Chapter Sixteen

Sixteen

Ziegler had been wrong.

Lorelei could hardly process it. All of them had given years of their lives to this project. She had rested all of her hopes, her dreams—no, her chance for survival on its success. In the end, they’d been chasing a completely false conclusion. How could Ziegler have made such a terrible mistake? How could she not have known ?

Ziegler was not a secretive woman by nature, especially when it came to her work. Although Wilhelm had muzzled her in the months leading up to the expedition, it went against her very view of science. She shared her research freely, whenever and with whomever asked: foreign scholars, policymakers, young students. She did her best work when pitted against another mind. What good is knowledge, she’d say, if it can’t be improved upon? If she’d found the Ursprung, she wouldn’t have concealed it.

Would she?

No, Lorelei could not dwell on this now; it would break her. The image on the water’s surface faded, and the weight of that horrible, unseen stare lifted. The pool glittered with white, celestial light. Through it, all Lorelei saw was the reflection of her own drawn, embittered face.

She could not have received a worse answer to her question.

Not all the folklore Lorelei collected came in the form of neat little fairy tales. In the course of her fieldwork, she’d documented all sorts of artifacts: children’s rhymes and clapping games (her least favorite, considering children tended to sense her disdain for them), proverbs, jokes, several types of wedding ceremonies, even the ways people built their homes. And then there were the urban legends, things even stranger than the wildeleute.

One that recurred in almost every region in Brunnestaad was the tale of the Vanishing Isle. It was said that it rose up from the waves on the night of a new moon, shimmering like a mirage. And then, it burned away like mist in the morning light, reappearing somewhere else on the next new moon. In the vision the pool had granted her, Lorelei had seen it rippling in the darkness of the water, exactly as it had been described to her many times before.

The true Ursprung lay somewhere on the Vanishing Isle, and she had only the faintest idea of where it would appear on the night of the next new moon. That was only two weeks from now. She resisted the urge to kick the water out of spite. Coordinates would have been infinitely more helpful.

Sylvia lay on her back, her hair splayed across the stones like a river. The ends pooled in the spring water, and the ghostly white of it had darkened to the steely gray of morning. Like this, with all the starlight reflected in her eyes, she looked almost divine.

Lorelei had a fleeting impulse to brush away the strands of hair plastered to Sylvia’s temples, but she clenched her fist around that foolish desire. “Did you recognize the place it showed us?”

“It looked like Ebul.”

“ Ebul hardly narrows it down.”

It wasn’t particularly heartening, either. They were currently stranded in the middle of Albe, which lay in the southwest of Brunnestaad. Ebul was the eastern borderland. Assuming no more deadly creatures waylaid them—unlikely, given their track record—they would barely make it in time for the night of the new moon. If they missed it, only God knew where it would appear next.

“Adelheid will know if you draw it for her.” Sylvia frowned. “But would it not be wiser to return to Ruhigburg and regroup? This is getting dangerous.”

I would like to know who is responsible before you return to Ruhigburg. If you cannot give me that, then I hope you understand that someone must answer for Ziegler’s murder. Unity requires sacrifice.

“We can’t return to Ruhigburg without the Ursprung.”

She tried—and must have failed—to temper the desperation in her voice, for Sylvia stared at her with a strange brew of confusion and concern. But Lorelei could not bring herself to tell Sylvia what Wilhelm had threatened to do. What good would it do Sylvia to burden her with that knowledge? All of them—save Ludwig, perhaps—believed him a good man. Besides, danger would not deter her. Lorelei was no stranger to dooming someone else to save herself.

And deep down, even without Wilhelm’s threat, she did not know if she could stop now. Being Yevanisch was about recognizing injustice. She was proud of little in her life, but she was proud of that. She could not rest until she found out what happened to Ziegler.

Grieve her, Adelheid had told her, but do not let this become an obsession. It will sink you in the end.

“Think about it,” Lorelei continued, more composedly this time. “Wilhelm’s position is precarious. If we return empty-handed, it will all but confirm his opponents’ view of him as a weak ruler—one desperate enough to chase after fairy tales. Without the Ursprung’s power, he cannot hope to stave off a coup.”

“Will that be all he does with it?” Sylvia asked quietly.

