Page 155 of Caging Darling

But if he’s telling the truth—I remember the tapestries hanging up in the Nomad’s rooms, the ones I never bothered to examine—if he’s seen something she hasn’t…

“You won’t hurt her?” I ask.

He cocks his head to the side, like I should already know the answer to that question. I hug my torso, swallow the lump in my throat, and nod as I stare at my feet. “Just take care of her, okay?”

For a moment, the only answer I get is the howling wind and the shuffle of feet as the Nomad turns to leave. But then, the footsteps halt. I look up at him, having to wipe the tears from my eyes to see him clearly as he pivots. He’s grimacing, looking utterly inconvenienced, when he sighs and says, “I’m going to regret helping you, aren’t I?”

CHAPTER 54

“Ihad a feeling this is what you’d ask of me,” says the Nomad, breathing and posture unaffected by carrying the passed-out Tink.

“Don’t sound so reprimanding,” I say with what comes out sounding like a rather despairing tease.

“I’m not reprimanding you. Just enlightening you regarding your own predictable failings.”

“It’s the only way to save him,” I say.

The Nomad watches me carefully, his eyes bright in the moonlight. “What is it exactly that you intend to bargain away?”

I try, and fail, not to wince at the question, but I bite my tongue all the same, shame keeping my lips sutured together.

The Nomad offers me a grunt that’s less than reassuring. “Well, whatever it is, know that when you make a bargain with a Fate, the price is always higher than you initially expected.”

“I’m aware,” I say. “Are you going to help me or not?”

The Nomad groans, but closes his eyes all the same. Squares his shoulders as his lips drip the gentle tones of a language I don’t recognize.

The night chill halts in place. Even the rustling leaves still at the Nomad’s words. The birds cease to sing, and my heart stops in my chest.

And then, even the Nomad goes quiet. He examines the garden for a moment, then turns his attention on me. “Goodbye, Wendy Darling. I sincerely hope it’s worth it.”

I don’t have the energy to respond, not when I’m saving up all my courage for the conversation I’m about to have. Not when Astor’s freedom rests on the half-formed plan still proofing in my mind, not quite ready to bake but about to be placed in the furnace anyway.

And then the Nomad is gone, and my friend with him.

And I am alone.

But not for long.

For the second time tonight, shadowed tendrils appear in the garden. Shadows that don’t belong to the shrubbery or the fountain or the turrets of the manor. Shadows that take the form of a woman.

“You called again?” she says. “You do know that of all my Sisters, I’m the one who likes you least—Oh,” says the Middle Sister, swiveling toward me when she finds no evidence of the Nomad in the garden. “It’s you.”

“I have a bargain to present to you. One I think you’ll find to your benefit,” I say, hating how my voice warbles.

Though I can’t see the Sister’s features, I feel her lips curve into a smug tilt. “I’m afraid you’re too late for that. I’m not sure how you’ve forgotten so quickly, but I’ve recently come into possession of my heart’s utmost desire.”

“For now,” I say.

The Sister laughs, but I don’t miss the way her tendriled fingers tense. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Astor’s dying,” I say. “He has been ever since I severed his Mark. Your Elder Sister—she doesn’t like for her magic to betampered with, does she? It’s an affront to her wisdom to sever a Mark, so to remove one fully comes with a price. That’s why part of Astor’s skin withered when he gave part of his Mark to Peter. And that’s why, now that his Mark is gone, he’s dying.”

“You think something as menial as illness is an obstacle for me?” asks the Sister.

“It is when it comes to Astor,” I say. “You’re not allowed to harm him. Your Elder Sister made sure of that. But you can’t touch his tapestry at all, can you? You can’t reweave his future. So he’s going to die, and you’re helpless to do anything about it.”

The Sister pauses for a moment, puts a hand on her hip, like she’s determining whether it’s worth lying over. “Fine. Clever girl. But what good does that epiphany do you? Unless you have some healing power I’m unaware of?”

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