We all sit in silence for a moment. “Unless she died,” says Nolan.
I huff. “Is that even possible? Can a Fate be killed?”
Maddox shrugs. “I don’t know. But if it were true, and someone managed to kill a Fate, you’d definitely think that legend would have made it into history books.”
Charlie’s expression toward Maddox softens.
I flip the pages, scanning the headings for anything of the sort, but there’s nothing in the book about the Youngest Sister being killed, except as a theory regarding why she disappeared from history.
“When did she stop showing up in legends?” asks Charlie.
“This says in the time before the kingdoms were divided along the coast.”
“So five hundred years ago,” says Nolan.
“Maybe she got tired of having to deal with her Sisters,” says Charlie.
I flip through the pages, encountering tale after tale that end poorly. “Maybe she got tired of not being able to save everyone,” I whisper.
“There has to be something in there about where she was rumored to live, hasn’t there?” asks Charlie.
It takes me a while, but I finally find a section on the dwelling places of the Sister.
“The legends are unclear regarding where the Youngest Sister resided, though most are consistent in that she preferred to live in seclusion, or, if not seclusion, then at least quaint homes. Perhaps most associated with the concept of the Youngest Sister is Mount Serba, in which some legends claim she lived not in a home on the mountain, but within the mountain itself. Before the kingdoms were divided, it was common for mortals to travel from all over the world to leave gifts and petitions at the base of the mountain. Even now, the village at the base of the mountain performs a yearly ritual in which the inhabitants leave gifts for the Youngest Sister. Though sightings have been reported, none of them have any more credence than a community seeing what they wish to see.”
“Mount Serba,” says Maddox. “Conveniently located on the other side of the sea.”
I glance at Nolan. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see on his face. Probably pity—a man willing to cross the world to appease his delusional young wife. But when I glance into his eyes, I think I glimpse a glimmer of hope in them as well.
“It’s a long shot, Darling,” he says, and I get the sense that he’s tempering his own hope, not mine. “You would think that if she were there, there would be more conclusive evidence coming out of that village.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But it’s something. And that’s more than we’ve had yet. Besides, just because the Youngest Sister doesn’t come out to meet the villagers at the base of the mountain doesn’t mean she doesn’t still dwell inside it.”
“Yeah, can one really blame her for shutting herself up, given her family situation?” says Charlie.
Nolan sighs. “It will take at least five weeks for us to cross the sea. And that’s in good weather.”
I nod, my stomach twisting. There’s no telling how far Nolan’s illness will have progressed by then, but I’m not sure we have an alternative.
“You won, Darling,” is all he says. “It’s up to you.”
CHAPTER 15
That night, I remember that I’m running low on the brew Charlie bought for me before our wedding. Given we’ll be leaving for the ship early in the morning, I grab my shawl and leave Charlie attending to Nolan and Michael, then journey out into the village market.
It’s a lively place, the white stone buildings giving it a brighter look than any village I’ve ever seen at night.
Once I reach the market, I weave through the crowd, scanning booths for anyone who might sell what I’m looking for.
The market is full of lights, but they’re not the faerie dust lanterns I’m used to. Someone in the inn mentioned that there’s been a faerie dust shortage recently. Now that I know how faerie dust is harvested—I think back to Peter shredding Tink’s wings to increase the faerie dust concentration in her bloodstream, then bloodletting her—I can’t say I’m sorry that the world is running low on their faerie dust lanterns. Besides, there’s something beautiful and quaint about the paper lanterns strung up across the market. They give the market a gentle glow—one that I think I would have enjoyed as a child.
I never got to go out into the markets when I was a girl, not with my parents as terrified as they were that the Shadow Keeperwould come for me early. Now I understand that this was a fairly irrational fear, especially since he was visiting me every night, regardless. Not that my parents knew that.
As I walk alone through the streets and admire the stalls, I think of a version of childhood that could have been—my mother leading me through the streets, buying scarves or various apparel together. A life that never was. A relationship that never was.
Although, even as I daydream, I remember that regardless of my curse and the Mark that made my life distinct from other nobility, this daydream probably would have still been just that—a daydream. My mother would have been busy with duties that the aristocracy demands. Not simple, mundane tasks done just for the enjoyment of them, like going out into the marketplace and finding what art the local artists had crafted.
It looks as if most of the vendors here rent stalls, but the village is popular enough that there must be a shortage of them. Those who don’t take up the stalls have pitched tents of various colors across the marketplace—lilacs, ceruleans, and chartreuses. Vendors sell scarves, shawls, raw meats, vegetables, and whittled wooden baubles that remind me of Benjamin and make my heart ache.