Lorelei frowned. She had considered it before, of course, that he would look beyond Brunnestaad’s borders once more. But with her own death bearing down on her, she could not afford to be so principled. “I don’t know. But you will be there to advise him.”

Sylvia smiled uncertainly, but when she spoke again, she regained some cheer. “Yes, you’re right. For the stability of Brunnestaad, it is our duty to press forward.”

“Right. For Brunnestaad.” Lorelei paused. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sylvia looked bewildered—and a bit frightened. Lorelei filed it away as a future intimidation technique. “We should fetch Ludwig.”

“ Now? ” Lorelei very much doubted she could roll down the mountain, much less hike back to Ludwig’s makeshift shelter. As much as she hated the idea of leaving him alone in his condition, she refused to risk their lives for his. They’d left him with more blankets, food, and firewood. It would have to be enough. “That is a very stupid idea. You can’t save him if you’re dead.”

“I am not dead yet.”

“You look on the brink of it!”

Sylvia only let out a long sigh, one that suggested she was nobly withholding what she really wanted to say.

“Besides,” Lorelei continued, mostly to reassure herself. “He could cheat Death himself, if it came down to it.”

“He could.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“We’ll leave at dawn. Now go inside. You’ll catch your death out here.”

“I never knew you fussed so much,” Sylvia groused. “Are you certain you’re feeling well?”

Lorelei chose to ignore her as they slipped into the tent. Sylvia’s enchanted lantern—enspelled to never extinguish, Lorelei assumed—illuminated the small space, but most of it clung to Sylvia. It gilded her hair and filled her pale eyes with fire. It might have been beautiful, had Lorelei not caught a glimpse of blood seeping through Sylvia’s coat. For one horrible moment, Lorelei’s vision pulsed black with fear.

“Let me look at your wound,” Lorelei said.

“Honestly, Lorelei, I’m fine.”

She fixed Sylvia with her chilliest glare. Mercifully, the fight bled out of her. With a sigh, Sylvia floundered about in an effort to unbutton her coat one-handed. She pulled her hair over her good shoulder and turned her back to Lorelei, who averted her eyes as Sylvia unfastened the buttons of her shirt. A bright red stain spread across the back, clinging damply to her skin. At last, it fell from her shoulders and pooled around her waist. She’d already bled through her linen bandages.

Carefully, Lorelei unraveled them. The gash underneath looked alarmingly deep—and ripe for infection. Lorelei’s stomach bottomed out, her thoughts going to static. Fear nearly pulled her under, but she dug her fingers into her knee and grounded herself.

She could do this.

“I’m going to have to suture it.”

Sylvia looked aghast. “ Suture? You? You’re more suited to taking things apart.”

Lorelei gave her a nasty smile. “Unfortunately for you, Johann isn’t here. Unless you’d like to take your chances with sepsis, you’re going to have to make do with me.”

Seemingly cowed, Sylvia kept her mouth shut. The difficult part—getting her to cooperate—was over. All that remained was staying conscious. Lorelei hesitated for a moment, then pulled one glove off. Sylvia took a sharp breath, then turned resolutely away from her as though she’d seen something profane. Lorelei almost wanted to make her look.

No claws, see?

Somehow, it was a vulnerability she couldn’t endure. She worked off the other glove and placed them neatly on the ground. They looked unbearably intimate, folded up on Sylvia’s makeshift bedclothes, so she focused her attention on getting the rest of her supplies ready.

Lorelei fetched alcohol, needle and thread, and a clean rag from her backpack. She poured the antiseptic over the cloth, then set to cleaning the wound. Sylvia made only a soft sound of protest before setting her jaw, nobly stoic.

Lorelei brandished the needle. It was hooked like a thin crescent moon, glinting eerily in the firelight. “Will this become cursed if I disinfect it in your lantern?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Sylvia said testily, but there was a note of genuine curiosity in her voice, as if she hadn’t entertained the possibility before.

Lorelei scoffed as she heated it in the flame. “Ready?”

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

Sylvia hardly made a sound as Lorelei stitched the wound shut. The blood seeping out between her fingers made her stomach feel slippery, as though she’d swallowed a fish whole, but she finished as quickly as she could. Tying off the knot, she snipped the thread with a pair of scissors. A cold sweat had broken out across her forehead, but she felt oddly proud of herself. “That should hold.”

