92. Knock on the door

Ada woke to the sound of bells. She was alone in bed, though the windows across the room were open and letting in a river of golden sunlight. The silver bells were woven down the silken curtains, which gave fleeting visions of the city beyond. Wysthaven was already stirring, the shouts of merchants and the giggles of children rising into a periwinkle sky.

As Ada stood, the bedsheets pooled around her bare feet. She shook them up into the air and they rippled like seafoam against the sky, then fluttered down to reveal a young man leaning against the door frame. Long fingers combed back his damp hair, strikingly dark against his fair face. And while his cheeks were still hollowed, there were no purple shadows beneath his eyes, nor mask to hide the smile curling his lips.

Raeph prowled into the room, his unbuttoned shirt drifting open as his hands skirted down Ada's back to her hips. She turned and traced a finger along his collar, watching the shivers run over his skin. There were only the faintest chains of pink now scarring his otherwise smooth chest, the remainders of a past life that would one day be gone.

Ada's hand came to rest against his heart, and she could feel its quick beating beneath her palm like the trembling wings of a bird. His fingers caught her chin, gently lifting her face as a drop of water trailed down her neck. Soft lips captured it and then kissed up to her jaw, Raeph's breath hot until his mouth slanted over her own and they fell back onto the bed. Ada clung to him, the sunlight warming her through until she thought they would catch alight, their last gasps desperate and sweet.

"Are you certain about today?" he murmured much later, the bed sheets tangled around their legs.

"Are you?" Ada asked and listened to the tolling of the bells.

They ate little for breakfast, as Diane and Solen were packing a picnic into large, wicker baskets. It took all morning for Armestrong to hunt down Min, but eventually they left the house together for the final time, plucking apples from the tree as they went.

Min had insisted she could carry a basket on her own, but let Lark share the handle once they reached the bridge into the outer-city. The sunlight must have drawn the city folk from their homes, for the streets were alive and bustling. Several fae waved to Diane and Solen, though few came over once they caught sight of Raeph striding behind them. Amidst their murmurings, Ada held firmly onto his hand.

They passed freely out of the city and into the valley, where the grass was gilded golden beneath the sun, its banks overrun with buttercups and daffodils. Amongst the flowers, they made a spot for themselves and laid out their picnic, all frosted cakes and crusted bread and spiced wine. Lark produced a wooden pipe he had found at the market, and Solen threw nuts at him whenever he missed a note.

Min hardly ate a mouthful, and stayed fastened to Ada's side when they packed up their picnic many hours later. With baskets in tow, Raeph led them up toward the Wystwood forest, still grey and gnarled and framed between the pale pillars of the engraved bone arch.

As Above, So Below.

The balance of all things. That was how Hester had given meaning to the words. The balance between nature and people, between human and fae, between one world and another. When Ada had first read them, they had seemed a warning, if not a curse. But now, the words were solemn and still, their meaning older than time and reaching far beyond it too.

They came to the Wystwood and Raeph stopped as if expecting the others to go no further. But Solen patted his shoulder before stepping, hesitant yet determined, into the trees. Diane walked after her, followed by Lark and Armestrong, who clutched at Min's arm. Then, it was only Raeph and Ada alone on the hillside, the Wystwood behind them and the stream a thread of silver on the opposite side of the valley.

Ada felt the sob in her throat as Raeph's fingers wove between her own and, together, they stared down at the city for a final time. Wysthaven sat silent at the bottom of the valley, a sprawling mass of cobblestone streets made soft beneath ivy and moss. In the centre rose the tower, deserted and sharpened by grief. Its spire soared up into the sky, as if it could pierce the sun and make the canals run rich with golden light. But deep in the valley, it couldn't even catch the clouds.

With one hand on his leather knapsack and his other still held within Ada's, Raeph stepped into the forest and didn't look back. The air was cooler between the trees, and there were no bells or birds amongst the branches. The sun shone in shards onto the undergrowth, though it seemed to get caught in wystwood sap. Min kept running her hands over the amber gems, enchanted, before Armestrong could swat her away.

The bandits walked down a path vaulted by branches and came together to the Wishing Well. The ring of stones rose within a hollow trunk, whose tree grew alone in the middle of a wystwood grove. The canopy shifted high above them, like the paintings on the dome of a cathedral come alive and, though the well was crumbled and ancient, nobody took a step closer.

Raeph's hand was painfully tight around Ada's, but it was Lark who broke their silence. "How does it work?"

"I think I just have to make a wish." Ada retrieved the crystal flower from her pocket and it glittered like it held stars within each petal. They all stared down at the delicate twist of glass. Ada took a deep breath.

