This cold blue world has warped Neva's heart into darkness by the time she reaches Birch Lake,
where Jacob asked her to meet him.
Her breath comes in shallow pulls as she braces a hand against the slippery trunk of a tree, slowly and carefully picking her way down the sloping bank of the lake.
She stills as a twig crunches beneath her feet. Looking around, she finds herself smothered by the darkness surrounding the lake, with no hint of moonlight.
It's probably way past five by now.
She swallows hard, unable to feel the warmth of another soul—only the freezing, soaked clothes clinging to her skin.
She hugs herself as a bitter wind swirls past, icy needles biting deep into her bones.
Jacob has probably left.
Or he was never even here to begin with.
She leans against the trunk, sliding down into the grass and shrubs.
She folds in on herself, trying to gather the scattered pieces of her mind before she falls into its darkest hole.
She is tired of everything. She just wants to stay here and be nothing at all.
She will not go to Ishmael.
She will not see him.
She will not be anywhere near him.
Inaya will be fine. Whatever happens—her faith in the Lord remains.
She echoes Bible verses in her mind—
some half-forgotten, some from Books she cannot remember.
An owl croons from a tree not far away.
Her gaze falls on a lone snowdrop blooming before her. The clouds have cleared just enough for the moon to cast a glow upon its white petals.
Over the wind rustling the reeds and the water lapping at the shore, hushed footsteps echo toward her.
A silhouette emerges from the shadows, taking the familiar shape of someone she would rather forget.
A smile tugs at Jacob's lips as moonlight frames the elegant planes of his face.
"I knew you would come," Jacob says in that smooth, coquettish tone of his.
She slowly rises, steadying herself against the tree, her legs a little numb beneath her.
Neva's gaze locks on his unyielding frame. "Take me to my daughter," she demands.
"Haven't I come here for just that?" He tilts his head slightly, his smile lingering.
"My Lily misses you," he says softly. "Why don't you come back with us? I hope my brother hasn't treated you so poorly."
She offers him a faint smile.
"And may he take whatever he wishes from me."
His smile falters.
Instead, a quiet amusement settles on his face.
"Your memories have returned indeed."
She swallows. "My daughter—"
"Yes," Jacob cuts her off. "Time is of essence." He offers her a hand.
She doesn't move, staring at him until he retracts his hand with a quiet sigh.
Without another word, Jacob starts in a certain direction through the woods.
Before following him, she draws in a deep breath, a silent prayer threading through it.
When they reach the edge of the woods, she sees a Bentley parked by the side of the street, two armed guards stationed beside it.
"We're leaving," Jacob tells his guards, stepping toward the black SUV and opening the passenger door.
"Get in, Blossom." He smiles toward her.
She slips inside silently, exhaling at the warmth of the seat before he closes the door with a soft thud.
"Go on." He leans back in the seat beside hers, while the guard responds with a formal affirmation.
Low-beam headlights and yellow fog lights blaze through the fog-choked dark of the rain-muddied street as the Bentley slips out of the woods.
"What about Isaiah?" she asks, looking out the window as the darkness of nothingness and the meadows blur past.
"He's fine," Jacob replies. "But he hasn't seen Inaya since the plague. Ishmael feared he might be affected too."
"What about the believers?" she asks again.
Amid the turmoil for her own children,
the plight of the believers and their children barely crossed her mind.
Jacob's quiet feels like a ticking time bomb of forever—until he speaks, gently, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal before delivering a killing blow.
"He said the plague came from one of the refugees," he murmurs.
She feels his gaze on her.
"Neva, what my brother did was wrong," he says.
"But he was only frightened—desperate."
"What did he do?" Her voice comes in a mere whisper.
"The deaths of those infected children weren't in vain," he says, pausing for her reaction. "He believed he could sacrifice one child to buy a day for his own daughter."
And he continues, finding her unflinching.
"It's been almost two months since Inaya fell ill. By now, you would know that no one affected by it survives this long.
There's still no vaccine that works."
"He stole the lives of countless healthy children. The sick can survive only so long," Neva says, barely hearing her own voice.
It feels as if she's floating above the meadows, watching the Bentley, an unwelcome foreign object, sweep by in this strange corner of Miraeth's earth.
"It's ridiculous, I know." He sighs. "Maybe Inaya held on because of the medical care she's been getting. Nothing is impossible, right?" His voice carries a hint of a smile.
Biological ties make no sense.
