It was a long time before Lily found her voice.
“Are they all like that?” she whispered.
“No. There are many different breeds, each with many variations.” Rowan’s voice drifted up to Lily from the branch below hers. “The Woven come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Are they all dangerous?”
“To humans. They are territorial, but they tend to leave other animals alone unless they’re hunting them.”
Lily looked up at the stars. This sky here held the same exact constellations, but they seemed closer, brighter, and more varied in color and tone than anything she was used to.
“Let me wrap this around you.” Rowan reached up and looped a rope around her legs a few times, tying her to the branch so she didn’t slip off in the middle of the night. “Try to rest,” Rowan said when he’d finished, his voice edged with concern.
She gripped the rope tightly even though she knew there was no way she would nod off that night.
“Lily?” he called up to her. She could hear him repositioning himself on the branch beneath her, trying to get a glimpse of her face.
“Go to sleep, Rowan. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re in shock. I can feel—” He broke off suddenly, and made an impatient sound. “Good night.”
CHAPTER
6
It was halfway through third watch by the time Gideon made it back to the Citadel with his prisoners. He ached from riding for so many hours on no sleep and with so little to eat, but he wasn’t about to show his discomfort and look weak. The sachem had gotten away, but apart from that, the raid had been a success. Softhearted Juliet had inadvertently led many rebels to their deaths. Gideon couldn’t wait to tell her that.
Carrick was already separating the potential talkers from the hard cases. He moved among them, planting the seeds of hope for a release in those he found pliant. The stoic ones—the ones who neither railed about their loyalty to the cause nor moaned about the injustice of the Witch State—he sent immediately to the dungeons. It was the quiet ones who always ended up as the worst kind of martyrs and needed to be kept apart.
How Carrick, who had never been a mechanic, could sense these differences in individuals and know how to deal with them so adroitly was of interest to Gideon. Carrick was far too old to be trained as a mechanic now, but the talent was certainly there. It was a pity that it had been overlooked when he was young and he hadn’t been brought to the Citadel to be trained; Gideon was almost certain that Carrick knew more craft than he let on, and he was willing to let that go as long as Carrick made himself useful. If he had been given some kind of training, it had been without the consent of the Coven and could get Carrick and his teacher hanged—that, too, could be useful to Gideon as a way to control the inscrutable Outlander.
“A word?” Carrick asked politely when Gideon finally dismounted.
“Found something already?” Gideon guessed, handing the reins to a lackey. Carrick waited until the lackey was out of earshot before answering.
“Possibly,” he said with his customary caution. “Two of the prisoners mentioned something that caught my attention.”
“Go on,” Gideon prompted. Carrick glanced around, surreptitiously checking each willstone for the telltale flare of magelight. When he was satisfied that no one was using his stone to listen in, Carrick continued.
“One was taunting me,” he started, and paused. Carrick was an Outlander by birth, but he had sided against the majority of his people in this small and useless rebellion. Gideon nodded his understanding and motioned for Carrick to continue. “She said that soon the Salem Witch would truly meet her match. Then she laughed like a crazy old woman. I would have thought nothing of it if another prisoner, far removed from the first, had not also said that every coin had two sides and that the front was about to face off with the back.”
“I don’t see the connection.” Gideon led Carrick inside the Citadel. “Explain.”
“I couldn’t help but think about the sightings in town three days ago.”
“Of the Witch running through the city and throwing herself against the window of a café?” Gideon smirked over his shoulder as he led Carrick up to his private rooms. “Lillian hasn’t gone anywhere without an entourage since she was six.”
Except once, Gideon added silently in his mind as he opened the door to his rooms. A year ago she’d disappeared for weeks and returned half dead without ever explaining where she’d gone. She refused to allow her mechanics to help heal her. In fact, she hadn’t allowed anyone but Juliet to touch her since. That was when Lillian had changed completely and began her crusade against science. But Carrick didn’t know about that—no one knew about the disappearance except Lillian’s inner circle.
“Dozens of people said they saw her running through the streets while you yourself confirmed that she was in her bed,” Carrick persisted. “So many people claimed to have seen the same thing, and there’s no reason for any of the witnesses in the city to have lied.”
Gideon sat down heavily behind his desk and began yanking off his pretty but far-too-stiff boots. “Alright,” he said with a reluctant sigh. It had bothered him as well, although he’d tried to overlook it. “So what do you think is going on?”
Carrick’s dark Outlander eyes—eyes that looked solid black from pupil to iris to city folk like Gideon—had a glassy sheen to them. Gideon assumed this was Carrick’s cold approximation of passion.
“Either the Witch has learned how to physically be in two places at once—or the prisoners are right. There are two of them.”
Gideon looked at Carrick with a raised brow. “And how would there be two?” Carrick was agitated, which was rare. Usually, the Outlander was cold. Unruffled. Gideon was almost more intrigued by that than by the mystery of the “two Lillians.”
“The shamans of my people believe that there are millions of versions of every single one of us.”
