“Do I look sick?” Wil studied her palms, filled with blades of hardened grass. Her skin was bronzed, as though she’d spent a summer in the sun.
“No,” he said. “You’re so . . . bright.”
“It’ll pass,” she said, and even as the words came out she could feel herself returning to normal. Her new normal, anyway.
They walked deep into the woods and buried the gold beneath some dirt that hadn’t yet frozen in the cold.
On the walk back to Pahn’s cabin, he kept studying her, sneaking glances he must have thought were inconspicuous. She pulled her collar up higher. Flutters of pain and something wonderful moved within her, like trapped birds with razors for wings.
THIRTY-NINE
SHORTLY BEFORE THE SUN WENT down, Loom retreated to bed and fell into a deep sleep.
Wil stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. Despite the sudden fatigue, he seemed well. There was still color in his face, and his breathing was clear and even.
She didn’t know how long she stood there delaying the inevitable before Zay came up beside her and prodded her in the hip with something. “Here,” she said. “I thought you’d want these back.” She was holding Wil’s sheathed dagger in one hand and the holster containing her guns in the other. “Couldn’t figure out how to shoot the guns anyway. I hope you don’t mind I borrowed some of the sleep serum to put in his food. I figured it’d be easier for you to sneak off if he was out cold.”
“Thank you,” Wil said. The words were too small to convey her gratitude, but Zay didn’t seem the type for sentimental good-byes.
When she fitted the holster and sheath back in place, a bit of the old Northern princess came awake. Wil had spent so much time burying that girl, she was struck by how much she missed her.
“Don’t get yourself killed,” Zay said.
“Take care of him,” Wil said. “Tell him—tell him I’ll come back.”
Wil descended the steps that led away from Pahn’s home, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, the staircase disappeared entirely. She spun to find herself staring at a jagged mountain that did not hint at human presence. This was how he hid from the world, doubtless because he had made his share of enemies.
Hiding, Wil understood. Her own father was a master at it. He hid his children in plain sight too.
She understood that marvelers were beyond her understanding, and that it was foolish to trust them. But business was not about trust. Owen had taught her that. Pahn looked at her and he saw something to be gained. She saw the same in him.
It was mid-October and the ports were bare. The silent men left Wil with a pouch containing just enough coins for a ship to take her to Northern Arrod and back. Pahn had even given her a suede coat that was trimmed with gray wolf fur, and he had carried on as though she should be indebted to his great kindness for bestowing such a gift.
It did protect against the chill, she supposed.
There was only one ship headed west for Northern Arrod, loaded mostly with crates of silks and buttons. There were few passengers, all likely of Arrod descent, Wil noted, all going home. No one else was interested in entering a country in a time of war.
Wil clung to the railing as the captain shouted orders to his men somewhere behind her.
And then they were moving. The afternoon sun was high. The water glimmered so sharply that she could almost believe that the sea was filled with diamonds. But this time the diamonds had no power over her. She couldn’t be stopped. The ship sliced clean through them.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This story has been years in the making, and an insurmountable debt of gratitude is owed to the people who have been along for the ride during those years. Thanks as always to my family for all of their love and for believing in me.
No thanks will ever be enough for my lovely, lovely friend Aprilynne Pike, who heard my original idea for this story and whose advice turned that story into what it is now. Huge thanks are also due to Beth Revis, who made me actually sit down and write it. This story also would not exist without the support and encouragement of Laini Taylor, whose late-night chats served as a means to procrastinate and whose encouragement served as a motivator to stop procrastinating. Enormous and cake-filled thanks to Sabaa Tahir, whose friendship and encouragement and support, I should mention, are worth far more than a handful of words.
