August - Chapter Twelve

Jeremy woke to a light slap on his calf and the smell of fresh coffee. “Wuzzgonon.”

“It’s six-thirty,” came his mom’s voice. Then she was at his window, tearing open the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room and he felt a small part of his soul shrivel and die.

“I hate you.”

“I know, sweetie.” She plopped a gigantic, steaming mug on his bedside table. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes, get moving.”

Letting out a groan, Jeremy forced himself to sit up and reach for the coffee. Mozart watched him from where she was curled into the back of his leg, unamused. He, in turn, watched his mom as she started digging through his closet. “I can dress myself, ma.”

Rochelle snorted and grinned. “Not today, you can’t. You have to look like you know what you’re doing.”

Mug now half-empty, Jeremy slumped back against his pillow. “You can’t take shots at me when I’m not even awake enough to remember my name.”

“Oh, big baby.” She draped his one nice pair of jeans, a button-down, a blazer, and one of his three ties over the end of his bed. “Come on, get up. And for the love of God, please shave.”

Less than half an hour later, they walked into the silent, chilly castle and Jeremy followed his mom as she cut a direct path towards her office. He fidgeted, running a finger under his collar, and glanced at the organized chaos occupying one half of the room, wishing, for a bizarre, brief moment, that Angus was there to help them. But he was competing in the Games as well, and needed all the sleep he could get. “Remind me again—”

“The volunteers and Connie Miller will get here any minute with the breakfast stuff. We have fifteen minutes to set up the chairs and the food in the Great Hall before the attendees start coming in, and after the food and the schmoozing and the coffee, it’s off to the races.”

Jeremy nodded. “Right. And then it’s the bus to the Games and then—”

“You and Aggie need to be back at the cottage by two.” Rochelle was looking at her phone, biting her lip. “FedEx says it’ll be here by then. Once you have the cross—”

“We meet you at the castle, we do the swap, and—”

“You and Aggie take it up to Guibert—”

“Get back in time to catch the end of the Games, then we’re home free.” Jeremy heaved a sigh. “No pressure.”

“I know,” she muttered darkly, then her phone rang. “Shit! Connie’s here!”

“Balance it,” Mrs. Hurst hissed at him several minutes later, the carafe wobbling precariously.

“I’m trying,” Jeremy hissed back, wincing as the decades-old metal dug into his hands. He had to talk to his mom about getting these things thrown out, they were—

“Size of a tank and temperamental to boot!” Mrs. Hurst shook her head, and her dangly watermelon earrings swayed. “It’s a shame they couldn’t replace these, I can’t even remember the last time we had them out. Maybe a wedding — or a town hall meeting? But it’s been ages since we’ve had one of those in here.”

Jeremy nodded, saying a mental prayer for his circulation. Mrs. Hurst was the oldest volunteer on staff, and she’d been working at the museum for longer than anyone could remember. She was small, plump, and completely ageless — she could be seventy, she could be ninety, but it was impossible to tell. Always friendly, always chipper, bright-eyed, ready to help, and she moved with the energy of someone half her age. Jeremy was struggling to keep up.

They finally reached the food table. “Heave, laddie!” cried Mrs. Hurst, and with an enormous effort, they managed to swing the ancient carafe through the air. It landed with a bang on the old wooden table, and a thin, ringing silence fell in its wake.

“Well,” said Rochelle, from where she was going over schedules with the other volunteers. “That’s one way to do it.”

“Thanks awfully!” said Connie Miller, rushing over with several to-go cartons of hot coffee. “If I’d known this was what we’d be working with, I would’ve brought my own—”

Mrs. Hurst waved a dismissive hand, smiling. “No worries, lassie. Now, what’s next?”

Busy climbing onto a chair to get to the top of the carafe, Connie nodded at a large pile of flat, rectangular boxes. “The buns and the pastries need to be put out. Make sure they’re not in the sun or under an air vent, they’ll dry out as fast as you can say ‘summer.’”

Mrs. Hurst nodded. Her expression was reminiscent of a general going to war. “Say no more. Me and the young laddie will handle it.”

Jeremy couldn’t help but smile, running a rueful hand across his brow. Good thing he’d ditched his blazer for the time being, or he’d be sweating through it. “Will we, now?”