“Thank you.” Sylvia hesitated. “You have a steady hand.”

“My father is a cobbler. I apprenticed with him for a year before Ziegler took me in. Skin isn’t so different from shoe leathers.” She wasn’t sure why she’d offered that up—and so easily, as if she were in the habit of making small talk about herself at all.

“Shoe leathers,” Sylvia repeated. It sounded almost as if she were smiling. “I’m not sure whether I should be offended or not.”

“Take it as you will.”

Lorelei’s ears burned with embarrassment. She busied herself putting away her supplies while Sylvia produced an improbably ornate comb out of her bag. It had an opal-inlaid handle that gleamed like bone and teeth of silver. From the corner of her eye, Lorelei watched Sylvia struggle with it.

She sighed piteously as she attempted to lift her injured arm. Then, with great effort, she pulled the comb feebly through the snares and tangles with her non-dominant hand. It seemed to Lorelei a pointless vanity, given everything they’d endured tonight, but she was too tired to comment on it. She was too tired to even enjoy her suffering.

“Allow me,” said Lorelei.

Sylvia clutched the comb to her chest as if Lorelei had just asked her to hand over her firstborn. “Why?”

“Because this is unspeakably painful to witness. I’m not entirely heartless.”

Sylvia reluctantly placed the comb in her outstretched hand. Lorelei knelt behind her, lifted the weight of Sylvia’s hair, and let it fall down her back in a wild spill. It was mercifully still damp; Lorelei did not want to imagine the nightmare of wrestling a comb through it dry.

She began to work through the knots from bottom to top. Nothing but the sound of their rasping breaths and metal catching in Sylvia’s hair filled the heavy silence between them. Warmth radiated gently from Sylvia’s back, and her pulse thrummed in the arch of her pale throat. It was exquisite torture. Lorelei had never touched her hair—never but in her dreams—and she’d so desperately wanted to. It was as luxurious as she’d envisioned. With every stroke of the comb, she swore she smelled rose water.

After a few minutes, she’d managed to pull all the snarls loose until it fell in sleek coils down Sylvia’s back. Some part of her was tempted to rifle through Sylvia’s things until she found her oils, or perhaps a scrap of ribbon. Ridiculous, she thought. She would have to settle for braiding it.

“Where did you learn to do this? Your hair…” As if it were taboo to mention, Sylvia lifted her uninjured arm and brushed her fingers along her own jawline.

“I had long hair once. A very long time ago.”

Sylvia laughed. “Really? I can’t imagine it at all. This style suits you.”

Lorelei did not know what to do with such a compliment. “I often braided my sister’s hair. She was a sickly child and would lie in bed for days at a time. Someone had to take care of her hair to keep it from matting. I find it rather relaxing, actually.”

She realized after a moment that she was babbling—at least by her own standards. Sylvia put her out of her misery quickly. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Lorelei fastened the end of the braid and absently tugged on the loops to loosen it. “Why would you?”

The silence stretched out like a fraying rope. “What is her name?”

“Rahel.” Lorelei hesitated. “I also had a brother once. Aaron.”

She could see Sylvia fighting to ask more questions, shifting under the weight of her curiosity. “You must be the oldest.”

Lorelei considered replying sarcastically but thought better of it. “I am.”

Lorelei heard the smile in Sylvia’s voice. “I always wanted siblings.”

“They’re more trouble than they’re worth.” Satisfied with her handiwork, Lorelei pulled the braid over Sylvia’s shoulder. She touched it, as if testing if it were real. “I thought the five of you and Wilhelm were like siblings.”

“During the summers, when our families all traveled to Ruhigburg, yes, we were. We met when we were about six years old. Those summers meant everything to me. But the rest of the year, I was quite lonely.” Sylvia hesitated, as though uncertain whether she should continue. Lorelei found herself curious.

“Were you?” she prompted.

“It will sound silly, I’m sure.” Sylvia settled onto one hip, turning to face Lorelei. The fairy light of her lantern traced the curve of her cheekbone in gold. “My mother showered me with affection—or at least with extravagances. Anything I wanted, I received. But from an early age, I got the sense that all my mother saw when she looked at me was the color of my hair. Her little Mondscheinprinzessin: an Albisch folk hero—a saint —born again. Her heir. Her province’s future. Hers, hers, hers.”

