
My throat was dry.
“El.”
“A debt of blood,” I said. “That’s what Cyde told me. If the Renewer pays the debt of blood, it could mean the end of Haunts.”
A log shifted inside the boathouse, and the firelight flickered.
“You can’t be serious,” he muttered.
“If this works, there will be no more martyrdoms, no more Renewals, no—”
“No more you,” he interrupted angrily. “You expect to die, don’t you? I thought we were helping you escape the Order, not leading you to your new martyrdom.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“Isn’t it? Then tell me where I’m going wrong, because I don’t see it.”
“Osan, please,” I whispered. “Please stop.”
“How could you lie about this?” He raked his hands through his hair. “I thought we were friends.”
“I didn’t want to burden anybody.” It was difficult to breathe. “And if I can’t escape the Order, if I can’t escape the Haunts, then this is all I have left. Maybe I can set things right. That’s worth something.”
He was silent.
“I’m sorry that I lied.”
“I can’t accept this. I can’t just—” He broke off.
I didn’t know what to do. I just stood in front of him, ashamed and weary and defeated. Osan swallowed and shook his head.
“I need space,” he muttered. “Go back inside.”
I wanted to tell him to stay, it was too dangerous for him to wander off into the dark alone, but his expression stopped me. I nodded.
He turned and walked away from me.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, softer.
Inside the boathouse, Millie remained soundly asleep. I adjusted the blanket to cover her legs, and she mumbled to herself. Would it be better if I told her? I felt so heavy. I trudged over to the fire and sat down.
One way or another, it would be over tomorrow. Regrets, doubts, fears: they were pointless now. Worse than useless. Distractions. The flames burned steady in front of me.
I took my mother’s letter out of my pocket. The envelope was a little creased, and one corner had folded over. I smoothed it out, then slid one fingernail under the seal and opened it. Inside were two pages.
My dearest Ellie,
I stopped for a moment. I could see my mother sitting in her study with the lamp burned low, her pen scratching on the paper, and it was almost too much. I breathed deeply.
My dearest Ellie,
By the time that Shaelean Cyde gives you this letter, five years will have passed since my martyrdom. I want to believe that you are doing well. It is strange to imagine you grown-up, when in my mind you will always remain my serious little girl.
By now you will probably have found a place for yourself, and maybe some measure of happiness. In delaying the delivery of this letter, I hope to give you time to come to terms with everything. I know it won’t be easy; you are too young and no one is ever truly prepared to bear the Sisterhood’s burdens. And yet I also know, without a shadow of doubt, that you will be strong enough to survive what is asked of you. Because that is who you are.
I suspect you will be angry. You will probably have worked out that my early martyrdom was no accident, no coincidence. I meddled in the wrong affairs and asked the wrong questions. In truth, ever since the fire that killed Finn and Millie’s parents, I have made myself a target—and with my latest efforts, I went a step too far. When Shaelean told me about the possibility of ending the Order, I lost sight of caution.
But that is not why I’m writing this letter.
Ellie, we both know that I made many mistakes in raising you. I have been cruel and temperamental and impatient. Before you came along, motherhood was only ever a source of fear. I feared my own martyrdom. I feared that you would inflict the same wounds upon me that I inflicted upon my mother. I feared that I would hate you.
And I know that I have not been the best mother, but somehow you have blossomed in spite of me. You, my Ellie, my serious, clever girl, were a gift I never deserved. Even facing the end, I know that this is true.
I love you. I am so proud of the person you have become.
The letter was unsigned. I carefully folded the pages, tucked them back into the envelope, and put it into my bag. My shoulders trembled, and I stepped out of the building to catch my breath.
The cold air cut like a knife, but I inhaled deeply anyway; I invited the chill into my lungs, I let it hurt. I had always known it would hurt. My vision was misted with tears. The moon was bright on the water, a yellow disk floating in space, and the blurred stars wreathed the sky in specks of light.
“El?”
The voice was soft, floating up from the direction of the beach. I was so disoriented that for a moment I thought I had imagined it.
“Finn?” I rubbed my cheeks with my sleeve. “Finn, is that you?”
“I’m over here.”
“Where?”
“Down here.”
Confused, I hurried toward the water. Pebbles rolled under my boots, loud in the silence. The old trees threw long shadows over the ground.