“Millions of versions of each of us,” Gideon repeated disbelievingly. He’d never heard anything so ridiculous. He stood and poured himself a glass of wine, flexing his cramped toes into the carpet. To his surprise, Carrick didn’t take Gideon’s turned back as a cue to leave, but continued to stand stubbornly in front of his desk.
“When I was a child, a shaman told me that I had the talent to spirit walk and that I should train with him. But shamans aren’t respected as they once were among my people, and my father wouldn’t hear of it.”
Gideon had heard of the Outlander shamans. They were laughed at by the Covens, but the Outlanders believed that shamans had some kind of telepathic ability that allowed them to do something that only the greatest witches could ever do—farsee. Gideon had read about farseeing in an obscure book, and he didn’t entirely rule out the shamanistic ability to do it, like the haughty Covens did. He also didn’t rule out the possibility that Carrick was actually a great magical talent who’d been overlooked. Call it farseeing or spirit walking, either way the possibilities were intriguing.
“Continue,” Gideon said in a level tone. He poured a glass of wine for Carrick and motioned for him to sit down.
“My father died when I was a teenager, and I went back to the shaman. After a few weeks he … decided not to teach me how to spirit walk.” Carrick’s face fell. Gideon had never had much talent himself, but he knew that for those who did have it, not developing it was like being a musician whose instrument has been smashed. How horrible for the poor drub. Carrick took a deep drink of wine before continuing. “But before I was sent away, I learned enough to believe that there are other worlds, and that they are as real as this one.”
Instead of sitting behind his desk, Gideon opted for the other armchair next to Carrick. He brought the decanter of wine with him, and refreshed both their glasses.
“Tell me about these other worlds, Carrick,” Gideon said with genuine interest.
* * *
Lily watched the stars whirl all night. Meteors streaked across the sky—doze
ns of them. She wished on every single one that she would be magically transported back home, but they all burned to black and left her exactly where she was. It didn’t take Lily long to realize that no amount of wishing was going to get her anywhere. She had to act.
The stars faded, the sun came up, and Lily made a decision. No matter what happened, no matter how hard it was, she was going to find a way to get home.
She heard Rowan awake with a start before he reconciled himself to his surroundings. His back scraped across the trunk of the tree as he slid sideways—trying to see around the branch she was sitting on to get a look at her.
“Are you awake?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep.
“Yeah.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“No.” She heard him mumble something to himself and decided to cut him off before he could scold her again. “My butt did, though. Slept like a log all night.”
“Well, obviously, your butt has more sense than you do.”
“You’re a funny man, Rowan whatever-your-last-name-is.”
“Fall.”
“I’d rather not.”
She managed to get a tiny chuckle out of him, which she considered a huge achievement. Rowan stood up on his branch, bringing his head level with Lily’s, and started to untie her. His lips were still pursed in a near smile.
“My name is Rowan Fall,” he said, tossing the rope over her lap as he unwrapped her. His eyes briefly flicked up to meet hers and then back down to his task. “I was born Outland. My community traveled from site to site, gathering minerals or mining them as we could. Depending on the Woven, of course. Outlanders aren’t allowed to own land or stake out permanent settlements.”
“Why not?” Lily asked.
“The Covens and the Council—”
“Are those like two different branches of government?” Lily interjected.
“It’s more complicated but, yeah, that works for now,” Rowan replied, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Anyway, the Covens and Council decided that it was too dangerous to try to establish settlements outside the thirteen walled cities because they’d be impossible to defend. If the Outlanders were citizens, they’d be entitled to all the rights that citizens have—and one of those rights is to be defended by the Guard. So the Council denied them citizenship.”
“How brave of them,” Lily retorted.
“Right?” Rowan smiled at Lily briefly, his face lighting up, before he dropped his eyes and went back to coiling the rope around his forearm. “But no citizenship means Outlanders have no rights to own land. It all stems from the fact that Outlanders weren’t supposed to have survived the Woven Outbreak in the first place. But now that many generations have persisted, the laws keep it so Outlanders have no rights. That way they’re a source of cheap goods and labor for the Thirteen Cities.”
“Convenient,” Lily said.
“And easier for Lillian to control. Thirteen established cities—who all look to Salem—are much more manageable than scores of scattered Outlander outposts. Her word is law, and that law is easily enforced inside the walls.”
Lily knew that Rowan was very passionate about this topic, and she respected that he was resisting the urge to rant. He was trying to give her space and not shove his opinions down her throat. Lily didn’t know if she’d have the willpower to do the same.
“You keep calling the Outlanders ‘they.’ Aren’t you an Outlander?” she asked.
A complicated expression crossed Rowan’s face as he thought about Lily’s question. She found herself staring at him. As hard as his face was when he was angry, when his guard was down, it was incredibly expressive. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but she imagined that she could almost feel it.
“When I was seven, my father took me to the Citadel to be tested. When I was accepted, I was given citizenship. Then I was trained as a witch’s mechanic. As long as I’m a citizen, I don’t think I have the right to call myself an Outlander.”
Rowan tied off the tightly wound rope and put the bundle in his pack. “Okay. Swing your legs to the side, but don’t stand yet.” Lily did as he instructed. Her legs hung off the branch, unresponsive. She wiggled her toes and cringed as the pins and needles started.
