And feelings, she knew, were a sign that she was growing weaker. They were a sign that she would die.
“I know where the flower grows,” Corinthe said. “I can take you there.”
Luc slammed the book shut. “Forget it,” he said, without looking at her.
“You’ll never find it on your own,” she said neutrally.
“How do I get there?” Luc asked Rhys, as if Corinthe hadn’t even spoken.
Rhys shook his head as he picked up his vial. “She’s right. The pathways between the worlds are confusing and treacherous. Easy to get lost if you don’t know where to go.”
“But you can tell me. You know things.”
“Some things aren’t meant to be known, boy,” Rhys said.
“More riddles!” Luc practically shouted the words, and caused Rhys to stumble. His tray tipped and the vial fell to the floor, shattering at his feet. A sweet-smelling liquid pooled on the stone floor.
“Good thing there’s more where that came from,” Rhys said softly. He put the tray down and stepped over the broken glass, back toward the door.
“Rhys. I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“Never mind, Luc.” Rhys waved his hand wearily. “Never mind.”
After Rhys exited, Luc squatted and began to pick up the pieces of glass, placing them gently in the palm of his hand. He moved slowly and sullenly, like a child who had been reprimanded. He was desperate; Corinthe could feel it. Now was her chance.
Corinthe lifted the chain around her neck and pushed the tiny button on the back of the locket. It sprang open and tinny music filled the room as the tiny ballerina pirouetted.
He turned toward her.
“The flower grows in the Great Gardens of Pyralis. My home. This key can help us to find the gateway and navigate the Crossroad. It will lead us to Pyralis.” She turned to Luc. “I can help you get there quickly.”
Luc snorted. “Help me?” He shook his head. “Why would you help me? How do I know you won’t use the flower for yourself?”
“I don’t need the flower,” Corinthe said. “Like I tried to tell you, I just need to get home. My strength will be restored once I set foot on the ground.” She could hear the pleading in her voice but she couldn’t help herself. “You heard what the Healer said. I’m dying. I’m almost out of time. And I need you because I’ll never make it alone. You need me, too. You’ll never find your way without my help. We need each other now.”
“What about your orders?” Luc asked.
Corinthe held his gaze. She needed to get to Pyralis, to regain her strength so that she could fulfill her last task, but Luc would never take her with him if he thought she’d try to kill him again. “I couldn’t hurt you right now even if I wanted to,” she said. It was not a direct answer to his question, but it was not a lie, either.
He stared at her as she closed the locket and tucked it back in her shirt. His gaze was unreadable.
Staring at him, trying to determine what he was thinking, she had a sudden memory of seeing a library for the first time: carved wooden shelves that held so many words, so many messages, encoded and unread, so many things humans felt they needed to say to one another. It was the first time she had ever felt the urge to cry.
The distance between them seemed to shrink. She could almost feel his breath on her cheek. Neither moved as the tension grew, vibrated between them. A tightness gripped her chest, making her lungs work extra hard to get air in and out.
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” Luc said finally. He turned abruptly and stalked out of the cave, as though to prevent himself from taking back the words.
Corinthe exhaled. So. It was agreed.
Rhys cleared his throat to alert her to his presence, a small smile carved crookedly on his face. He moved deeper into the room and arranged his tray. He tipped a small vial into a glass of water. “This won’t stop the poison from doing its job,” he said as he stirred the mixture together, “but it will slow the process. Maybe give you enough time …” His voice trailed off and he handed the glass to her, his white eye unblinking.
If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Rhys knew what she planned to do.
She wanted to explain but thought better of it.
“Thank you,” she said. She swallowed the bitter contents of the glass. She hesitated, then spoke quietly. “I … don’t make the decisions of the universe. They aren’t up to me, you know.” For a moment, she felt a wave of sadness. She would never be able to explain to Luc; she had never been able to explain to anyone.
Loneliness: that was the word.
Rhys reached out and squeezed her hand.
“You have a tough journey ahead. I don’t envy you. But just remember—it is the voyage that’s the test, ain’t it?”
Corinthe nodded, even though she didn’t exactly understand what he meant.
“Take this,” he said, placing a second tiny vial into her hands. It was the same color as the liquid he had just given her.
Corinthe’s chest felt tight. “Thank you,” she said, fighting to find the words. “For everything.” Already she felt stronger. She pushed off her blankets and managed to stand up. For a second, black clouds consumed her vision, but they dissipated quickly. She smiled—and then, struck with an idea, removed the other crystal earring and pressed the pair into Rhys’s palm.
“For you,” she said. There was more she wanted to say. She wanted to ask him where he had come from, and why he’d been exiled, and whether he was some kind of Guardian for this planet, like Miranda in Humana. But thinking of Miranda made her chest ache, and she couldn’t get the words out.
He held up the earrings to the light. Mags hopped up and down on her perch, emitting several excited high-pitched shrieks.
“Beautiful.” His voice sounded wistful as the crystals scattered bright diamonds of colored lights over the walls.
“Can you … can you see, truly?” Corinthe asked.
Rhys smiled. “I see with my mind,” he said. “That’s enough.”
“Yes,” Corinthe agreed, and squeezed his callused hand.
Rhys coughed. “You’ll need these,” he said, his voice turning gruff again. He handed her a pair of worn leather boots and a thick canvas pack. “The journey over the mountains is a rough one. The nights get bitter cold, so I packed a few things you might need to get through.”
Corinthe slipped her feet into the boots and laced them up. They were a little big, but that didn’t matter. Then she shouldered the pack.
“Are you ready?” Luc stood at the mouth of the cave. His mouth was set in a line. Corinthe nodded.
She was ready.
Rhys pulled a folded piece of paper from another hole in the cave wall. He handed it to Luc. “A full day’s walk over the mountain, there is a river of darkness that runs in two directions. It’s rumored to be a gateway, though I’ve never tried to use it myself. The map should lead you straight to it, as long as you stay on the path.”
“Thank you,” Luc said. Corinthe said nothing. She had already spoken her thanks—had spoken the words and felt them insufficient.
“I hope you both find what you’re looking for,” Rhys said. “Safe journeys, my friends.”
Corinthe felt Rhys watching them, long after they had pushed out of the mouth of the cave, long after they had once again emerged into the land of blazing sun and chalky heat. She was grateful that Rhys hadn’t said anything to Luc, hadn’t told him who she was or what she must do.
Even though he knew—he must have known—that their journey could end only one way.
13
“I thought I might find you here.” His voice was low, gravelly and familiar.