“I need help.” The words drifted out across the lake.
“But where? I can’t see you.” I came to a stop at the water’s edge and cast around. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m hurt.”
My throat tightened. His voice seemed to come from the trees further up the beach, but I could not be certain. It was painfully quiet, and our voices moved strangely between the water and rocks and trees. Why couldn’t I see him? I took another step down the shore and then stopped dead.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Too quiet. It was still too quiet. And I was nowhere near the path.
“Finn.” My voice trembled. “I need you to tell me where you are.”
“Come quickly!”
I did not move.
“What was your grandfather’s name?” I asked.
“El, I need help.”
I could see the page in Celane’s book about Haunts, the descriptions of their abilities. They appear able to accurately mimic human voices.
“Finn?” I whispered.
I was met with silence. I turned around. The path and the boathouse had vanished, all I could see were miles and miles of dead trees and pebbled shore.
“Osan! Millie!” I shouted.
My heart pounded in my ears. I had made a terrible, stupid mistake.
This way.
For the first time, I felt the compulse. I severed it, but new threads slipped past my defences, pulling me in different directions.
This way.
This way.
This way.
It could use lace. My only real defence, and it could wield the same power. Fear surged through me. What kind of Haunt was this?
The Old Ones, Finn whispered in my mind, his eyes shining gold.
This way.
I forced myself to breathe. I was still within the bounds of the path’s protection, or I would be dead already. If I stayed calm, I could fix this.
“El, please!” Finn screamed in agony. “Please help me!”
“Not real,” I muttered, pressing my hands to my ears. Resisting the barrage of compulses made my stomach turn, and my sense of direction was rapidly dissolving. “You’re not real.”
I took a step toward where I thought the boathouse should be, and water splashed under my boot. I jerked backwards. How was that possible? The lake should have been behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and found only more trees, more beach.
“Eater,” I whispered. There was a roaring in my ears, growing ever louder.
“El, what are you doing?” shouted Millie.
I whipped around. Her voice would lead me to safety; I should go that way—
With a curse, I severed the compulse again. My breathing came out ragged. At the corner of my vision lurked a presence, an abomination just out of my line of sight. It moved when I moved, melting from one shadow to the next.
I breathed out. No panic. No mistakes. Although it went against every instinct, every terrified animal impulse, I shut my eyes. Slow down. I focussed, blocking out everything but the faint, elusive pull in the recesses of my mind.
Even dreaming, even now, the Star yearned toward her temple. Like iron to a magnet, I felt drawn by the same invisible tie.
The temple lay behind me.
“Okay,” I muttered. If I could not trust myself, I would have to trust her instead.
Once again, I turned and slid my foot forward. Water lapped up the side of my legs. I clenched my fists and took another step.
“You did this to me!” Finn accused.
The water rose to my knees, ice-cold and bitter. I kept my eyes squeezed shut.
“You said that you loved me, El.” His voice was raw. “How can you leave me here?”
“Not real,” I breathed.
“Look at me! Look at what you’ve done to me!”
I took another step, and another. The water came up to my hips. I wanted to flee back to the beach. This could not be right. The lake reached my neck.
“I hate you,” he cried.
I took a final breath and let the water cover me.
The Old One howled. The sound cut through me, freezing the blood in my veins. I was choking, I was drowning, and still the howl rang out. It burrowed itself into my brain and erased everything but terror.
I took another step, clutching my head, and suddenly the water was gone. I fell to my knees, heaving. There was blood in my mouth where I had bitten my tongue.
The sound stopped.
I could do nothing. I sagged onto the hard dirt of the path, and my body trembled. My clothes were dry.
“El!”
“Not real,” I whispered.
Osan dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms around me. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay now, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
I buried my face in his shirt. His heart was pounding.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. “I was so stupid.”
He squeezed my shoulders. “It’s all right now.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you. I was trying to do the right thing.”
“I know you were. Don’t worry about that, it doesn’t matter. Lean on me now, let me help you inside.”
“I’m so sorry. You are my friend, Osan.”
“Shh. Come on, I’ve got you.”
I let him guide me back to the boathouse. The lake was placid and the air still, the night deceptively calm. Although I could not see the Haunt, I knew that it was still watching me.