Peck is next, and slowly, the crowd bends.
All the while, Ellie’s tears flow into my trembling hand as she squeezes it tight.
INTERLUDE MARCUS
“I don’t think anyone is home,” says Amity, her braid looking even more ragged than usual.
Typically, Piper tries her hand at braiding Amity’s hair. I wouldn’t say that Piper is an expert at it, but she’s certainly better than either me or Amity.
So here we are, about to make a large request to a rather irritable king, and my daughter looks like I pulled her out of a swamp.
She’s still adorable though, so at least we have that going for us.
I knock again on the gated entrance to the Avelean court, my knuckles dry as they rap against the dark walnut.
Again, no answer.
There’s not even a guard stationed outside.
This isn’t entirely surprising, but only because things were just as eerie the last time we visited the Avelean court. King Declan of Avelea rarely makes outside appearances, and the court itself? Well, it’s nowhere to be found. Last time we were here, we had the misfortune of meeting the king, but his family and courtiers were hauntingly absent.
At least there had been a festival going on then.
Now, without the jovial crowds, musical groups, and entertainment tents, the castle grounds are practically empty.
No, not practically empty. They are empty.
Except for me and Amity, of course.
“Evander probably forgot to send our letter,” says Amity, and though I would typically be inclined to agree with her summation of the prince, he’d seemed determined when he told me he’d do anything to help.
I lean my forehead against the door. It’s cool to the touch, mirroring the memory I have of the drafty, all but abandoned castle. The past several weeks, I’ve been keeping myself together for Amity. Not letting myself question whether we’ll find Piper.
But my hope has rested tenuously on recruiting help from within these walls, and if no one is here…
The latch on the gate clicks.
I jump backward just in time for the gears on the sides of the gate to spin, opening the doors with a buzzing whir.
On the other side is a young woman whose face shares my nose, my smile.
When she smiles.
Which isn’t often.
And certainly isn’t now.
“It’s a good thing I convinced Declan to let me come and see who was making such a racket,” my sister Cheyenne says, examining me and Amity. “Otherwise, he might have ripped the two of you to shreds.”
I tense, but Amity only laughs. “The king would never. I told him last time he needs to learn to be nicer.”
At that, Cheyenne almost smiles. Almost.
It hurts, seeing how reticent she is around me. In some ways, she’s still the Cheyenne I remember—light-brown skin that freckles in the sun, curly ringlets framing her face.
Those features I recognize. It’s the way she carries herself as a woman—chin high, eyes discerning, shoulders squared—that’s difficult for me to process.
Cheyenne gestures us inside, then leads us through the dingy castle.
Amity chats with Cheyenne on the way to the throne room. Although, it’s more like Amity chats at her, rambling on and on about Piper’s kidnapping, our travels, the chaos at the Rip, and how Cheyenne is her aunt now that Piper and I have adopted her. Cheyenne’s lack of reaction tells me that she did, in fact, receive Evander’s letter. All the while, I try to find places to cut into the conversation, but Cheyenne hardly even looks at me, and seems perfectly content to entertain Amity.
I remind myself that Cheyenne has no desire to have a relationship with me, and that I shouldn’t push it.
Cheyenne is the youngest of my siblings and possesses a gift much like Asha’s. I’m not sure where she acquired it, but since she was a child, she’s had the ability to make others forget. None of us realized this, of course, not even Cheyenne, and the skill often resulted in my parents forgetting about Cheyenne altogether, even failing to feed her on many occasions.
So when Piper took Cheyenne as a child, she thought she was taking her from a neglectful family. No one realized what was actually happening.
After her disappearance, I’d spent years thinking Cheyenne was dead. So had Piper, after they were ransacked on the road.
When really, Cheyenne had been here.
Happy, and fed, and looked after.
Most of all, not forgotten.
I think I’m a reminder of a childhood Cheyenne would rather forget.
“Just remember,” Cheyenne says, resting her hand on the door handle of the throne room, “he’s a tad grumpier today than usual.”
