Emily Wilde’s Map of the Otherlands (Emily Wilde, #2)

by Heather Fawcett

“The path is eternal,” he said. “But you mustn’t sleep—I made that mistake. Turn left at the ghosts with ash in their hair, then left at the evergreen wood, and straight through the vale where my brother will die. If you lose your way, you will lose only yourself, but if you lose the path, you will lose everything you never knew you had.”

“Dear Emily,” he said as I sat down, not troubling to lift his head from his hand but smiling at me slantwise. “You look as if you’ve come from a wrestling match with one of your books. May I ask who won?”

“Where would I be without you, Em?” he said. “Probably still flailing about in Germany, looking for your door,” I said. “Meanwhile, I would be sleeping more soundly without a marriage proposal from a faerie king dangling over my head.”

It is in part, I suppose, that the thought of marrying anyone makes me wish to retreat to the nearest library and hide myself among the stacks; marriage has always struck me as a pointless business, at best a distraction from my work and at worst a very large distraction from my work coupled with a lifetime of tedious social obligations.

Watching Wendell with a sword is like watching a bird leap from a branch—there is something thoughtless about it, innate. One has the sense that he is less himself without a sword, that wielding it returns him to the element most natural to him.

“Did you enchant my pencil?” I demanded. “I enchanted all of your pencils,” he said without opening his eyes. “You always have at least one upon your person. I knew they would come in handy.” He added, as I continued to stare at him, “Well, I can’t carry a bloody sword around with me everywhere,” misunderstanding entirely. “Why didn’t you enchant your own pencils?” I groused. “I would have, but I can never remember where I put them.”

“Your sword?” I huffed. “Dropped it, I’m afraid,” he replied. He staggered a bit but managed to keep his feet. “Give me another pencil.” “I only had the one on me!” “One? Who are you?” His teasing didn’t allay my worry, though; I had never seen him so spent. Was he truly immune to faerie poison, or was it merely a slow-acting draught? “A pen, then.” “Goddamn you.” I found one of my pens in another pocket and tossed it at him. “If you’ve magicked any of my books, I will shove you into that river with the sheerie.”

“Can’t you sense what enchantments are stored in the stones?” I demanded. “No!” I threw my hands up in frustration. “Then why do you keep on breaking them?” “Because you told me to, you lunatic!”

I wrote St. Liesl on the board—not for any particular reason, but because, in truth, he was right about me: I enjoyed writing things on blackboards.

“The problem is not the packing, I admit; I simply dislike travelling. Why people wish to wander to and fro when they could simply remain at home is something I will never understand. Everything is the way I like it here.”

“Em, you will have a map to every province, and a key to every door. I promise you that. You know I would have taken you already, if I could?”

“Would you like to wash?” I enquired, more to distract the faerie than anything else. “I don’t like the steam,” he complained, but he came closer to me anyway and dipped a hand in the water before leaping back again when the steam drifted his way. Feeling more than a little ridiculous, I cupped a handful of water and rinsed Snowbell’s hands—the two front feet—and paws—the two back ones. Then, using a curved leaf as a sort of bowl, I helped him wash his face. He swiped his hands over his ears a few times, like a cat, and then, to my astonishment and dismay, he hopped into my lap, curled himself into a ball with his tail over his nose, and went to sleep.

How cute!

And if he was a footnote, what did that make me? I leaned close, breathing in the smell of his hair—the salt of sweat; smoke from the fire; and the distant smell of green leaves that never left him. “My answer is yes,” I whispered in his ear.

Moments later, I felt another tug at my cloak, and found that Poe had returned, one of his loaves tucked beneath his arm. “Thank you,” I said as I took it carefully. I tucked it into my pack—it was already quite full, but there was no question of leaving Poe’s gift behind. “It will keep warm,” he informed me offhandedly, then disappeared once more.

I love Poe

She gave a little nod. And with that, she and Eichorn left us. Shadow did not go so easily, but I spoke to him quietly, reminding him of his duty to Wendell, and he eventually slipped away, tail lowered. He stopped every few paces and looked over his shoulder, clearly hoping that I would change my mind and call him back. It was such a depressing sight that I had to turn away.

:(

“We are being followed.” The girl’s mouth trembled. “By what?” “I don’t know. But it has been behind us for several hours.” Someone giggled in the distance. Ariadne froze. I scanned the path, but naturally there was no movement but the drifting leaves, and the sunlight playing through the evaporating rain curling off the forest floor. I thought quickly. “But perhaps I am wrong,” I said. “Perhaps it is only the leaves.” “Leaves!” a small voice echoed. “No, no, it’s me! I have been following you all this time, not only for a few hours.” Snowbell crept out of a foxhole that I had not noticed before. Ariadne made a strangled sound and fell back a step—I knew exactly which memories she was reliving. I hid my trepidation and said politely, “Good day to you.” “I wish to help with your quest,” the creature said in his small voice. “It is a quest you’re on, isn’t it?”

“The short roads?” I repeated. Already my head was beginning to ache. “Through the barrows.” He smirked. “Do you not know this? What stupid mortals you are!” “Dreadfully stupid,” I said. “We are fortunate indeed that you followed us.” “I like quests,” the faerie said. “But I have never been part of any.” “Well then!” I gave the faerie a bow. “We would be honoured if you would join ours. Would we not, niece?” Ariadne had been regarding the fox faerie with a glazed, nauseated look. She swallowed and said, “Very—honoured.”

Snowbell let out a shriek of terror as another guardian swooped past, only diving sideways when Orga lunged at it, hissing. “The queen’s guardians are attacking!” the little faerie cried excitedly. “Oh, what a quest this is!”

When you awaken, we must have a discussion about this obsessive journalling habit of yours. It is not healthy, and while none of your acquaintance would be surprised were you to expire from overwork—specifically, with a pen in hand, hunched over a book—I ask that you have a little mercy on your poor fiancé. Yes. I heard you.

Hehehehe

For did they not also leave you an opportunity to escape, which likely you would have done, had you listened to Orga and followed her through that door? It is a door I enchanted myself in order to sneak out at night during my teenage years—it leads directly to a hidden stairway that takes you down to the forest at the back of the castle.

I merely hoped you would bring me Orga, a simple enough errand, given that she would have known you as my friend by the cloak you wore. But you cannot do anything halfway, can you?

Em, I must confess—I am in awe of you. I believe I am also a little frightened.

How I missed you. “It was only a day!” I can hear you reply. Well, a day is far too long. Do you know? Rose asked me why I was not more surprised by your feat. He does not understand you as I do, Em, but as you seem to consider him a friend now, I told him the truth: in order to be surprised, I could not have known already that you are capable of anything.