Chapter 47
Cairn
“THAT’S THE LAST OF THEM,” I say after hefting a heavy trunk into the back of the wagon that’s come to take me to Columbine Conservatory.
They sent it for me, and it’s nice—a big covered thing that’ll keep all my belongings dry, with hardy wheels that aren’t impeded by the fresh snow that fell overnight.
I turn, and Lyra is standing there, Juniper on her shoulder. Snow drifts down from the gray-blue sky, catching in her curls and crimson lashes.
My heart pangs for her, a mix of pain and longing and . . . maybe something more.
Her gaze flicks past me, to the wagon and the waiting driver, who’s bundled up against the cold and smoking a sweet-scented pipe while patiently waiting for me.
“Well,” she says, “I guess this is it.”
“I guess so . . .”
The snow falls silently, turning the world quiet.
It’s now or never, I suppose.
I reach into the inner pocket of my heavy cloak and pull out a letter. I wrote it last night, after Lyra fell asleep. Now, I hold it out to her with some hesitation.
“What’s this?” She tips her head and takes it from me.
And now that it’s in her possession instead of mine, there will be no taking back what I said in the letter, no undoing it. It’s done.
“A letter,” I say. “But . . . wait until I’m gone to read it.” My face tingles with a bit of warmth, and I hope she can’t see it against my brown cheeks. I flick my tail and shift my weight in the snow.
Lyra arches a brow at me, and her lips pull up on one side.
“All right.” She slides it into her own pocket, then meets my eyes again.
And a breath later, she’s closing the short distance between us and wrapping her arms around my waist, burying her face against my chest. Even Juniper looks up at me with what I want to think is a touch of sadness in her glassy eyes.
“Take care of yourself,” she says. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
That makes me laugh, and I reach down to embrace her, careful not to squish Juniper where she’s still perched on Lyra’s shoulder. “That won’t be a problem.”
Lyra pulls back just far enough to look into my eyes.
Now that I’m no longer an employee here, it doesn’t matter who sees me with Lyra.
So, without caring about the driver behind us, I cup Lyra’s freckled cheeks in my palms and bend to press a kiss to her lips.
They’re a bit cold from the snow, but they warm beneath my mouth, and I try to pour all my thoughts and feelings into this one kiss.
And I think it works, because when I pull away, tears are gathering along Lyra’s lower eyelids, shining like little crystals in the winter sunlight.
I use my thumbs to brush the moisture away. “I’ll see you for Ostara,” I say softly. Then my lips tug up. “Don’t forget about me in the meantime.”
She shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. “Impossible.”
Our breath mingles in the cold air, steaming around our lips in the space between us.
Then I hear a soft sound, a pattering of paws across frozen snow.
Straightening, I turn to look toward the Mistwood.
And crossing the pristine white blanket of snow is the red fox I nursed back to health earlier this year. He’s headed right toward me, loping along at a smooth stride, no sign of the injury that once plagued him.
I take one step toward him, my hooves sinking deep into the snow, and then kneel to his level.
The fox approaches me slowly, something held in his mouth.
“What do you have there?” I ask, holding out my hand.
He drops something into my palm, and when I hold it up, I see it’s a chunk of crystal quartz. The facets reflect the light, sparkling brilliantly.
“This is a lovely gift,” I say, focusing my attention on the fox again. “Thank you, my friend.” I hold out my free hand, and the fox allows me to stroke his fur and scratch him behind one ear.
Then he pulls away, flicks his ears at me, and lopes right back into the trees, disappearing from view as quickly as he came.
“What did he give you?” Lyra asks.
I push to my hooves, then hold the quartz out for Lyra to see. Her brows shoot up, and her lips pull into a smile.
“It’s beautiful. And you know, a crystal gifted is ten times more powerful than a crystal that’s bought.”
I arch my brow. “I’ve never heard that before.”
Lyra shrugs, and Juniper digs her claws into Lyra’s cloak a bit deeper to avoid being unseated. “I’m a witch. I know these things.”
I laugh, breath steaming out around my mouth in big white-gray puffs. “I suppose I shouldn’t question you, then.”
She gives a quick shake of her head. “No, you shouldn’t.” Then the joy drifts from her eyes, and she says softly, “Will you write? Once you’re settled?”
With a nod, I reach out and squeeze her mittened hand. “Of course I will. And will you write back?”
Her lips quirk, just slightly. “If I have time.”
“Good. Keep yourself busy. And don’t burn Professor Fleur’s greenhouse down this semester, all right?”
Lyra groans. “Don’t remind me. I’ve still got making up to do for that.”
“Better late than never.”
“Mm.” Her eyes meet mine again, and I know this is it. We have to say goodbye.
Even if I really don’t want to.
“Ostara,” Lyra says.
“Ostara,” I repeat.
And then I kiss her one more time, trying to chisel the taste of her mouth into my memory. Stepping up into the wagon is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and staying in the wagon while it starts to roll away, leaving Lyra standing there in the snow, makes me feel sick.
Ostara, I think. I’ll see you again soon, my little fire witch.