The Doorway and the Deep (28 page)

Lottie made a show of dropping her jaw. “Fife
Dulcet
,” she said, throwing her hand on her heart. “You miss
Adelaide
?”

“Ollie, too, of course. But I kind of miss her stupid nagging. In a
stupid
way, you know?”

“No,” said Lottie, suddenly serious. “I know.”

Fife shifted in his pillows, scooting closer to where Lottie sat. “Is everything okay with Eliot?”

“Why?” Lottie asked, ignoring the judder of her heart.

“It's only, he's been acting kind of sick today. And I didn't know if that was normal, if he just has his bad bouts every so often.”

“No,” Lottie whispered. “It isn't normal. I think he's getting sicker.”

Fife licked his lower lip. “Lottie—”

“Don't use your keen. Please. You don't have to say a thing. It's just, I thought at first I'd made him better for good.”

“He's human, Lottie. He isn't like you. He's full-blooded human, and he's been living in Limn for a while. That would make any human sick—even the healthiest, strongest one alive.”

“Do you think that's all it is?” Lottie asked, drawing her knees up and burying her nose in them.

“Yeah, I do. I mean, it's what happened to your father, isn't it?”

Lottie went still.

Yes. That was what had happened to her father. He had stayed too long in Limn, and he had grown sick. By the time Lottie's mother brought him back to the human world, there was nothing to be done.

“Lottie?” She felt the press of a hand on her knee. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up.”

“No,” said Lottie, dragging her face up. “You're right. It
is
what happened to my father. Which is why I won't let it happen to Eliot. I can't.”

“That search party is going to find Ollie and Adelaide,” said Fife. “And they'll find Dorian, too. They will, and then Dorian will get the addersfork for the wisps, and Rebel Gem will let you and Eliot use the silverboughed tree, and everything will be okay again.”

“Yes,” said Lottie. “That's the deal anyway.”

“You don't say that like you mean it.”

Lottie met Fife's gaze. She forgot sometimes just how terrifyingly bright his eyes were.

“I've been thinking about the future,” she said.

“Whoo boy. Why would you do something like that?”

“I'm
serious
, Fife. I've been thinking of where I belong. I know I'm half human, but there's nothing about the human world I ever liked much, except Eliot.”

“You mean you prefer being chased around by wild beasts and the Southerly Guard and nearly getting assassinated by one of Iolanthe's spies, and, I dunno, almost drowning in a raging river of doom?”

“I didn't say things here were
easy
,” said Lottie. “I just mean, in spite of all those terrible things, I really do love it here. I feel like I'm home when I'm in Limn, even though I don't have a proper home at all. I feel like I belong here. I want to stay. But—”

“Eliot can't.”

“Eliot can't.”

“Oberon,” muttered Fife. “And I thought I had it bad.”

“When I was talking to Rebel Gem and she promised she'd let me and Eliot go back to Kemble Isle, I realized: I don't
want
to go back to Kemble Isle, even though I know it's what's best for Eliot. Because I think of you all, and I think of the wisps dying and King Starkling and Iolanthe and the horrible things being done. And I think how, even if it's just a little thing on my part, I might be able to
do
something about all of it. So, who's more important: Eliot or the rest of you? I'll be miserable no matter what I choose.”

“I think,” said Fife, “you've been sharpening too hard today.”

“No. I'm seeing things very clearly.”

Fife sighed. “I don't know what to say. Usually, I'm pretty good at that.”

“It's okay,” whispered Lottie.

Then arms wrapped around her and held her close. Fife was hugging her. She felt his cool chest and the brush of his downy black hair, ducked against her neck. For a quiet moment, they stayed just like that.

Fife made a mumbling sound. A few mumbles later, his words became audible.

“Ummm, Lottie? I've never hugged anyone before. So I don't quite know, um, how to stop.”

Lottie remained still. “You've never hugged
anyone
?”

“Well, the immediate family isn't exactly the warmest bunch, in case you hadn't noticed. And as for Ollie . . . 
Well
.”

Slowly, Lottie slipped out of the embrace.

“There. That's how you stop one. More or less.”

Fife nodded, his eyes on the pillows. “Easy enough.”

Lottie nudged Fife's knee with her own. “Thank you,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I didn't want my cheese earlier, and I could see you eyeing it.”

“No, Fife. Not for that.”

He didn't look at her when he said, “I know.”

“
I WANT PAPER
,” Lottie said first thing the next morning, when Rebel Gem met her in the pine clearing. “Preferably a sketchbook, but loose-leaf will do. And I want charcoal, and I want a Southerly novel. A
good
Southerly novel.”

Rebel Gem had been poking at something within the locket that hung around her neck. At Lottie's arrival, she clamped the locket shut and gave Lottie a long stare. Lottie marveled at Rebel Gem's ability to never—not once—look startled, even when Lottie did plenty of things she herself considered startle-worthy.

“That can be arranged,” Rebel Gem said at last. “I'll have them delivered to your room this evening.”

“Not my room. Fife's.”

“Ah, I see.”

Lottie had expected resistance. She'd expected Rebel Gem to say that Lottie was under her rule and had no right to make demands. Lottie wasn't sure how to behave now that she'd so easily gotten what she wanted.

