“Yes,” Wake agreed, his pensive tone matching Bainbridge’s, “we’d need proof to convince the whole Council and a plan for how to access these other worlds, before we’d sanction you making any move against the Witch or Rowan Fall.”
Even still, they were terrified of challenging Rowan. He was so legendary they wouldn’t oppose him—even though Rowan no longer had the strength of the Salem Witch in him. Gideon was her head mechanic now, but they all seemed to overlook that fact. Either that or they knew that Lillian had never once given him the Gift. It galled Gideon. A disdainful breath escaped him, and Roberts was quick to chastise him for it.
“You’re not the only one who’d swing if this cockamamie idea of yours turns out to be nothing but a middle-of-the-woods tryst between two reunited lovers,” Roberts said hotly. “The Witch is awful fond of hanging people who oppose her these days, and you’ll get no support unless you have enough evidence to get the entire Council on our side. I reckon not even she can hang half the government. In the meantime, I suggest you watch your thoughts carefully, young Danforth.” Roberts gestured to Gideon’s willstone, dangling at his throat. “If Lillian gets one whiff that you’re disloyal, she’ll root this meeting out of your memories in a heartbeat. And then, well—we’ll all meet again at the gallows.”
CHAPTER
8
Lily and Rowan reached the edge of town at dusk. From a distance, Lily could see the towers of greenery soaring up into the air between the tall buildings, but as they approached, the colossal wall encircling Salem blotted out the city behind it. Lily tried to locate the end of the wall, but it stretched for miles in either direction.
“I’m going to have to smuggle you in. I hope the tunnel that leads to the Swallows is still up and running,” Rowan mumbled, more to himself than to Lily.
“Tunnel?” Lily interjected nervously. She didn’t like small, dark places, especially if they were underground. Lily didn’t even like the thought of going down into her basement at home, let alone through a strange tunnel. She also didn’t like the idea of going to any part of town named the Swallows, but that was the least of her worries. “My hair is so different, and it’s getting dark,” she argued. “Maybe no one will recognize me?”
Rowan shook his head. “You don’t have a willstone, Lily.”
“Yeah. And?” Lily asked desperately. She really didn’t want to go underground.
“So you won’t get in.” Rowan let out a tense breath and dove in. “There’s a string of numbers stored in everyone’s willstone. It’s your citizenship number. A related but much simpler kind of crystal—it’s called a lattice—can locate and read this number and—” Rowan realized he was rambling and dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. “Basically, our willstones are our identification. Guards check everyone’s willstone with a lattice for their citizenship number. You can’t get through any of the Salem gates after dusk without one. On top of that, it’s just weird to see someone over the age of seven without a willstone. You’d get stopped for that no matter who you look like.”
“Okay,” Lily said, backing off in the face of Rowan’s obvious disquiet even if the thought of going underground still made her shaky. “Forget I said that. You lead, I’ll follow.”
“Oh, so you can be reasonable?” he quipped. “Every day, a new surprise.”
“Quiet, you.” Lily giggled as he took her hand and pulled her tight to his side. “Before I change my mind and throw a hissy fit.”
The light mood didn’t last long. Rowan’s face darkened again as he brought Lily along the edge of the wall. Outside one of the huge gates was a shantytown of traders who had formed a rustic-looking fairground. The dark-haired, dark-eyed people in the caravan were packing in their wares for the night, pulling down the shutters of the armored carriages that doubled as merchant booths. Rowan led Lily into the maze of stalls, keeping her close.
“Don’t look up at anyone,” he whispered in her ear. Lily tilted her head down but she could still feel the Outlanders watching them. Rowan hurried her past the few who stopped to stare.
“Do they recognize me?” she asked anxiously.
“No. They’re curious to see who’s coming in from the Woven Woods alone, on foot, and uninjured,” he answered. “It doesn’t happen often.”
Lily nodded her understanding and angled herself behind him, tucking as close as she could to the curve of Rowan’s shoulder. She glanced up to the top of the city wall and could see guards moving around up there, the distance shrinking them to the size of mice.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought Lillian was hunting the Outlanders.”