Thank you to everyone who has been willing to hear my ideas over the years and offer their feedback: Harry Lam, who knows All The Things. Renée Ahdieh, who is the standard to which all prose in the world should be held. Leigh Bardugo, whose characters have broken my heart but whose kind words have taped it back together. Ann Aguirre, who knows how to write a fight scene like the best of them and who helped me equip Wil with the skills that shaped who she is. The talented and amazing Samantha Shannon—thank you so much for everything. Laura Bickle, Aimée Carter, Sangu Mandanna, Maureen Willmann, and Christine Munger, for their kindness and support in this endeavor. Cindy Pon, my friend since way back when, for only getting more wonderful each year. Jodi Meadows, who has been such a source of encouragement. CJ Redwine, my gem of a friend, for picking up the pieces and gluing me back together so many times.
Thank you to Deb Frattini, whom I first met as a petrified undergrad applying to colleges. Thank you for keeping my first essay in your desk, and thank you for still reading the things I send you.
Thank you to Randi Oomens, who read this as an early draft and whose notes are the reason so many of these characters are as strong as they are. Thank you to Sona Charaipotra, Natasha Razi, and Tara Sim, for your genius, wisdom, time, experience, and insights. I can never put into words how much your efforts to make these characters and this world shine has meant to me.
Thanks as ever to my otherworldly agent, Barbara Poelle, for still being as enthusiastic and believing in me just as much now as when we first signed nearly a decade ago. I would never be on this journey if not for you.
Thank you to my editor, Kristin Rens, for believing in this story from the start, and for championing it through ten billion rewrites and revisions. Thank you to the entire team at Balzer + Bray for their hard work, creative genius, patience, love, and generosity of time and spirit, and for giving this story a place in the world.
Last but never least, thank you to my readers for following my stories for all these years, or for just now cracking open one of their spines. I wouldn’t be here without all of your support and love. An extra-, extraspecial thank-you to those who preordered this book and sent such kind notes of encouragement:
Jessey
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Bilyk-Pring, Amber
Bird, David Bock, Jillian
Brown, Tam Chronin, Andrea
Churchill, Desirae Cisneros, Joni
Collison, Jennie Cresswell, Tiffanie
Dang, Hannah Davies, Heather DeFilippis,
Julia DeLeon, Denise Doyle, Jenn Edwards,
Deena Edwards, Sabrina Ekstein, Amy Israel Felker,
Steph Fidis, Marcy Funderburk, Angelique Melanie Geyer,
Maddie Wilkinson Gurr, Caitlin Haines, Melissa Hardy,
Sabrina Heuschkel, Raelynn N Jacobe, Scarlett Kail, Kimberly
Kosydor, Shari Linn, Ros A Lynn, Nicole Maria, Matin
Matinez, Eleni McKnight, Marissa Maurer, Stephanie
Michelle, Hanna Müller, Ashleigh Nave, Jenn
Neuberger, M Andrew Patterson, Jessica
Porter, Rachel Rowlands, Tracy Russell,
Aneesa Suleman, Anni Holladay
Thompson, Michelle Trego,
Maura Trice, Kaitlyn
Weiler, Kat Weltha,
Heidy White,
Elizabeth
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAUREN DESTEFANO earned her BA in English with a concentration in creative writing from Albertus Magnus College in Connecticut in 2007. She is also the New York Times bestselling author of the Chemical Garden trilogy. You can find her online at twitter.com/laurendestefano and instagram.com/laurendestefanoauthor.
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BOOKS BY LAUREN DESTEFANO
The Glass Spare
The Cursed Sea
CREDITS
Cover photographs by
asbe and BlackJack3D / Getty Images (crystals),
Hype Photography / Getty Images (castle),
and Natalia Paklina, Kokklang and arto11 / Shutterstock (architecture)
Cover design and typography by Jenna Stempel
COPYRIGHT
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
THE GLASS SPARE. Copyright © 2017 by Lauren DeStefano. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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* * *
ISBN 978-0-06-249128-2 (trade ed.)
ISBN 978-0-06-279741-4 (special edition)
EPub Edition © October 2017 ISBN 9780062491336
* * *
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FIRST EDITION
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Lauren DeStefano, The Glass Spare
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