Sylvia tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “She never truly saw me. The few times she did, I do not think she liked what she saw: a girl too silly to see her ambitions realized. And so, she did her very best to reshape me in her image. She impressed upon me the greatness of our family name. She hired me the best tutors. She promised me that I was destined to do incredible things for our people. But I never knew if she truly loved me.”

Her voice trembled, and her expression softened with bafflement—surprise, perhaps, at that child’s hurt resurfacing so fiercely. Lorelei did not know how to comfort her.

“After she had finished parading me around at court, I was left to my own devices at home. In our estate, there were so many rooms and no one at all to fill them. I didn’t know what half of them were for. It was a labyrinth. There were staircases that led to nowhere and all sorts of secret passages. In retrospect, I suppose those were for the servants.”

Lorelei was unsurprised to hear it. It was no wonder Sylvia’s imagination ran so wild. She could easily see Sylvia as a young girl, tearing through the woods like an imp and chasing sylphs through the meadows. She could easily envision her wandering the halls of her empty estate, spinning stories out of hidden corners. It made her terribly sad. Worse, it made a terrible kind of sense.

She’d spent her entire life trying desperately to be noticed.

The pang of sympathy knocked her off-kilter. For so long, her disdain for Sylvia had grounded her and driven her. But now, as she rifled through her memories, every one of them was knotted hopelessly, inextricably, with wretched fondness. Sylvia and her passionate, too-loud interjections when she argued for what she believed in. Sylvia singing as she brewed tea on the nights they stayed late in the office. Sylvia wading into dangerous waters to protect people she’d never met. Sylvia, always there in the edges of her awareness—and always looking away the moment Lorelei noticed her. Had these tender sentiments always been there, or had they overwritten her resentment with time? Lorelei no longer knew how to orient herself.

“Fascinating.” She could muster only a half-hearted attempt at derision. “Would you like to share your favorite color as well?”

“Must you ruin everything?” Sylvia said crossly, although there was little venom in it. “If you must know, it’s—”

“Amethyst. I know.”

Sylvia blinked at her. “Oh.”

What has come over me? It wasn’t as though there was any reason she’d ferreted away what colors Sylvia favored and which flattered her best. It was impossible not to notice her. She tore through the world like a streak of white lightning.

Before Lorelei could die of humiliation, she said, “At any rate, we should discuss our plan. You and I are outnumbered. And now that you’re injured, we’re at a disadvantage.”

“We?” Sylvia echoed.

“Surely that’s not a surprise.”

“Oh?” Color rose in Sylvia’s cheeks. “Then perhaps I’m misremembering the time you loomed over me like some second-rate opera villain and said, I have no interest in solving this case .”

Sylvia had done a very unflattering impression of her, complete with an expression that could only be described as ominous. Lorelei sincerely hoped she didn’t sound like that . “I lied to you. You were right.”

“I’m sorry.” Her smile was like daybreak. “Can you repeat that?”

“Get that smug look off your face,” Lorelei snapped. Fortunately, all it took to eradicate any tender sentiments was spending five minutes in Sylvia’s presence. “I bow down to your power of perception. Besides, I could use your help. You have insight and skills that I don’t.”

“Please stop complimenting me. It’s flustering me.”

“I shall restrain myself going forward.” Lorelei procured a notebook from Sylvia’s bag and flipped it open to a blank page. No small feat, given half the pages were filled with what seemed to be poetry. Her eyes skirted over a few lines about piercing gazes and capacious black cloaks before she decided she really did not want to know.

“So. Our plan.”

“Right.” Sylvia sprawled out beside her and tapped her chin. “There’s a potential hole in your logic that’s been troubling me. I will grant that it’s likely someone killed Ziegler because the Ursprung was here in Albe. However, you’re assuming they acted because they wanted it to be in their homeland. What if there was another reason entirely?”

Lorelei readied a retort but found she could not dismiss it out of hand. It was a reasonable enough challenge to her assumption. “Such as?”

Sylvia straightened up as if she had just been called on in lecture. “What if they killed Ziegler on my behalf?”