“Just those pledged to Alaric. His tribe harbors scientists and fights for Outlander rights, but there are plenty of tribes that abide by Coven law.” Rowan’s mouth slid into a half smile. “Or so they say.”
As they neared the center of the fairground, the muddy dirt paths turned to wooden walkways and the armored carriages grew larger and seemed more entrenched in their positions. Children ran around, playing chasing games. It was a neighborhood of sorts, protected by the carriages along the perimeter and by the guards on the wall a hundred feet above them. Lily could smell food cooking. She heard Rowan’s stomach growl and thought for a moment that she could feel the twist of hunger inside of him.
“Can we buy food at one of the stalls?” she asked quietly in his ear. “You need to eat.”
“I’ve got you,” Rowan replied, pulling her more tightly to him. “Food can wait.”
“Unbelievable. And you call me stubborn,” she mumbled. She’d meant it as a joke, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized how true it was. She and Rowan were a lot alike. In fact, Lily didn’t think she’d ever met anyone so much like her before.
“Fall,” a man said, hailing them from the shadows. Rowan stopped, his hand sliding up to the knife at his belt.
Rowan said something to the man in a language Lily couldn’t even begin to fathom. It sounded alternately guttural and nasal, and she thought maybe she’d heard it during the meeting of the elders, but she’d never guessed Rowan spoke it as well.
The man stepped into the light, revealing himself, and Rowan dropped his hand, tipping his chin up in a terse greeting. “We need to get into Salem,” Rowan said quietly.
Without a word, the man turned and Rowan began following him.
What’s the matter, Lily? You look startled.
What language was that?
It was a few words of Iroquois and a few of Sioux. I didn’t know what tribe he was from, so I tried a couple.
So cool. I knew you weren’t exactly white, but I didn’t think you were part Native American.
Rowan looked at her strangely. What the hell is a Native American?
It’s what we call … Forget it. Lily felt like an idiot.
The man brought them away from the main walkway and behind a row of larger, more ornate carriages that were nearly the size of houses. They turned a corner and entered a small, hidden alley. The man stopped, looked around anxiously, and then bent to lift a portion of the wooden walkway. Beneath the false boards was a tunnel and a rickety ladder leading down into the dark. Rowan briefly clasped the man’s hand in thanks and began descending the ladder. Lily followed, never once looking up at the man, although she felt him trying to search her averted face.
As soon as the wooden slats were placed back over the hole, Rowan’s willstone flared to life. It shed enough light so Lily could see the rungs beneath her hands but little else. Upon reflection, she decided that the fact that she couldn’t see just how deep the drop went was a good thing. After a few seconds of descending, Lily got vertigo and stopped. She kept imagining a rung on the ladder breaking under her foot and then plummeting into the unseen depths below.
“It’s okay, Lily,” Rowan whispered. “These tunnels are only a few years old. The ladder is really strong.”
Lily took a deep breath. “I hate the dark, Rowan. I’ve always hated the dark.”
“I know. You’re a witch.” His voice was low and comforting, even though she didn’t really understand what he was talking about. Lily felt his hand wrap around one of her ankles and him giving her a small stream of soothing heat and energy. “I won’t let you fall.”
Lily steeled herself and continued her descent. They went down one ladder, turned and went down another, and then started down a long tunnel. Beams buttressed the ceiling, but they offered Lily little comfort. They were down so deep, and the tunnel was so narrow that it seemed at any moment the walls could come caving in. The smell of earth and clay reminded Lily of her mother at her potter’s wheel. Worry suddenly jangled through Lily like a sour note.
I’m okay, Mom, she thought fervently. Please don’t do anything stupid.
After twenty minutes of walking through the tunnel, they reached another ladder and began to climb. Rowan went first. Lily could hear voices and the sound of footsteps above them. He turned and told Lily to stop when she was only halfway up the ladder.
