Julian looked stunned. “I always think about you and Mite. Everything I do, I’m thinking of you.”
“Do you really believe that?” Noa gave a bark of laughter. “These days the only reason you spend time with me is because I’m useful.”
Julian’s face softened. “Noa, of course I—”
“That’s right.” Noa dashed her hand across her eyes. “I’m a magician now, so that makes me useful. I’m not just your weird little sister, somebody you can pat on the head and put on your council for everyone to laugh at. That’s why you made me sit with the kids instead of the councillors tonight, isn’t it? Because I’m not really one of them.”
“I—” Julian stopped. “I didn’t know that would upset you. I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t know or didn’t care?” Noa’s anger was leaking out, leaving behind a cold, empty feeling, like a dank sea cave. “The old Julian would have cared. The old Julian would have believed me. I don’t know who you are.”
She turned and ran back to the castle. Julian didn’t follow her.
25
Noa Finds an Ingrown Island
Noa didn’t even wait to get back to her room before she entered Death.
She ran through the banquet hall, where a handful of guests were still gathered, nursing drinks and talking in small groups.
“Noa?” It was Kell. “What’s the matter, girl?”
Noa didn’t want to talk to her, or anyone else. Ignoring the startled looks her red-faced appearance was drawing from the remaining guests, she grabbed the nearest shadow and threw herself into Death. Gasps followed her through the shadow door, and someone screamed. But then there was only silence.
Noa stood, brushing sand off her knees. Her entry into Death hadn’t exactly been graceful, but she had certainly given the guests something to talk about.
It wasn’t midnight yet, so she settled on the ashy sand to wait. It was unpleasant and prickly, with a hungry, sucking quality, as if it were made not of ground-up rocks but ground-up teeth. Noa took off her cloak and sat on it.
An otter slithered into view. “Hello,” it said, eyeing her pockets. “Do you need a guide?”
“No, thank you,” Noa said. “I’m waiting for someone. Have you seen a ghost with long dark hair, wearing a black cloak?”
The otter snorted. “I wouldn’t know. You all look the same to me.”
Noa bit her tongue. The otter continued to gaze longingly at her pockets. She fished around and found a cake she had stowed there that afternoon, and handed it over. The otter gave a contented sigh and flopped onto its back.
“I’ll keep you company,” it said, as if it were doing her a great favor. When Noa didn’t reply, the otter cleared its throat.
“Thank you,” she said. “Your kindness is—um, overwhelming.”
“I am kind,” the otter said. “Most of us are. Not enough people know that about otters.”
Noa began to shiver. The otter nibbled its way daintily but steadily through the cake, picking out the raisins and piling them neatly on the sand.
“I don’t like raisins, either,” Noa said.
“Too wrinkly,” the otter agreed. “Is that yours?”
Noa followed the otter’s black gaze. An orb bobbed in the air a few feet away.
“Ugh,” she said. “That’s my brother’s. Ignore it. I don’t want to talk to him.”
The orb flickered in a sad, melancholy way. The otter said, “Is he all right?”
“He’s just being dramatic.” Noa leaned against something that might have been a staircase a very long time ago and closed her eyes, pointedly ignoring the melancholy orb. She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again, both orb and otter were gone.
Noa stood, rubbing her eyes. She wondered if it was midnight yet—the light in Death didn’t change. Her dreams had been unpleasant, but she didn’t remember any of them, apart from the sensation of being balanced on the sharp edge of something, with nothing below her but stars. She promised herself she wouldn’t fall asleep in Death again. It struck her as a recipe for disaster.
Someone drifted out of a nearby shadow. A flickering figure with long waving hair, her features indistinct.
Noa’s legs wobbled. “M-Mom?”
“Noa.” Her mother’s voice was just as Noa remembered, warm and slightly rough, as if she’d just laughed herself hoarse. Mom had laughed a lot, a loud, head-thrown-back sort of laugh—Noa could almost hear it floating through the royal wing during one of her meetings with Julian, or when she was in Mite’s room reading her a story. What had Julian been thinking? Of course this was Mom. Who else could it be?
“You came,” her mother said.
“Of course I did.” Noa was crying. She ached to wrap her arms around her mother and breathe her in. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too, honey,” her mother said. Her face was like something seen through frosted glass. “I’ve been watching over you all the time—you just haven’t been able to see me. I’m stronger here than in the living world, but I still can’t touch you. I’m so sorry it has to be this way.”
Noa fell to her knees as close to her mother as she dared, gazing up at her. She wanted to tell her about everything that had happened since she left them. About Astrae, and Beauty, and her mission to save Julian. But she didn’t know how much time they had. “Did you find the Lost Words? Is that what you meant before?”
“Yes,” her mother said. “Xavier’s mages have located the island. But they haven’t been able to reach the book—yet. It’s only a matter of time before they do.”
“There’s an island?”
“In a manner of speaking,” her mother said. “I’ll show you. But we have to be quick. At dawn, Xavier’s mages will start looking again.”
Noa stood. But something made her pause. “After we find the lost language, will you—will you go away again?”
“Oh, sweetie,” her
