Page 61 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

But Mara arrived safely, slipping silently into the tavern alongwith a cool autumn breeze. She wore the plain brown-and-gray garb typical of the Order of the Rose, and I tensed as I watched her, terrified that some drunken boor would notice her and make a scene, demand information about the abducted, demand to know what the Order was doing to prevent further incidents. But Mara was a Rose, quick and quiet, practiced at subterfuge. There wasn’t even a ripple of interest in the room as she crossed it, unremarkable as a shadow.

As agreed upon in our letters, Mara went straight for the innkeeper, who held court with her barkeeps behind a glossy countertop. She paid for a room, obtained a key, and disappeared up the stairs behind one of the inn’s housemaids. Not a glance at any of us, not a moment of hesitation. If the innkeeper had her own questions about the abductions, about the Mist, her desire for a customer’s money apparently outweighed her curiosity, at least for tonight.

Dizzy with relief, I gulped down a huge swig of my cider. The bubbles sparkling through my body helped me endure the agonizing half hour before I allowed myself to follow Mara upstairs. The inn was huge, boasting dozens of rooms. I passed the locked door to my empty room, my own key tucked away in my pocket, and searched for a room with a brown falcon’s feather wedged in the door. When I found it, I felt another giddy rush of relief and swiftly let myself in, catching the feather as it fell.

Gemma was already there, sitting on Mara’s bed and happily stroking the speckled white chest of Freyda, Mara’s falcon. Freyda’s piercing yellow gaze fell sharply upon me, as if to confirm that I was actually me and not some deception of the Mistlands. After a moment, her round eyes drifted shut, and she chirped quietly to herself, in obvious ecstasy from Gemma’s ministrations.

Mara came over and drew me into a quick, fierce embrace. I let myself savor the feeling for a few heartbeats—the warm, wiry strength of her, the smell of forest and old books that seemed forever woveninto the earth-dark strands of her hair. As Gemma removed my glamour, I pulled back from Mara and met her solemn brown gaze.

“You weren’t followed?” I asked.

She shook her head. “My unit covered for me and will continue to, and anyway, the Warden’s more than occupied with her duties. I’ll have two, maybe three days before she notices I’m gone.” She gave me a grim little smile. “Is it wrong of me to hope for constant but minor invasions throughout the weekend to keep her nice and distracted?”

“Not at all,” Gemma answered from the bed. “Minoris an important word here. The Order can handleminor. It’s not as though you’re wishing disasters upon them.”

“Fair enough. I’ll keep hoping, then. So.” Mara perched on the edge of the bed and fixed me with a grave look. “Tell me what’s happened.”

I settled on the bed along with them, my chest twisting with too many emotions to name. Being in the same room with both of my sisters was so rare an occurrence as to feel like something out of an Old Country myth. If only we could have used our time together to talk about anything else.

If only I could reach for Mara’s hand, and hold on to her, and nestle close to her as easily as Gemma was doing now.

But that was not the way of things. Gemma was the sweet one, who could say and act as she pleased, to whom everything of the body, everything of love, came easily. And I was the one sitting tensely apart from them, rigid as a brittle old twig. I tried not to glare at my sisters, who had done nothing wrong and deserved none of my strange, uncomfortable ire. Instead I looked hard at the worn quilt, bitter longing rankling in my chest as Mara, waiting for me to speak, began absently stroking Gemma’s golden hair.

“The Royal Conclave has placed the queen in confinement,” I began, and then I told Mara everything. The unrest in the capital,Gareth’s research into the Three-Eyed Crown, what the crown’s many carvings meant:three, over and over, in dozens of languages. And I told her about being banished from the Citadel, about Yvaine’s seclusion in my music rooms and the strange things she had said.

It was here that Mara stopped stroking Gemma’s hair and went very still. “What did you say?”

I hesitated, my skin prickling. Mara’s posture had changed from thoughtful attention to the bearing of a warrior ready for combat. Freyda fluttered up from the bed, Gemma’s caresses forgotten, and darted to the window, where she stood on the sill, glaring out at the world with her keen yellow eyes.

I glanced at Gemma, on whose pretty face realization was slowly dawning.

“I…” I swallowed hard. “Which part?”

“What Yvaine said.” Mara inched forward. “Theexactwords, Farrin.”

My heart sank, my mouth suddenly dry. This was the first time I’d repeated Yvaine’s words out loud; after my ejection from the Citadel, I hadn’t told any of the others. It had felt like a betrayal to do so. Yvaine wasn’t well; she wasn’t herself. Whatever mad ramblings she spouted off while in my company, believing she was safe, believing she could trust me, were not mine to share.

But that lie of omission had run its course. Though I was many things, few of them good, I was no fool. It seemed obvious that, whatever it meant, Yvaine and Talan had been speaking of the same thing, and now I had no choice but to share that terrible revelation.

“Moon by day,” I repeated, “fire by night. Come and dance. Don’t try to fight. The beauty of shadows, the garish sunlight. Spin for the watchers, their revels so bright.”

“That sounds so similar to what Talan told us,” Gemma said eagerly. “The stories he’s been hearing about the place called Moonhollow. It can’t be a coincidence.”

Mara glanced sharply at Gemma. “Moonhollow? You’re certain that’s the word?”

“Oh yes. He says he’s been hearing whispers of it everywhere, stories and rumors, but only here in Gallinor. And then there’s the forest he found in the far north, surrounded by some sort of powerful ward magic. A barrier he can’t penetrate. We didn’t want to explain any of this in writing in case our letters were intercepted.”

“Ah. That’s where we’re going, then. To see what this northern forest is hiding.” Mara looked back at me, her gaze steady and without judgment, but I nevertheless felt smaller with her attention upon me. “And you haven’t told anyone else about what the queen said?”

I shook my head, bristling at the unspoken reproach, even though it was more than warranted. “I didn’t plan on keeping it a secret forever. It just felt wrong to come out of the Citadel and immediately spill Yvaine’s secrets. She’s ill. Shetrustsme.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, in these circumstances, she is not simply Yvaine,” Mara said gently. “She’s the queen. And if we’re to have any chance of helping her, we can’t keep this kind of information from each other—”

“I know, I know,” I snapped. I rose from the bed and strode to the other side of the room. Freyda, still perched on the windowsill, turned to glare at me. Her sharp little bird face was far easier to bear than either of my sisters’ pitying expressions. I stared out the window at the black night beyond, blinking hard to clear my vision. Only a few miles from the inn stretched a faint ribbon of silver fog: the Mist’s southern border.

“I’m sorry,” I said at last. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I should’ve told everyone at once. It’s only that…” I blew out an angry breath. “I hate betraying Yvaine, and this feels like a betrayal. She has so few real friends, and here I am reporting on her like a spy.”

“And she might actually be glad of that, if she were in her rightmind,” Gemma pointed out. “She’s said it herself: she wants us to help her. And this is helping her, even if the method feels—”

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