Any charity she’d felt toward Sylvia instantly evaporated. “And why would they do something like that?”

Sylvia looked affronted. “Because they don’t want Wilhelm and me to marry! Perhaps they do not want us to consolidate our power, or…or perhaps they love me! Is love not the most powerful motive of all?”

“That is the most ridiculous theory I’ve ever heard! No one on this expedition is in love with you.”

“It is not ridiculous! I’ll have you know I have many suitors in Ruhigburg. I simply haven’t met anyone worth my time. No one who’s bothered to make their interest clear, anyway.”

Lorelei could tell there was a specific someone behind that anyway . A dark, bilious feeling came over her, and she was immediately disgusted with herself. It shouldn’t matter to her that Sylvia had feelings for someone. Why should anything that Sylvia did matter to her? But right now, in the too-close heat inside the tent, it felt terribly urgent. It felt like it would consume her entirely.

My God, she thought with a slow-dawning horror. She was jealous.

“Of course,” she said. “No one is good enough for you.”

Sylvia flushed with indignation. “Have you been speaking with Heike?”

“Ah, yes. Perhaps it’s Heike who’s still pining for you.”

“Don’t mock me,” Sylvia said miserably.

“Yes, we should focus.” Lorelei returned her attention to the notebook and tapped her pen against her knee. “I believe I have figured this out, but I would like to run my theory by you.”

Sylvia sat up straighter, her expression growing serious. “Very well.”

Lorelei wrote each expedition member’s name in a neat column and explained the interviews she had conducted since the beginning of their voyage. In short: Ludwig lacked a clear motive, especially given the boon Wilhelm had promised him. Adelheid believed Wilhelm would use his power to stabilize Ebul—in no small part because he was in love with her. Johann, while he did have a clear motive and a violent nature, had seemed genuine in his devotion to Wilhelm. Which left, of course—

“ Heike? ” Sylvia’s expression twisted in disbelief.

Lorelei had to admit she was offended. “Yes, Heike. She wants someone who can protect her, and you took that from her. Twice, as a matter of fact. Sabotaging this expedition could be a way of getting back at you—and also getting another chance with Wilhelm.”

Sylvia rolled onto her back with a groan—whether humiliated or exasperated, Lorelei could not tell. “Saints,” she muttered, “you really have been speaking to her.”

“And who do you think it is?”

“Johann.”

Again, that note of revulsion— no, she thought, fear —crept into her voice. “Why?”

Sylvia stared at her as though it were obvious. “I have made my career out of observing monsters. Johann is the worst of them. He does not see entire groups of people as people. And even those he does consider human, he enjoys hurting.”

Lorelei had seen how ruthlessly he’d taken down that lindworm, how detachedly he’d examined Ziegler’s body, and yet…“But he’s a medic.”

“That is precisely why he’s a good medic.” Sylvia sighed. Her fingertips traced the dueling scar that cut across her cheek. In the lamplight, it gleamed. “Many years ago, he gave me this.”

That was no wound inflicted by a wooden practice sword. Lorelei sat up straighter with surprise. “You dueled him?”

“He and I fought in the same battalion. I challenged him because he treated our enemies monstrously—with no dignity.” Her voice grew far away. “No mercy.”

“And you lost.”

She smiled ruefully. “He was always the superior swordsman.”

“I still don’t see it,” said Lorelei. “Heike has the most to lose. She led us into the lindworm’s den. She has been the most vocally against me. I just…can’t prove it yet.”

And at this point, she did not know how she would. Ziegler’s body had been sunk in the river, her office scrubbed clean. Their last recourse was asking Ludwig if he remembered anything—assuming, of course, he saw anyone before he left camp.

“You’ve fretted enough for one day,” Sylvia said gently. “You and I will figure this out together. I promise.”

Together. All these years, Lorelei had been so convinced Sylvia wanted nothing more than to see her crash and burn.

I’ve misjudged you, she wanted to say. I’m sorry.

And yet, all she could manage was “It’s late.”

As they lay down to sleep, the sound of Sylvia’s voice chased Lorelei into dreaming. I’m so sorry, Lorelei. That night, as she did every night, she dreamed of drowning. Only this time, in the exquisite and unbearable sweetness of Sylvia von Wolff’s eyes.