“I may have tied you down a bit too tightly,” he said, a brow raised in apology. Rowan stood between her numb legs and started rubbing the blood back into them.
“Better than plummeting to my death,” she said, trying to ignore how good his hands felt. He certainly seemed to know how to massage thighs. Not that Lily had any firsthand experience with that sort of thing, but Rowan was definitely doing something right. Except that all the blood that was supposed to be going into her legs seemed to be rushing to her face. She felt like she needed to fill the silence somehow before she did something unforgivable, like sigh or, worse, moan.
“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, Rowan Fall. I’m Lily Proctor. I was born in a hospital. When I was seven, I went to camp. Five minutes later, I went back home with a full body rash. It was fun.”
Rowan stopped massaging and looked up at her. “Your parents sent you to a work camp when you were seven?” he asked angrily.
“No, day camp,” Lily replied, smiling back. “It’s supposed to be, well, sort of like this.” She gestured to the woods around them. “Canoeing, hiking in the wilderness, climbing trees. Except we climbed down the trees and slept in beds at night. It’s recreational.”
“Ah. I see,” he said, still confused.
“What’s a work camp?” Lily asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.
“It’s where the Covens send anyone who can’t find enough work on their own in one of the cities but don’t want to go Outland. They aren’t nice places.”
“But still better than being Outland with the Woven?”
Rowan shrugged in a noncommittal way and went back to rubbing her legs, his face clouded with troubled thoughts. His hands ran all the way up the inside of her thighs, and she jumped.
“Okay, I’m good. I can feel them again. Thanks.” She pushed his hands away and went to stand.
“Lily—” he began, moving to stop her. As soon as she tried to put her numb feet down on his branch her knees buckled.
Rowan grabbed a fist full of her jacket with one hand, and the branch next to them with the other as they both lost their balance and tipped back and forth, swaying dangerously. He regained his balance first and pulled her to him. When she finally got her feet under her, he caged her against the trunk.
“What’s the matter with you? You could have fallen!”
“I thought I could stand,” she countered. He looked down at her with narrowed eyes, their faces inches away from each other as he studied her.
“No, you didn’t. You just wanted me to stop touching you,” he said knowingly. Lily’s eyes darted away. “All you have to do is say stop. And I will.”
Rowan moved back, but he didn’t take his hand off her jacket. Lily busied herself with wiggling the blood back into her toes. He watched her, even though she didn’t look up at him.
“You’re embarrassed,” he said disbelievingly.
“Are we going to spend all day in the tree?” she returned, hoping to end the conversation.
“I’m not trying to seduce you,” he said seriously. “Believe me. You’d know if I was.”
“I know you weren’t,” she responded, ignoring the boastful half of his comment. And the small sting she felt. Did he have to make it so insultingly clear that he wasn’t interested in her? “But where I’m from people don’t put their hands all over each other, okay? We don’t get naked in front of each other, we don’t share boy-girl tents, and we don’t go massaging each other’s groins.”
“Okay,” he said, raising one shoulder in a half shrug.
“Okay,” Lily said back, not sure if she’d made her point—or simply made a fool of herself. With Rowan it was difficult to tell whether you’d won an argument or not.
Rowan tur
ned and started climbing down the tree. Lily thought for a moment that she heard him whisper the word “Puritan” as he picked his way down the branches. She was tempted to yell down at him, but she couldn’t really be sure that was what he’d said, and she didn’t want to seem touchy or defensive. The fact that she couldn’t even argue with him properly annoyed her.
“Are you coming or not?” he called up.
Lily turned toward a branch and began to climb down, muttering to herself the whole way.
* * *
Gideon waited for Juliet outside Lillian’s suite of rooms. Listening at the door was pointless. The Witch had set her wards. When Juliet did finally appear, her face had the pinched look of someone who’d just been in a huge fight.
“You’re back,” Gideon said smoothly.
Juliet shut the door behind her and started down the hallway. “As if you didn’t know that. How long have you been watching me?” she growled at him as she passed. Gideon followed her.
“I’m your sister’s head mechanic,” he said without a trace of remorse. “Anything that happens to you affects the Witch. Especially when you go running off into the Woven Woods to visit a camp full of your sister’s enemies.”
Juliet spun around to face him, her eyes flashing. “Are you accusing me of disloyalty?” she challenged.
Gideon had to admit Juliet could be quite pretty when she was angry. “No,” he said honestly. He knew that even though Juliet disagreed with every policy her sister had enacted over the past year, there was no one more loyal to Lillian than her sister. And if anyone knew whether or not Lillian had been able to do the impossible and make a bridge to a parallel universe, it would be Juliet. “But maybe you’d better tell me why you were out there before others—who don’t know you as I do—start to talk.”
“Let them talk,” Juliet said. She turned and started down the hallway again. “Lillian knows the truth.”
“She knows that there’s another witch out there in the woods—a witch who looks exactly like her?”
Juliet stopped and paused momentarily before turning to look at him. When she did, her face was a blank slate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said lightly.