“Stay here until I come get you,” he whispered. Rowan reached the top, knocked at the hatch in code, and it swung open. He climbed out and quickly closed the hatch behind him.
In the dark, without even the faint blue glow from Rowan’s willstone, Lily felt disoriented and vaguely dizzy. She held close to the ladder while she listened to Rowan talking to a few men and a woman above her. Lily inched up the ladder until she could make out what they were saying, her arms shaking with the effort to hold on.
“I haven’t heard any word from Caleb or the sachem,” the woman was saying. “But Tristan’s in town. I saw him at a bonfire last night.”
“Is it true?” a man asked. “You captured Lillian?”
“No,” Rowan said. “But I do have someone with me. And I need to keep it quiet.”
“You’ve never hid anyone from us before,” the woman said sharply. “Don’t tell me she’s with you.” A pregnant pause followed. “Did you give yourself to a new witch?” she persisted, her voice shrill with jealousy.
“I need food, a selection of blank willstones, and your discretion,” Rowan replied, clipping his words. “Now,” he added quietly. Footsteps shuffled off in different directions.
A few minutes later, the footsteps returned. One of the men asked what the willstones were to be used for. Rowan didn’t answer and instead requested that everyone leave the room. After another pause, Lily heard reluctant footsteps moving out of the space above her. The hatch opened and Rowan’s head appeared. She sighed with relief and made her way up to him, her hands cramping from holding on to the rungs so tightly.
He pulled Lily up out of the hatch and kept her hand. Moving her quickly through the small safehouse and out into the bustling streets of the city, Rowan reminded her again to keep her eyes down and to stay behind him. She kept her head down as they moved through a place with brightly colored lights. An acid-purple flash caught her eye, and Lily had to look up to see what it was.
“What are those?” Lily gasped.
The streets were lined with rows of glowing trees on either side of the road. The trunks of the trees only gave off a little bit of light, but the leaves were bright enough to cast shadows. Oak trees canopied into purple brilliance overhead. Willow trees cascaded glinting pink branches. Lily glanced down a side street and saw hues of green and blue, while this street was predominantly pink and purple, almost as if the streets were color-coded.
“What are what?” Rowan growled. “Didn’t I just tell you to keep your eyes down?”
“The trees, Rowan. The trees are freaking glowing.”
“Yeah,” he said, amused by Lily’s obvious shock. “They share properties with deep-sea creatures that naturally create their own light. Witches married the aspects of the sea creatures that made them glow with the seeds of the trees to provide free light at night in the cities. They look normal during the day, though. They only glow in the dark.”
“Bioluminescent trees instead of streetlamps,” Lily mumbled, awed not just by the beauty, but also by the cleverness behind their creation.
“Oh, the richer neighborhoods still use streetlamps—just to prove they can afford it. Now will you please look down?” Rowan asked, smiling.
Lily obeyed. In the eerie, almost neon light, she couldn’t see much more than the dirty concrete beneath her feet and the swing of pedestrians’ arms and legs as they walked. But even with her eyes downcast, she noticed people stepping out of Rowan’s way and then stopping to take a second look as he and Lily passed.
“Everyone’s staring,” she hissed.
“It’s okay. They don’t know who you are.”
“Then why are they looking at us?”
“Because they know who I am.” Rowan paused before continuing. “And they’re not used to seeing me with a girl.”
They wove through a brightly lit neighborhood that used electric lights as well as bioluminescent trees. They passed bars and restaurants that spilled strange, thumping music and even stranger-looking people onto the streets. Lily couldn’t quite put her finger on the style of dress. Some of the women wore wearhyde breeches and boots with tunics or jackets over them, and some wore gowns and gloves. There was no distinct time period of dress, at least not any time period from Lily’s world.
Walking quickly through what Lily assumed was the young and trendy part of town, they made their way to a quieter, more polished neighborhood. The buildings were a bit taller here, and instead of foot traffic, there seemed to be more of the silent automobiles that Rowan had called elepods.
“What do they run on?” Lily asked, watching a particularly sleek one glide by.