The next morning, the world seemed far less strange. The sky had returned to a clear and bracing blue. Sunlight sparkled off the snow and glazed Sylvia’s whimsical braid, one Lorelei could scarcely believe she’d woven with her own hands the night before.

Lorelei wasn’t entirely convinced she hadn’t dreamed it. But the evidence of it was laid out before her. It was more than that damnable braid. It was the way she found herself strangely…empty. No, not empty, exactly. Some fire within her had certainly gone out, but a new one kindled at the center of her chest, warm and insistent and soft.

It was horrible.

Sylvia walked ahead of her, humming under her breath. On any other day—any normal day—it would have been infuriating, the sound like a splinter beneath her skin. But today, it made her feel…

Ugh. She had to put a stop to this at once. With as much acid as she could muster, she said, “You’re in an unusually good mood this morning.”

“Am I?” Sylvia smiled radiantly, as though Lorelei had paid her a compliment. Her heart stuttered uselessly in response. “I’m sorry. It’s only that I’m feeling so inspired, I feel I could write an entire book about our encounters these past few days.”

“Your work truly brings you joy.”

Sylvia slowed her steps until they walked side by side. Their boots crunched rhythmically in the snow. “Yours doesn’t?”

“Not for its own sake. I always wanted to be a naturalist.”

Sylvia grabbed her elbow. “Really?”

“Yes.” Lorelei yanked her arm away. She could still feel the burn of Sylvia’s touch through her sleeve and resisted the urge to shake out her hand. “However, Ziegler thought I would do better as a folklorist.”

Sylvia looked as though she wanted to say something but thought better of it. “Well, it doesn’t matter much anymore what she thought, does it? Perhaps you’d like to experience it firsthand.”

“It,” she echoed skeptically.

“Yes! It. ” Sylvia sprang ahead a step, kicking up a veil of snow. “Being a naturalist. The Absolute. All of it! Don’t you want to know what it’s like to forget yourself for a time? Don’t you want to get lost in the beauty of the world?”

Her sudden enthusiasm was alarming. “No. I have seen quite enough of your methodology to last a lifetime.”

“Where’s your spirit of adventure? You don’t even need to be ensorcelled.”

Somehow, that didn’t assuage her. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. Have you forgotten about poor Ludwig?”

“Of course I haven’t! I have an idea. We will reach him even faster this way.” Without warning, Sylvia seized her hand and twined their fingers together. Lorelei was certain her heart had stopped entirely, but Sylvia barely spared her a second glance. She touched her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sylvia tugged her through a grove of pines shivering off a shawl of snow. It dusted the shoulders of her coat and clung to her eyelashes. When they broke through the low-hanging boughs, what she saw nearly stole her breath away.

With morning light bleeding over the horizon, she could see the entire world laid out before her: hazy blue mountains feathering toward the horizon, the river set ablaze with sunrise, and somewhere in the distance, turreted white castles.

Sylvia pointed. “Look there.”

Only a few feet below them was a stretch of open plateau. A herd of mara stood grazing in the field. At a distance, they could almost be mistaken for ordinary horses. But their eyes burned the same red as a lit coal, and their manes drifted around them like thick plumes of smoke. If you climbed onto a mara’s back, your feet would never touch the earth again. It would run and run until the years slipped away from you.

“Let’s ride one,” Sylvia said, suddenly very close to her ear.

Lorelei whirled to face her. “Absolutely not!”

Sylvia touched a finger to Lorelei’s lips to quiet her. The sheer condescension of it…Lorelei had half a mind to bite her. In a stage whisper, Sylvia said, “You worry far too much. I’ve done this a thousand times before, and it will make transporting Ludwig much easier—and faster. There is no downside.”

Lorelei wanted to say something smart, but all that came out was a sickly groan. This would be a stupid death if there ever was one. What kind of self-destructive fool decided to make a habit of riding mara? She supposed a lesser sort of fool than one who agreed to be taught.

“Fine. Just make it quick.”

“Perfect! It will be easy. You will need to be quiet and project an aura of total calm.” Lorelei considered herself capable of a great many things, but projecting an aura of total calm was not one of them. Sylvia seemed to realize her mistake, for she added, “Ah…Well, maybe don’t follow too closely.”