By the time the first guests started to arrive, Jeremy had tucked himself into a far corner with a handful of cheese danishes and a large to-go cup of steaming black coffee. He watched as his mom greeted two professors and a museum curator, then had the thought that two months ago, he never would’ve guessed that they’d be here, a mysterious cross tucked under the eaves of this ancient castle, assembling the boldest and brightest stars of antiquaria and academia to talk about medieval religion and politics.

“Crazy,” he muttered to himself, grinning before he took a merciful sip of coffee. It was delicious as usual, and, as Connie Miller had told him not twenty minutes before, from Morrison’s.

He hadn’t heard much from Aggie yet beyond a text a few minutes before — ‘awake. hhate everything. heading 2 the green’ — and nothing at all from Colin. Jeremy knew that the competitors had to get to the Green by ten o’clock to start warming up, and he was sure Colin was awake, getting the farm chores done before he left, but—

“Hallo, dear,” came Mrs. Hurst’s not-a-whisper. She stepped in beside him to share his corner, a fresh cup of coffee in her hands. “Having fun?”

“Oh, yeah, tons,” he replied as he watched another group of professors come in. They were all dressed quite formally, in suits and blazers and heels, and for a moment, he wondered if they felt a little intimidated. This room — massive, panelled in ancient wood, lined with portraits of clan leaders, its arched ceiling covered in a painted script listing the names of the island’s first families, fireplaces large enough to fit half a dozen grown men, windows tall enough to climb out of — tended to have that effect on people. He remembered the first time he’d walked in here, the weight of its centuries settling on his shoulders like a cloak. He’d been struck dumb, staring up at the names that had remained unchanged, unchallenged, at the old, heavy faces of leaders and warriors, and not known what to think.

Now, of course, with a presentation screen set up in front of the old throne and several rows of chairs, the room had lost some of its edge. But he still caught some of the professors staring up at the ceiling, wearing expressions of surprise and awe. One of them, he realized, with a prickle of surprise, was Professor Ratherty himself. Good, he thought, then gave himself a shake. What was he doing, caring about shit like this?

“Interesting group,” said Mrs. Hurst, her keen eye following the guests as they made their way along the food table. “Can’t imagine they’ll be much fun.”

“Speaking from experience,” said Jeremy, after swallowing a large mouthful of danish, “academics aren’t until they’ve had a few glasses of wine. So keep an eye out at the ceilidh.”

She flashed him a gleeful smile. “Ooh, will do.”

“And you have the in-fighting,” Jeremy went on. “This is all according to my mom, obviously. Professor Wood—” he nodded to a tiny, blonde woman busy fixing her coffee, “and Professor Mathis—” he nodded to a tall, stately woman peering at one of the portraits, “have a long-standing feud over the broadsword. They’ve been publishing at each other back and forth about it for over a decade, tearing apart each other’s arguments, and there’s no end in sight. Apparently, all the other historians have taken sides as well, so you’re either Team Wood or Team Mathis, and there’s no in-between.”

Mrs. Hurst was staring at him. “Over… the broadsword? Over that?” And she pointed to the opposite wall, where a genuine broadsword and two longswords were mounted against the paneling.

Jeremy nodded, polishing off his danish. “So it’s pretty rare for the two of them to show up at the same conference. This is the first time in years.”

“A broadsword,” said Mrs. Hurst, and she was clearly going to be stuck on this for a minute. “A hunk of metal. They’ve dedicated their careers to arguing about a hunk of metal.”

“Yes. And I’ve tried reading their papers, I honestly couldn’t tell you what it is that they’re disagreeing about in the first place. I think it has to do with a series of dates or something.”

Mrs. Hurst shook her head. “The things some people find interesting.”

“Well,” said Jeremy, “we’re just hoping that they find the cross interesting, too. Otherwise this whole weekend is basically doomed.”

“Ah, yes.” Mrs. Hurst’s eyes sparkled. “Though I can’t imagine there’s a soul alive who wouldn’t find that interesting.”

He took a bite of his next danish. “So that includes you, then?”

“Of course, laddie!” She gave him a light smack on the arm and a few crumbs fell to the floor. “It’s an incredible find, and it reminds me of the stories my gran used to tell me.”

Jeremy blinked, his mind churning. “Stories?”

“Yes!” She stared at him, incredulous. “Surely you’ve heard the legends?”

Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat. “Uh, no. No, I haven’t.”