“Electricity,” Rowan answered. He bounded up the outside steps of a six-story brownstone, his spirits visibly lifting.
Lily followed him up the steps. She gestured to a shining streetlamp. “What do you use as a power source? Oil, coal, natural gas?”
Rowan gave her a puzzled look. “Witches are our power source. I wasn’t kidding when I made that comment about who runs this place. Witches literally run our world, Lily.” He waved his hand in front of the door. His willstone glowed slightly and the door slid open. “And they never let us forget it,” he added under his breath.
Rowan pulled Lily inside and practically ran up the steps to the top floor. He waved his hand in front of the penthouse door, and it opened, but before he let Lily inside, he paused and closed his eyes. His willstone glowed brightly and then faded. He opened his eyes and smiled at Lily.
“Come on in. It’s safe,” he said.
Lamps flared to life as Rowan passed them, revealing a large loft space with hardwood floors, soaring ceilings studded with skylights, huge windows along two sides, and graceful columns throughout the central area. Simple, elegant furniture created distinct living spaces like a sitting area, library, and dining room, without the use of walls. It was a beautiful, modern-looking space, vastly different from the tents and cabins that Lily had heretofore associated with Rowan. And yet both environments suited him. He was just as at home in this tasteful penthouse as he was roughing it in the woods. Lily followed Rowan through his apartment with an intrigued smile on her face, wondering if he was ever going to stop surprising her.
He headed straight for the kitchen, removing his backpack along the way. He shucked off his jacket, took the supplies he’d been given at the safehouse out of his pack, and placed them on the island in the kitchen before turning to wash his hands in the sink.
“Okay. So no meat for Lily,” he mumbled, organizing the groceries on the counter. Lily sat on one of the stools on the dining room side of the island and watched while Rowan gathered pots and pans on the other. In a few minutes, he was whipping up an entire meal, stealing famished bites off an apple as he worked.
“You can really cook,” she said, marveling at how he wielded his knife as he cut vegetables. “That’s amazing.”
His eyes flashed up at hers while he chopped, the relaxed look of them pinning her to her seat. “I
love to cook. And not just in a cauldron.” A pleased smile lingered on his lips as he put the veggies in a sauté pan and turned them with a deft flick of his wrist. His dexterity fascinated Lily, and she caught herself staring at him. “You can bathe if you want while I get this ready,” he said, oblivious to her rapt attention. He lowered the heat under the sauté pan and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “I’ll get you set up.”
Rowan took her to a big bathroom and twisted the taps over a claw-footed tub. He tested the heat with his fingers and sprinkled some salts into the water. The scent that rose up with the steam was distinctly masculine. There was something intensely intimate about the thought of bathing in Rowan’s scent, and Lily felt suddenly embarrassed.
“I can take it from here,” she said, sitting next to him on the side of the tub. She tested the water with her hand and found that Rowan had chosen a perfectly cool temperature for her. Of course, she thought. He knows more about my body than I do. “You have a beautiful home. Thank you for letting me stay here with you.”
His brow furrowed, as if what she’d said troubled him. “You’re thoughtful. Considerate,” he murmured. “You’re still stubborn as hell, but you take other people’s feelings into account. It’s not all your way all the time. You have no idea how much that means to me.” His eyes drifted down, and he lingered for a moment next to her, his fingers still stirring the water. “I’m sorry I was so horrible to you when we first met.” Lily saw a glimmer of magelight under Rowan’s shirt. In her mind, she saw an image of herself, crying and clutching at her twisted ankle in the dark forest. She experienced intense feelings of regret and shame—his regret and shame. “I’m especially sorry for that.”
Lily couldn’t get her voice to function so she just nodded. She knew that he’d opened himself up to her so she wouldn’t just hear the word “sorry,” but could feel how deeply he meant it. It was the most heartfelt apology she’d ever been given, and as soon as Lily grasped how generous it was of him to share such thorny emotions with her, she reached out to him in thanks. But he stood up and moved away before she could take his hand.