“There are Southerly books up here, then?” she asked.

“In my own personal collection, yes. You know, they write
much
better novels than Northerlies do.”

“So I've heard,” Lottie said.

For the rest of the morning, and well past noon, they resumed Lottie's sharpening lessons. Only, today, Rebel Gem did not ask Lottie to think and feel things that made her angry but rather things that made her afraid. It was hard work at first, compiling a list—far harder than it had been to list things that made her mad. Lottie felt she had a right to be angry with someone like Starkling. But to admit that she was afraid of him, too, and afraid of Iolanthe and her soldiers—to admit that made Lottie feel weak.

Eventually, they came up with enough items for Lottie to begin thinking and feeling through. As she did, she discovered that fear felt different than anger. It wasn't the feverish burning sensation she'd endured the day before but a deep, nauseating ache in her gut.

Rebel Gem was relentless.
Think
, she told Lottie, and
Feel
, and
Move
. But no matter how much Lottie thought and felt the things that caused her fear, she still couldn't
move
the
feeling, couldn't send it radiating to her hands. She went to bed exhausted that night, before suppertime.

There was still no word from the search party of soldiers and gengas that Rebel Gem had sent out. Lottie tried not to think about this and what it might mean. Her worry, like her training, became all-consuming, taking hold of her hours, her thoughts, and even her dreams. She told herself that Oliver and Adelaide had to be all right, and she refused to let herself consider the alternative explanations that flooded her nightmares.

The next morning, when she arrived at Fife's room, Eliot had received a thick, leather-bound sketchbook and a set of well-sharpened charcoal pencils, bound in twine. On the table at Fife's bedside sat a book entitled
Tales of a Fairwind Pauper
, which Lottie had of course never heard of but Fife was enraptured to possess.

But none of the new items compared to the letter the white-haired boy delivered along with breakfast. According to his report, it had arrived in the dead of night and been handed over to him straight from one of the yellow-apple-tree guards.

Lottie watched anxiously as Eliot read.

“Father says he's concerned,” he said once he was through, handing the single sheet of folded paper to Lottie. “But he understands and is glad we're safe.”

Lottie read over the letter twice, but she felt worse, not better. Mr. Walsch's worry bled across the page, and
when Lottie looked up she saw Eliot sopping a tear into his wrist.

For that day's sharpening, Rebel Gem changed the target emotion yet again—this time to sadness.

“Why can't I think and feel
happy
thoughts?” Lottie asked, scowling. “Maybe I could actually move feelings if I felt good about them.”

“Did you feel particularly happy when you healed Eliot?” asked Rebel Gem.

Lottie wanted to lie, but Rebel Gem already knew the truth: Lottie had been miserable the night she'd healed Eliot. She'd thought her best friend was going to die.

“It just seems wrong,” said Lottie, “to feel all these horrible things
on purpose
. Does
everyone
have to torture themselves when they're sharpening? I mean, what, did Fife have to remember all his worst nightmares when he was first trying to taste people's words?”

“I imagine not. Everyone sharpens differently. But every approach is painful in its own way.”

“I'm asking Fife,” said Lottie. “I bet it wasn't as painful for him.”

“You're not going to get anywhere if you keep comparing yourself to someone else,” said Rebel Gem. “Focus on you. Focus on
your
emotions.”

Again, Lottie made her list. She was sad whenever she heard a song that Mrs. Yates had liked to play back at the boarding house—an old Irish ballad called “Two Brothers.”
The month of January made her sad, because everything was cold and dead, and there was no more Christmas to look forward to. Stray dogs and cats made her sad. So did the fact that she'd been separated from the Barghest on the journey north and that there was still no word from the creature. She made her list, and she
thought
and
felt
but still could not
move
. She left the pine grove well after sunset with heavy limbs and a heavier heart.

“It's no good,” she told Fife and Eliot that night. “The whole thing's pointless. Maybe Rebel Gem is just torturing me for fun.”

“Possible,” said Fife. “You know that saying about Northerlies.”

“Neither of us know the saying,” said Eliot. He pointed at himself, then Lottie. “We are mere earthlings.”

“Oh, right. Well, I don't remember it verbatim. Just something about them not being trustworthy and stuff.”

“But
you're
half Northerly, aren't you?” said Eliot.

“Yup,” Fife said proudly.

“How bad was sharpening for you?” Lottie asked him, trying to sound casual.

“Hm? Oh, plenty bad. I didn't have a fancy tutor like Ada and Ollie, so I had to figure it all out on my own. I went a whole year without being able to taste the sweet in anything. Chocolate tasted like dirt. It was brutal.”

Lottie sighed. “It doesn't sound as bad as what I have to do.”

“Oh, get over yourself. You wouldn't believe the stuff Ollie had to endure—all those experiments to see if his involuntary pigmentary transference was curable. And when she was eight, Ada overworked herself and went deaf for a spell. She was so scared she'd never hear again that she cried for weeks straight.” Fife shuddered at the memory. “Point is, you're not special, Lottie. It's always painful one way or the other.”