Yet Jacob and his adopted brother are so terribly alike—
so disturbingly kindred in their similarities.
Death has no meaning for them at all.
"We're almost here," Jacob's voice draws her back to the moment.
Her stomach coils, bile clawing up her throat at the stench of leather and motion.
A terrible numbness devours her, poison searing through her veins, while the scene around her dissolves into blur.
"Are you alright?" Jacob's hand reaches for her arm.
With slow, drowsy movements,
she pushes off from the Bentley's door and trudges along the gravel path of the lantern-glazed yard, heading toward the wooden cabin hidden in the clearing.
"Stop right there!" a voice booms.
She comes to a halt, her gaze meeting the guard's as he raises his rifle.
"She's with me." Jacob falls into step beside her. "Open the door."
He nods faintly toward the main entrance.
The guard nods without another word, retraces his steps, and climbs the steps to the entrance to open the door.
"Come," Jacob says, ascending the steps, and she follows after him.
A living room bathed in the hearth's glow greets them, but it moves her not.
She is made of ice, heart echoing in the burning pit of her soul.
Jacob waits before the wooden door across the hearth, and she lingers behind him, watching as he raps on the door once more.
This time, a voice murmurs, "Come in."
With a soft groan, the door gives way under Jacob's hand.
A shiver runs down Neva's spine as her gaze locks with Ishmael's bloodshot eyes.
"Neva." He rises from his chair at once.
Her gaze drops to the small figure swaddled in duvets on the bed.
Her fists clutch the damp skirt of her dress.
In the corner, a heart monitor beeps, an IV drip dangling from the hand of her little girl.
"You're here," Ishmael whispers, his gaze fixed on her as she pushes deeper inside.
"You just had to let her know." Jacob's boots scrape against the floor, barely audible over the beeping of the monitors.
Neva clasps her daughter's cold little hand and presses a kiss to it.
"We should prepare for an assault," Jacob says, his voice low.
"They'll be here any second."
"Stay away from my daughter."
His warning comes just before a harsh hand grabs her arm, yanking her from the bed.
Even as her mind twists and clouds over, she still trembles at the coldness in his eyes and the heat of his skin.
"Ishmael." Jacob moves in.
"Leave us alone."
"I want to speak to my wife." His gaze pins her, his grip unrelenting.
"Unfaithful and selfish as she is."
Her pulse roars in her ears, her legs threatening to buckle.
"I devoted my entire life to you—" His voice falters, cracking. "And you—" He swallows, tears gathering in his eyes.
A pang of guilt makes her cringe inside.
"Naya won't open her eyes anymore," he says quietly. "You must be quite delighted.
After all, you have always hated them."
"Yes," she whispers.
He smiles faintly and releases his grip on her.
"Leave." He turns from her. "Get the hell out of here."
"Not always," she adds quietly.
"You may stay until she regains consciousness," Jacob says.
"He will heal her." She meets Jacob's eyes. "She will be okay."
"He doesn't care." Ishmael sinks into the chair, rubbing his forehead.
"You never truly knew Him," she says.
He lifts his gaze to her, fatigue and hopelessness etched across his face.
"He takes what I value most because He loves me?" he says mockingly.
"Shouldn't He be the one you value most?" Her lips tighten into a frown.
"Yet you made me your idol."
He sighs. "Is that why He got pissed—
and threw you into the arms of the brother I thought was dead?"
"He saw your heart before you were even formed. My husband chose Him, and I chose him for myself."
She and her husband had promised never to discuss their shared parents.
He remains silent for a moment.
Neva's gaze drifts to the pale little girl she gave birth to.
She looks nothing like Inaya.
Jacob clears his throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but perhaps you should get some rest—and a change of clothes."
She shakes her head. "I'll leave after I pray over her—and take the believers with me."
Jacob casts a brief glance at his brother.
"Stay—and I'll release them," Ishmael says.
"You'd have to kill me," Neva replies.
Ishmael looks up at her, his eyes hard.
She averts her gaze, hugging herself.
"Why don't I escort you to your room, Neva," Jacob says, breaking the stiffness in the air. "Stay the night. We'll see what can be done tomorrow."
"I'll take Isaiah's room." Rain begins pouring again, thunder rumbling beneath the floorboards. "I'd like some food too." Hunger gnaws at her stomach, hollow and aching.
"Of course," Jacob says with a smile and turns for the door.
Neva follows him without another glance back at either Inaya or Ishmael.