good news with Candace and Charles. Like Evan had said, I had no doubt they’d be lining up to take their turns holding the twins. When I entered the kitchen and saw who was there, though, I came to an abrupt halt. My happy words faltered on my lips, but a few seconds later, a new joy spread through me.
“Roland!”
I hurried into his arms, and he gripped me tightly. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him. The Reeds had become an adoptive family to me, but they could never replace Roland and my mom. Not having those two around during this part of my life felt strange and wrong sometimes.
When he finally released me, I saw his eyes were wet with emotion. “It’s good to see you,” he said gruffly. “We’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” I said, feeling very young. “And Mom.”
Introductions were made with Evan, and then we all sat down at the table. Pictures of the twins were scattered everywhere. The NICU had been no deterrent to Candace, who brought a camera nearly every day.
“I heard the good news,” Roland said. “I’m so happy for you. They’re beautiful.”
“And we got some good news about them today.” How could I have forgotten my big announcement? As expected, Candace and Charles were delighted at the thought of holding Isaac and Ivy. “You need to come see them,” I added to Roland. “We could go back tonight. Or in the morning. How long will you be around?”
It was at that moment, as the question left my lips, that I realized something. Roland wasn’t supposed to be here. That had been an unquestionable part of the plan from its inception. Roland could be tracked, and no matter how much we might miss each other, distance was the safest option. I met his eyes and could tell he knew what I had just realized.
“Not sure,” he said vaguely. “But I can definitely make time to see them.” His evasive answer didn’t surprise me. His presence must mean there’d been some Otherworldly development, and that wasn’t a topic we could discuss with the Reeds. A glint in his eye told me we’d talk about it later, and I gave a quick nod of understanding.
Dinner was requisite, of course, and conversation shifted to happier topics, like the twins and Candace’s cooking. I couldn’t get enough of talking about Isaac and Ivy, yet at the same time, a nagging feeling dimmed some of my joy. Roland being here couldn’t be a good thing.
Our chance to talk finally came later when Evan left and Candace and Charles settled down to watch the evening news. Roland and I went on a walk around the Reeds’ vast property, ensuring we’d have ample privacy.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “I’m glad you’re here—you have no idea how glad—but there must be a reason you’d risk someone from the Otherworld following you.”
Roland sighed and came to a halt beside a pecan tree. “That’s the thing. There’s no risk because no one’s trying to find you anymore.”
I stared incredulously. “What? That’s ... that’s impossible. Of course they are. Kingdoms were on the verge of war because of me.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “They’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“Bigger things than the divisive prophecy saying my son will lead their armies into conquering this world?”
“Amazingly, yes.” He gazed up at the starry sky, gathering his thoughts. “I guess it started ... oh, I don’t know ... a month or maybe a month and a half ago. It seems the Otherworld—or rather, large parts of it—were struck by a blight.”
“What does that entail exactly?” I asked. For some reason, “blight” made me think of barren fields and locust plagues.
“Winter,” he said bluntly. “Perpetual winter. And not just any winter—pretty much the worst you can imagine. It came without warning. Steady snow and frigid temperatures that kill people and crops. I wouldn’t have believed it until I saw it myself.”
“Which kingdoms?” I asked, frowning. Most of the lands remained in a permanent climate—a pleasant one— like mine and Dorian’s kingdoms. Some monarchs did have their kingdoms cycle through four seasons, but they did so with the same kind of preparation that we did in the human world, making sure there were provisions put aside for the winter. Maiwenn’s kingdom was like this.
Roland’s face was grim. “All of them. At least, most of the ones in your ‘neighborhood.’ Some farther-out ones were spared, but everything you know was struck.”
The implications didn’t hit me immediately, and when they did, I wasn’t sure I believed them. “You don’t mean ... not ... not
His only answer was a nod.
“That’s not possible. I mean, the Thorn Land’s a desert! And besides, I would know... .” Yet, even as I spoke, I wondered if that was true. Would I know? I had removed myself from the land, leaving it to Jasmine’s care. I didn’t connect with it in a deep way anymore. All I had was that steady humming that told me my bond to my kingdoms was in place—a bond, I realized, that had felt numb recently. I’d written it off to distance or Jasmine’s caretaking. “It’s not because of Jasmine, is it? Like, did the land not accept her?”
“You’re missing the point again, Eugenie. It’s
“Dorian’s ...”
That was what really drove the point home. Despite Roland’s words, there was some part of me that could still blame my absence for the blight in my own lands. Other kingdoms’ suffering could be written off to weak monarchs. But Dorian? Dorian was strong. His bond to his kingdom was rock solid, his control of it absolute. If there was any monarch whose power would protect his land against impossible odds, it would be Dorian, followed closely by Maiwenn.
“Oh my God,” I said. “That’s what they wanted, isn’t it? Dorian and Maiwenn summoned Volusian to come to me with some message, and I sent him away. I thought it was a ploy, but it wasn’t—was it? They were trying to tell me about this.”
“Most likely,” agreed Roland. “I hadn’t heard about that. Dorian only recently got in touch with me to convince me to come over and see it for myself. Then he begged me to let you know what was happening.”
“Dorian doesn’t beg,” I murmured, still stunned.
Roland stared off into the shadows, his face troubled. “Under most circumstances, I wouldn’t have told you. People can’t live in cold like that, and those who survive have no food. You know how I feel about the gentry. But when I actually saw it ... the death and sickness. Well. I don’t know, Eugenie. I don’t like them, but no one should suffer like that. Not even the gentry.”
I sank down to the grass, mostly because I felt exhausted in mind rather than body. My lands. My kingdoms were suffering ... had been suffering for a long time ... and I hadn’t known. Maybe I could leave Otherworldly politics behind. Maybe I could even leave my enemies behind. But the land was part of me. I was responsible for it, and I had failed it.
“I don’t know what I can do,” I said. “Even if I went back ... I mean, if Dorian and Maiwenn haven’t come up with any ideas, I’m not sure I could do better.”
“They mentioned something about uniting powers to attempt to break the spell.... I didn’t really follow that, though.” Roland’s tone conveyed that even if he pitied the gentry for their suffering, their magic was still something he had no use for. “Dorian also has some ideas about who’s responsible.”
Of course he would. Even if his own magical attempts proved ineffectual, Dorian wouldn’t sit idly by. He’d try to solve this mystery. My knowledge of the situation was limited, but I tried to figure out where his thought process might go. I jumped back to one of Roland’s earlier comments, about how some outlying kingdoms hadn’t been affected.
“Who isn’t under the blight?” I asked. “You said a few weren’t.”
“The Yew Land is one,” said Roland, looking surprised at my leap. “That’s who Dorian thinks—”
“—is responsible?” I guessed.
“How did you know that?”
“Because as much as I hate to admit it, I know how Dorian thinks. If some places were affected and some weren’t, I’d look at the unaffected ones too.”
“That’s what Dorian said.” Roland didn’t look pleased that I could “think like Dorian,” and I could definitely
