Chapter 42

Weeks and weeks of that darkness dragged by.

The worst was the waiting. Waiting for my memory to disappear. For that knowledge of my faerie blood to slink back into my subconscious. Surely, Coen was going to lock it away again?

But as each day passed, I woke up every morning still knowing who I was. Still knowing what I was. Coen, it seemed, hadn't touched my mind since our breakup in the gilded cave.

He didn't talk to me in person, either. Garvis gave me my pills each Sunday, meeting me in the alley between our houses instead. I didn't see Coen a single time, not even in passing.

As if he knew exactly where I was at all times and was determined to avoid me.

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

I was beginning to loathe that word.

If I was fine, I'd be able to eat. I'd be able to look people in the eyes. I'd be able to brainstorm better ways to get ahold of Jagaros to tell him about that map once again tucked away behind the cuckoo clock.

As it was, I'd only ventured into the jungle twice to lamely call out his name and hear the hum of the listening wildlife echo back at me. I hadn't heard from him since the Lord Arad incident, but I couldn't find it in me to care. Because I wasn't fine.

Or maybe I was. Maybe the word fine had always meant in pain but can't show itbecause I'm too scared nobody will like me if I'm whining and wailing and weak.

"You should eat a little more than that."

It was Emelle, pushing a bowl of fried bamboo shoots under my folded arms. The tinkle of cutlery and conversation washed over me like nothing more than a wave hitting a beach of stones and gritty sand.

"I'm full, actually, but thanks." I tried to drag my eyes to her face. Tried not to think of black bamboo and that deep, mellow smell that lingered on Coen's skin. "Really."

All I saw was round-eyed concern.

Emelle glanced at Wren, whose own charcoal-lined eyes squinted at me.

"I don't think a couple bites of banana is enough to get anyone full, Rayna," she said shrewdly.

Rodhi jumped in before I could respond to that.

"Maybe a rebound hookup would do you good, darling. I have a friend from the Shifter house, his name is Grayson—"

"Lander's told me about Grayson," Emelle cut in darkly. "He preys on grieving girls fresh out of breakups."

"Well… yeah…" Rodhi said, gesturing at me.

"My ma's a medic back at home," Gileon's voice joined in. "And she's always helping patients recover from a broken heart by giving them their own broomstick to take home." He frowned. "I'm not sure how, but the broomsticks help. Ma's a Summoner, so she casts charms on them to make them vibrate and—"

"Okay, that's enough, Gileon," Wren cut in, patting him on the arm.

I folded my arms tighter over my chest, feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. This was the most any of them had talked to me about my split with Coen since it had happened. But I didn't want to talk. Didn't want to acknowledge it.

"I'm going to go take a bath," I said abruptly, pushing myself away from the table. "I'm feeling a little chilly. See you all later!"

I hadn't realized how much Coen's presence had warmed me until now.

Now a coldness I'd never known took root inside me, creeping upward like vines twining through my skeleton. I felt it in every fake smile. Every forced wave. Every conversation like the one I'd just had with my friends.

Just Coen's absence, frosting me with ice from the inside-out.

Even the streaks of raw sunlight covering the Institute campus couldn't warm me up.

By the time the fourth quarterly test of the year rolled around, I was a sculpture of that ice. I took a History test passed out by a Mr. Fenway's replacement, a middle-aged woman with a hunchback. I helped a female lemur decide which of three males she should mate with for Mr. Conine. I swapped songs with the bromeliads for Mrs. Wildenberg.

But when I opened the door to Ms. Pincette's testing room and saw the tank of rattling locusts waiting for me to contend with, I ignored it completely.

I simply pulled up that wretched stool and dragged it to where Ms. Pincette sat in her usual bloodred velvet armchair, clipboard in hand and pursed lips on her face.

"Hello," I said, that coldness finally seeping out. "We need to talk."