Together, they slid down a rocky embankment and into the tall grass. Lorelei stayed as low as she could while still keeping her sights on Sylvia. She winnowed through the field soundlessly, but as she approached, the mara lifted their heads.

The largest of the herd regarded her with those otherworldly crimson eyes, its ears pricked warily forward. Step by step, Sylvia approached it, one hand extended. Lorelei couldn’t bear to watch, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. That beast had to be twice her size. When at last Sylvia stood within arm’s reach, she petted its nose as though it were as docile as a pony.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Lorelei muttered.

The wind carried the soft sound of Sylvia’s singing to her. Sylvia slipped her fingers into the mara’s diaphanous mane. Without any hesitation, she hoisted herself onto its back.

Lorelei’s heart dropped into her stomach. This was it. This time, she truly would watch Sylvia die. One moment ticked away, then another. When nothing catastrophic happened, Lorelei forced herself to breathe again.

Sylvia guided the mara toward Lorelei. When it stood before her, Lorelei stared up at Sylvia with dumbstruck awe. The pale light of the sun haloed her. She was utterly resplendent. She looked like an angel, or perhaps a fairy-tale knight. Neither option was good.

As calmly as she could manage, she said, “That is very dangerous.”

“I know.” She extended a hand to Lorelei, the picture of gentlewomanly grace. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Lorelei’s heart thudded too fast in her chest. For the first time in five years, Sylvia had said something that shocked her beyond words, beyond derision. She didn’t think she’d ever heard those words before in all her life.

I’ve clearly lost my senses.

Lorelei allowed herself to be pulled into a seat. At once, she hated everything about it. The ground was impossibly far below her. Sylvia was pressed distractingly against her back. And now, a reedy little voice was slithering around her head. It didn’t seem to be speaking any language she could discern, but it offered clear suggestions all the same. It made things like let go and surrender pop unbidden to mind.

When she pointed it out, Sylvia only laughed. “Yes, they do that. Ready?”

“I suppose.” Even her voice sounded jaundiced.

“All right,” Sylvia said against the back of her neck. She sounded breathlessly giddy. “Hold on!”

Lorelei barely had time to tangle her hands in its mane before the mara took off at a gallop. The world streaked to a blur of color around them.

She screamed, which only made Sylvia laugh harder. Her eyes watered from the sting of the wind on her face. It hissed in her ears, doing nothing to drown out the mara’s insistent voice. The iron chain around her neck burned, as though she’d dipped it in fire before fastening it around her neck. Somewhere beneath it all, she thought she might be afraid. But everything—her ghosts, her fears, this entire expedition—felt so far away from her now. They ran so fast, she swore they were one bound from taking flight.

Aaron, if only you could see me now.

When Lorelei glanced back, Sylvia was grinning at her. Her hair had come loose from the braid and lashed the air behind them. Her excitement was infectious. It was as intoxicating as wine, her stupid smile even more so. Lorelei’s own tugged stubbornly at the corner of her lips.

She really had been blind, if she had refused to acknowledge how beautiful Sylvia was before now. The Absolute was much closer than she’d ever believed. It was not in God, not in nature. It was right here before her. Close enough to touch.

Close enough to profane.

You stupid fool, she thought. All those years spent watching Sylvia, dissecting her, envying her…It left a window open for something else to slip through.

After living among the nobility for so long, it seemed Lorelei had forgotten how vast the gulf between them truly was. There was no world in which this schoolgirl fantasy could be made real. Their stations were too different. They were too different. Sylvia would be cast in Lorelei’s shadow, her brilliance dulled. She would tarnish like old silver at her very touch. Lorelei’s chest felt painfully tight. This sharp stab of longing was a bittersweet and sorely needed reminder.

If they survived this, they would not be colleagues forever. When the documents detailing the disaster of the Ruhigburg Expedition were filed away in some minister’s dusty cabinets, they would go their separate ways.

Lorelei knew the shape of a fairy tale: a prison. She had transcribed hundreds of them herself, written down her sordid end in her own tidy hand. Anything she might have imagined between her and the heiress of Albe had an ending already predetermined, if it was possible to imagine it at all. Maybe she truly was as covetous as these tales led the good people of Brunnestaad to believe.

Some things were not hers to possess.