Page 61 of Enthralled

Castien catches my eye. We both know Estrilde will not welcome any Vespre folk into her bosom. But what other choice do we have? “It’ll have to do,” Castien says. He turns and barks for Captain Khas. She steps forward and salutes, an incongruous sight with her baby on her breast, cooing and blowing spit bubbles. Castien’s eyes widen—after everything we’ve endured, everything he discovered upon returning to Vespre,thishas taken him aback. His gaze flashes to meet Khas’s once more, and there’s even the ghost of a smile on his lips. It fades at once under the grimness of her returned stare. “You will go through first,” Castien says. “Make certain all is safe.”

Khas salutes. She draws her sword, sets her shoulders, every line of her warrior’s build tense for action, even as Sor kicks his fat legs and babbles. She does not look back at Mixael, but I do. He stands guard at the library door still, book and quill at the ready. His gaze fixed on the back of his wife’s head. My heart breaks for him, for them. For all of us.

Castien commences the spell, however, and the gate begins to open. Beams of golden light shoot through from the far side, and the trolls once more turn away, shielding their faces. But Khas does not flinch, though surely that brilliance must hurt her troll eyes as well. She merely covers little Sor’s face with one hand and adjusts her grip on her sword. At the Prince’s signal, she steps through. For a moment her silhouette stands poised in the opening. Then the vortex swallows her from sight.

“Darling!” Castien says, turning to me. “Get the others ready. I can’t hold it open for long.”

I nod and turn back to the rest. My eyes are met by Sis’s fear-limned gaze, and my heart plunges with the sudden realization that I’m about to send my children through. That despite all my bold declarations to never leave them again, I’m about to be parted from them, perhaps forever. And there’s no time for goodbyes.

“Har!” I cry, turning to my oldest boy. “You first. Help Khas if she needs it.”

“Korkor, kurs Mar,”he responds with a flash of diamond teeth. Hastily I arrange the rest of them. Sis is ordered to hold the hands of two small children, and Calx takes up position behind her. Dig cradles his unconscious priestess against his shoulder but offers me a nod when I touch his big hand. The rest of the children and families line up in swift silence.

“Now!” Castien commands, and they begin to file through, Har first, the others marching swiftly behind him. I stand to one side and watch them go. All the things I wish I could say burn on my lips. Sis pauses at the opening, casting me one last agonized look, and for a moment, I fear she won’t do as she’s told—notoriously stubborn little thing that she is. But then she turns and dives through the veils, and Calx and Dig follow close behind. As each of them pass through, I feel pieces of my heart breaking off and going with them. Will I ever feel whole again? I doubt it. I hope not.

Someone steps to my side, watching the file of refugees pass by. I turn to see Lir, very solemn and still. “Lir, you must go too!” I say, touching her hand. “You must go with our children. They need you. They need theirmar.”

She smiles and shakes her head, even as two tears trail down her cheeks. “Our children are brave, Mistress,” she says. “Brave and bold. They will have each other, but . . .” She turns, and her gaze fastens on Anj. He is helping to direct the refugees through the gate, murmuring both comfort and commands to the smaller children. “He won’t go,” Lir says. “He won’t leave his people behind.” She draws a shaky breath. “He has no one else.”

I take her hand. While part of me wants to urge her and argue, I offer instead my understanding. Whatever strife lies between her and Anj, they need each other. If I can’t understand that, who can?

“We will fight,” I say softly and squeeze her fingers. “We will fight with everything we have and reclaim this city. Then maybe we’ll see our children again. Someday.”

The words have scarcely left my mouth when there’s a sudden knock at the door. It’s such an unexpected sound, hollow and echoing. Though Castien maintains his focus, holding the gate open with all his strength, the rest of us exchange startled glances. Mixael backs away from the bolted door, his brow furrowed, his pen poised. But Noswraiths don’t knock, do they?

Another knock. I let go of Lir’s hand and, quill at the ready, hasten to Mixael’s side. Whatever is there, I won’t let him face it alone. “Courage, Miss Darlington,” Mixael murmurs, though I suspect he’s speaking more to himself than to me. “Steady now. After all we’ve faced, what’s one more ghoulie, eh?”

Then a voice calls from the other side. A human voice, small and a little muffled.

“I know you’re in there, Clara.”

All warmth seeps from my blood. “Oscar,” I breathe.

I turn to look back at Castien, wishing I could catch his gaze. But his entire concentration is fixed on keeping that gate open, and there are still so many left who need to go through. He cannot help me. He cannot support me.

Whatever happens next, I’m on my own.

“Clara? Clara, I know you can hear me.”

His voice sounds sweet and scared. Like the little boy I once knew.

“What’s going on?” Mixael whispers out of the corner of his mouth. “Is it a Noswraith?”

I shake my head and exhale a slow breath. “I’ll handle this. Leave it to me.” Closing my book and lowering my quill, I step to the door. My heart thunders against my breastbone, and my limbs tremble with dread. Strange how I was so confident in the face of all those nightmares, but the prospect of confronting my brother again? That is true terror. Slowly I lean forward, rest my ear against the door, poised, listening.

“I’m here, Oscar,” I say softly. “I’m here with you.”

He is silent for a long moment. Does he stand with his ear pressed to the other side? Just as he used to when Dad locked him in the coal cellar, and I would sit and whisper through the cracks in the door, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

“You know what Ivor told me?” my brother says at last, breaking the silence between us. Though the door is thick, his voice sounds very close. “He told me that each man has a weakness at his core. A bad seed which must be rooted out with violence and vengeance if he is ever to be the strongest version of himself.”

My lip trembles. “Dad used to say something like that too.”

Oscar bites out a bitter curse. “Don’t change the subject! This isn’t about Dad. This is about you and me.”

He is quiet again save for ragged breathing. Is he in a manic episode? Or has therothiliomcarried him too far into its green depths? Perhaps it is just the natural terror any soul must feel to be trapped in the Doomed City. I hate that he’s on the far side of that door, hate that he’s out there with all those nightmares, unprepared, unprotected. My hand unconsciously strays to the doorknob. I wrench it back with a force of will.

“Do you know what my weakness is, Clara?”

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