"Wait," gasped Raeph. "Please, wait."

He released Ada's hand as his arms wound around her, head buried against her shoulder and every inch of him trembling as if his heart had finally broken loose from his chest. Ada was glad she couldn't see his eyes, for if she could, she feared she would drop the flower and crush it beneath her boot.

"How can I come with you?" he whispered. "I will jump into the well and forsake my world if I must. To venture to your own would surely be the greatest journey of them all."

And though Ada could feel the tears spilling down her face, it was not her sobs that answered him.

"You can't," cried Min. "Wishes always come with a price."

"As above, so below," Ada repeated, and truly understood the words that had haunted her. "A balance between worlds. To return to my family at home, I must leave behind my family here."

"No," said Raeph. Then he released her abruptly and stormed into the trees, his fists coming down against their trunks as he shouted again, "No!"

"We'll meet again," Min said quietly. A wind rustled the foliage and Raeph turned back to the grove, looking only at Ada.

"I'll be searching for you," he said, rough and ragged. "Look for me."

"Every day," she replied, breathless as they embraced with a kiss that would not be their last.

Solen gave Ada a crushing hug, which Lark joined despite the tears flowing freely down his face as he attempted to string together a series of farewells, and Diane pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Armestrong nodded, her hands balled in her apron, unable to look as Min stepped forward. She had dried her tears, although her hair was still a tangled halo around her head. She took Ada's hand and their eyes met, the look within Min's far older and wiser than should be possessed by a child.

"I'm sorry to say goodbye, Min," Ada whispered.

But the girl shook her head. "This isn't goodbye."

Ada gazed around at the bandits and saw not those who were fae or foreign, but only friends. She saw the world that had not been her own, but now was a part of her just as purely as the one she had come from. She saw love and she saw hope and felt the words form within her mind.

Her hands were trembling, the wind building between the trees and whistling like voices amongst the branches. Ada tried to say the words but they were dry in her throat. She swallowed and clutched the flower tighter. Its stem was soft and warm, like her grandmother's fingers holding her own.

Ada closed her eyes. "I wish to return to Cresthill."

Her wish was dashed away with a wind that sent her stumbling, the glass flower torn from her hand to shatter against a tree with the faint chiming of bells. Another gust barrelled into Ada's chest, and she saw Solen press Diane to the ground as Lark covered his head. Armestrong held Min against a stump, and whatever the girl was yelling was taken by the wind.

Only Raeph stood, unbowed and ferocious, his hand stretched out and his eyes wild. His hair was a storm around his head, though the wind was unable to break him as he reached out, desperate, their fingers meeting in empty air.

"Adalyn," he shouted, but the words that followed were lost as Ada tumbled backward into the Wishing Well.

The world turned dark and empty. But the emptiness inside Ada was worse. She pressed her fingers against her lips and then screamed Raeph's name. She screamed until her lungs hurt and there came the bleat of an alarmed sheep.

Ada sat on the hillside inside a muddy little alcove. Behind her was the Wishing Well, a cluster of bluebells at its base, and a morning sun was seeping over the horizon. She rose, unsteadily, to her feet and leaned over the stones, listening to the darkness, but heard no wind or whisper. So, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a dagger. It glittered wickedly in the sunlight, as if it knew its burn had been stolen from it. Ada touched her thumb to its blade, feeling only cold iron, and then tossed it into the well. It fell silently, deeper and deeper, until it met water with a faint patter.

Then, Ada ran. She flew down the hill and along the old town wall, her hair fluttering behind her and the golden locket bumping against her chest. She came to a breathless halt at the gate, where a poster of her own face had been drawn up with charcoal. Beneath it was written, Most beloved sister missing. In finer print at the bottom of the page were dates and times when search parties could go into the Wystwood, most marking months past springtime. But it was the address given at the end that changed Ada's path.

She continued along the wall toward the forest. Wystwood trees loomed tall and twisted and the birds nesting within them twittered as Ada passed. Summer had come and the air smelled rich with turned soil and honeysuckle sweetness. White flowers clambered up the cottage and lined Rosamund Kavanagh's windows, some of their buds yet to bloom and clinging to their stems like tiny silver bells.

In the kitchen, Ada saw her grandmother bustling around the stovetop. A steady spiral of smoke curled from the chimneypot as she brought a mug of tea to the dining table. Lucille squeezed Rosamund's hand before she went back to work, the table plastered with posters and pencils and photographs. A chair was left empty by the hearth.

Ada stepped around pots of rosemary and thyme. She lifted the locket from her neck, rested her head against the door, and breathed in the scent of home. Then, she knocked.

The End