Chapter 55
T he tree allows all three of us inside, though each one of us has enough parts of us missing for several more guests.
Once we’re deposited inside the Den by the roots of the reaping tree, Peter lights a lantern.
In its glow, I notice that none of the furniture has been moved since the day Peter and I left Neverland—the day he discovered the Nomad’s bargain on the back of my neck.
Dust has collected on the couches and the seats.
The fireplace is full of ash and petrified wood.
There’s a mustiness to the room, an odor I can’t quite shake.
Peter takes his finger to his lips, a motion for both of us to stay quiet, though Nolan tenses at it.
I am sure he’s annoyed at being told what to do.
This must be killing him, that the rescue mission for our son relies so heavily on Peter.
I reach out and squeeze my husband’s hand, offering him what little smile I can muster up.
My rib cage feels as if it’s going to explode.
My heart experiences the opposite sensation—a clenching, as if trying not to beat until we have our son back.
We have one chance. One chance to rescue our son.
One chance not to fail him again. It takes every ounce of effort in me to keep my limbs from trembling to the point of paralysis, but I cannot let it.
I must continue on. This will all be over soon, one way or another, and I cling to the peace of that thought.
We file down the hallway, Nolan and I careful to keep our steps quiet.
Peter is not so discreet. Besides, the Sister likely already knows that he’s coming, has already seen him in her tapestry.
Anxiety wells up within me. When coming up with the plan, we tried as best as we could to keep Peter out of the part where we’re to actually rescue our son.
I can only hope that it worked, and that Peter won’t betray us.
We trail down the hallway that leads to Peter’s room.
I close my eyes as we pass it, no desire to look inside. If I do, the memories might come pouring out of it like a dam burst, its furious waters unleashed. I do not want to think of Peter’s hands on my body. Of how he’s touched me more times than my husband has.
When we reach the end of the hall, the roots that make up the wall dissipate at Peter’s touch, revealing the opening to the same tunnel where I first learned that Peter was my Mate—well, one of them.
Peter steps through first, while Nolan and I wait just inside the lip of the tunnel.
We would rather the Sister already be distracted by Peter before we try to sneak in, lest she hear our footsteps.
But as soon as Nolan and I step into the cavern, the roots close behind us, trapping us inside.
No way of escape, but there’s little we can do about it now.
So, for a moment, while Peter’s footsteps disappear around the corner of the tunnel, Nolan simply wraps his arms around me and holds me close.
I tremble silently in his arms, but I do not let myself sob. I fear the noise that will escape my lips if I do. The tears run down the front of his warm shirt nonetheless, across his chest. He strokes the nape of my neck, the places where my hair curls into ringlets just in front of my ear.
My husband cups my cheek and presses a silent kiss to my forehead, a promise that needs no words.
I wonder, even if I do have the chance to hold my son again, even if I get to watch him grow up, if, after Nolan releases me from his arms, this will be the last time he holds me.
I have no doubt in my mind that he would sacrifice his life for our son.
I have no doubt in my mind that I would let him, or that the reverse would be true.
It is a strange sensation. It is not that I love my son more than I love Nolan, but we possess a mutual acknowledgment—a promise between us, to our child, to protect him. A different sort of love. It’s as if my love for Nolan requires me to be willing to sacrifice him for our son.
And the other way around.
It’s so different than how I thought it would be when I made the bargain with the Sister. But I cannot dwell on that now, because at the end of the tunnel, echoing through it and curving around its corner, I hear a voice.
“Well, well, well. I’m surprised to see you here,” says the Middle Sister, her voice tantalizingly sultry. “Have you decided you’re no longer holding a grudge against me for forcing you to release your little pet?”
“Oh, that grudge I’m holding,” says Peter. “You can be assured of that.”
“What business brings you here?” says the Sister. “Or are you hoping for employ? You know it is not my preference to take the injured.”
“Yes, well, you would have taken Astor as your lover, would you have not?” says Peter.
The Sister’s answer, as well as her voice, is cruel.
“But you are not Nolan Astor,” she says, “and I do not believe I am the only one who would make exceptions for him and would not make exceptions for you.”
I cling to Nolan’s chest more tightly. Of all my fears of Peter’s betrayal, there is one that had yet to occur to me until now.
Is it possible that the Sister will taunt him to a degree to which he’s so jealous, so angry at Nolan, that he turns on us?
I can only hope not. But if Peter is hurt, he does not betray it in his answer.
“That might be true,” he says. “But you know very well, of the two of us—me and Captain Astor—which one of us is more likely to make an exception for you?”
There is a pause. A silence that is chilling. It’s a gamble, insulting the Sister this way. But Peter insisted he knew her well enough to play on her mute emotions.
“Is that what you’re here for, then?” she says.
Desire. Her desperation for attention, for someone to long for her, cuts through even her carefully masked voice. I can feel it even without watching her, without seeing her. Her aching. Her desperation to be desired.
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard,” says the Sister, “but I have gotten what I wanted. I have no need for you any longer.”
Nolan and I both tense at the words, and I close my eyes, squinting as I press my nose against his chest. It’s agony having to trust not only Peter’s intentions, but his skill as well, especially when he has no control over the Sister’s reaction.
“Yes, I’ve heard rumors,” says Peter. “I heard that the Astor boy was stolen for ransom. Of course, that is only the mortals’ petty attempts at explaining what they do not understand. I knew it had to have been you.”
“If that’s the case, then you know that I no longer have need of your attention,” she says.
“Oh, I highly doubt that,” says Peter. “After all, the child is just that, correct? A child. An infant, even. I had assumed that even you were not so perverse.”
“Of course I’m not,” says the Sister, her voice clipped. “That child will be protected. Well cared for. No one will touch him.”
“Then you must still be lonely,” he says.
“I have a son now,” says the Sister. “Caring for him is more fulfilling than I ever could have imagined.”
I hear footsteps in the cavern. Peter must be approaching the Sister.
“But still,” he says, “you must have other desires that are not yet fulfilled. And won’t be for a long, long while.”
Nolan takes a breath, then releases me, the motion deliberate, quiet. It’s dark and I can barely see him as we unfold from each other’s arms and walk quietly down the hall, our footsteps muffled by Peter and the Sister’s conversation.
“Bold of you to think I would accept your advances after all this time,” says the Sister. “After you proved to be weak. What makes you think I would desire you any longer?”
Peter laughs.
“You have always desired me. And what you deem as weakness was only ever my attention toward Wendy Darling. Weakness might not be so attractive, but we both know that weak is not how women perceive a man who prefers someone else.”
“You insult me,” says the Sister. “And yet you expect something from me?”
“You’ve insulted me countless times,” says Peter. “I figured you liked it.”
“I suppose just once wouldn’t do any harm,” the Sister muses, “for old times’ sake, at least.”
“Yes. For old times’ sake,” says Peter.
I flinch, hoping the Sister doesn’t catch the loathing in his voice.
Nolan and I peek around the corner as the Sister flourishes her hand, causing a dark shadow to obscure the mouth of the cave between her and Peter and Nolan and me. My heart jumps in surprise. Nolan and I glance at each other.
This is better than we could have expected. We thought Peter would have to distract the Sister for just long enough for us to sneak around them into the warping. We had not expected her to summon it in front of us.
We have no time to think before we react. With a single glance of agreement, we launch ourselves into the warping.