Page 7 of Quarter Labyrinth

“One truth,” Clark spoke, holding up three of his own fingers. “Just because your father isn’t from Haven, doesn’t mean he’s Gerald Montclair. Two, just because you haven’t caught her in a lie doesn’t mean she doesn’t tell them. And three, the story has gone on for too long to tell you the truth. Best guess is she’d assumed he’d be dead by now and she could carry the lie forever.”

I frowned. “That last one wasn’t a point. You’re not playing the game right.”

“I made the game. I play it however I want.”

His words didn’t sting. I wasn’t dumb—Mother might have concocted the whole thing so her daughter could feel special, when in reality we were abandoned. But then I’d think back towhen she caught me cheating on my numbers in school, and she made me do the pages fifty times over so I learned to never cheat again. She always made me run harder than the other kids, swim further, hold my breath for longer. I could never cut corners or take the easy route. A woman like that didn’t sugarcoat a child’s parentage for fear of their feelings being hurt.

No, Clark’s words didn’t wound me. What hurt was how long he must have been thinking them while playing along with my story.

I gritted my teeth and said, “One day, I’m going to prove you wrong.”

“It’s not worth dying out there trying to prove yourself to the world.”

“It’s worth it to me.”

“It’s not worth it to me!” I flinched at his tone. He sighed, pulling his fingers through his red hair. “You’re my best friend. Stay on this island with me, and if your father comes someday, he will set everything right. But on the chance that he doesn’t come, you won’t have thrown your life away for nothing.”

The clock struck half after midnight. I stepped back silently, wishing to put the whole island between us before having this conversation again. It’d broken me last time, and nearly shattered him. I couldn’t watch him pick up the pieces twice. Clark let me retreat with a fractured look in his green eyes. His shock of red hair and smattering of freckles gave him a boyish look and made me feel as if I were crushing someone so innocent every time I turned him down.

Yet it seemed we were doomed to repeat this moment of our life—him begging and me refusing—over and over again.

“Go home, Clark. I’m doing this alone.”

His tone came much softer than earlier. “If you get caught stealing, you’ll lose a hand.”

“If you come with me, I’ll definitely get caught. Go home and forget about me.”

He straightened like a sailor who’d been asked to abandon ship. “Never.”

“I’m not asking. There can be no future here, because I don’t want it. And I’m tired of hurting you.” Sharp words, but he needed to hear them.

His expression splintered, before he put himself back together with a full breath. Gods, he was so innocent. So fully good and perfect. And I was ruining him.

He licked his lips. “Just promise me you’ll reconsider before leaving.”

If that was what it took to get him to leave. “I’ll sleep on it, then decide what to do in the morning.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you,” I said.

Then uncrossed my fingers as he left.

I faced the village once more. I’d lost precious minutes already. I’d waste no more.

As silently as morning fog rolling across the shore, I crept toward the village, taking the crooked path toward the cliffs where Aksel’s manor sat, then crouched to wait in the shadows.

FOUR

The air tasted of salt and bad decisions.

Oil lamps remained lit inside Aksel’s manor. It sat along the cliffs facing the sea, where the crashing waves graciously hid the sound of my shuffling as I tried to find a place to hide among the brambles outside his home.

If the clue was delivered in his office, I’d have a wretched time getting it first. But if it appeared at his doorstep, I might get it. Aksel would be free to read it too. He paid for it, after all. I simplyneeded to see it first.

Harring Manor was the one slice of beauty on the small island of Haven, looking like something ripped from a child’s storybook. Its tall stone walls, weathered by centuries of relentless winds, were draped in creeping ivy and moss. They gave the manor a look of both magnificence and stubborn endurance. Oak trim lined arched windows. A grand, weather-beaten staircase led up to a veranda. And a separate office sat to the side where Aksel ran his fishing business.

Beyond the manor, the earth seemed to drop away into a frothing abyss. From Haven, three other islands could be seen, but only when one stood on the cliffs of this manor.

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