“And whose son is he? Who’s the father?” asks Peter.
I hesitate. Because this is the part I can’t take back. The gamble that once I make it, I can’t retract.
Two options stand before me. One, I am confident would persuade Peter. But it is not the truth. And if I’ve learned anything from my life, it’s that lies have never served me. Not me, and not others.
Besides, as much as Peter deserves pain, there’s something inherently cruel about fooling him into believing the child is his.
It is a power we have over men. Still, how often have they exerted power over us, unfairly?
All the same, I do not wish to sink to that same sort of cruelty.
“He’s Nolan’s,” I say. “Peter, he’s our son.”
“How can you be so confident?” he asks.
“I just know.” I think of my little boy’s dark hair. “The Sister took him because he is Nolan’s son,” I explain. “She wouldn’t have wanted him otherwise.”
Peter’s face falls.
I’m not sure if it’s because he himself hoped for a child, or if he hoped that a child between us would give us one last connection, one unbreakable bridge between each other.
“If you wanted my help,” he says, “it would have been smarter of you to lie. At least to say you didn’t know.”
There’s a bitterness in his tone.
“I’m not here to lie to you, Peter,” I say. “I’m not here to trick you.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“I’m here to beg you,” I say.
“Beg me with what?” He glances at Nolan. “You brought your husband with you, which means you’re not planning on offering yourself to me. We both know he would never allow that.”
I’m not entirely sure why, but it stings, knowing that Peter would accept such a bargain. Not that it surprises me, but still. It hurts me for him too, in a way, that he believes he could attain any sort of happiness with me as his slave. Was he really so much happier with me when I was a prisoner in Neverland, bound to him unwillingly?
I glance at him, searching for signs of misery, but Peter dons a mask of apathy.
“I’m not offering you anything,” I say.
“You know that’s not how fae work,” he says. “I will help you, but for a price.” He reaches out his hand, and I’m reminded of the clock tower, of the hand swathed in shadows that I never should have grasped onto. “Tell you what. I’ll help you get your son back. And then you and I, and the boy too, can all be together.”
He glances at Nolan, a challenge flaring in his eyes, but Nolan doesn’t rise to his bait.
It’s exactly what I was expecting. So I let his hand linger empty in the air. “I told you, Peter, I’m not here to make a bargain.”
He scoffs. “Then you came a long way for nothing.”
“No,” I say, “because you’re going to help me.”
He actually laughs—truly laughs at me—then brings his hand back to his chest and turns around, pacing off into the darkness.
“Goodbye, Wendy Darling,” he calls over his shoulder.
“You’re going to help me,” I call out to him. “You know why? Because I’m in agony. I’ve never felt a pain like this. It’s gnawing at me. I’m incomplete. All the pain that I went through in Neverland after John died—you witnessed it. You know. But that was only an ache. This, Peter? I’ve never felt anything like this.” I don’t mean for it to, it’s not an act, but my last word catches on a sob that escapes my throat.
Peter stills, halting in place. But he doesn’t turn. Not yet.
“Peter, he’s my son,” I say. “My child. She took him from my arms. I can’t even—” I squeeze my eyes closed, fully aware that I’m about to reveal something I hadn’t even confided in my husband yet. “I can’t even remember his face. It’s already faded. And you of all people know the things she’ll do to him. She’s raising him to be her slave. If that were all, perhaps I could live with it. But she’ll pretend to be his mother. She’ll take my place. And then, when he comes of age…”