“Ah, well. There are stories about the island, about where it came from. And some of them are about dragons.”

Jeremy’s heart skipped another beat, and he forced himself to take a hulking bite of danish. “Really,” he managed.

Mrs. Hurst nodded, her expression fond, wistful. “They’re lovely stories, just like all the ones about King Arthur and his knights. All about dragons roaming this land, settling in the hills and watching over us as the town grew. You can still see their faces in some of the cliffs.”

“How nice,” he said, and she smiled at him, her wizened eyes bright and kind. Then one of the other volunteers came over to ask her something, and they went off together, chattering quietly.

Once they were gone, Jeremy shoved the rest of his second danish in his mouth and tried to sort through everything he’d just learned.

So, apparently, the truth of the dragons still existed, just not in the way he’d expected. Even if the clan and the town had done all it could to force people to forget about the Order and the creatures it was built to protect, some kernels of the truth clearly still remained, buried just beneath the surface. If Mrs. Hurst was about eighty or ninety, her gran had to have lived on Rowe in the late 1800s, just a handful of years after the Accords. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d taken the truth of Rowe’s history and morphed it into a handful of fantastical stories — maybe other people had, too, and everyone now thought that that was all the dragons were — just stories.

Several minutes later, his mom went up to the front of the room and called for everyone’s attention. Once silence had fallen, she smiled and said, “Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the first day of our little summit. I’m sure you’re all very excited to see the artifact that brought us all together, so without any further ado, let’s go into the main gallery.” With that, she shot Jeremy a pointed look and he nodded, slugging the rest of his coffee and throwing his empty cup in the trash. Now that everyone would be with her in the gallery, he and some of the other volunteers had to go start setting up some of the smaller rooms, where other panels and discussions would be taking place the rest of the morning and the following day.

The morning passed much faster than he’d expected. As he worked, he was dimly aware of the conference group moving through the halls, shortly followed by the din of a regular stream of visitors once the museum opened. But he heard all of it as if from a great distance, like he wasn’t really in the room, in the castle, on the island at all. Maybe it was because his mind was whirling with questions and theories, enough to distract him from setting up furniture and putting out handouts and double-checking technology. But Jeremy came crashing back to earth when his pocket buzzed with a new text.

Colin (10:46 A.M.): down the green. how are things?

Jeremy fumbled, nearly dropping his phone, and caught a weird look from one of the volunteers. He grinned like an idiot and quickly started typing.

Me: ok i think. wbu??

He spent the next few minutes trying not to think about anything at all and nearly brained himself on a set of shelves. “I’m fine,” he told the others, even though they were staring at him like he was a lunatic, which, fair. “I’m totally fine, I’m just—”

Colin (10:50 A.M.): yeah. big crowd, even though it’s early yet

Maybe Jeremy was losing his mind, which was possible, but it felt like that whole sentence just told him exactly how nervous Colin was. Because of the cross, and the conference, and everything else, there were more tourists on Rowe than there had been in years, and the town was packed full to bursting. That, of course, meant that people had been staking their claims out on the Green, trying to get the best spot to watch the competitions. He couldn’t imagine trying to warm up with that many eyes on him.

A part of him, a small, insane part, wanted nothing more than to ditch this stupid conference, dig out his bike, and pedal into town. He imagined himself circling the Green, dodging tourists left and right, and when he finally spotted Colin — who, of course, would be shirtless and sweaty and tousled — they would slip behind a convenient tent and kiss and kiss and kiss until their mouths were numb and their hands were shaking.

That, Jeremy thought, would definitely take his mind off things.

Instead, he typed out a reply.

Me (10:51 A.M.): just imagine them not wearing their pants. no sunscreen in sight

Colin’s reply was immediate.

Colin: … No

Jeremy laughed, and he almost dropped his phone.

Me (10:52 A.M.): then imagine ur not wearing any pants. simple

Colin: that sounds like someone else’s fantasy

Me (10:53 A.M.): but would it make u better or worse at the caber toss

Colin: sadie’s doing the chip stand. one word from me and

Me (10:54 A.M.): !!!! ok ok I surrender

Me: but col

Me: seriously

Me: you’ll be great

Me (10:55 A.M.): just dont think about anyone else

It took a few minutes this time, long enough for Jeremy’s hands to start sweating on his way back to the Great Hall, but eventually—

Colin (11:01 A.M.): I wont

Jeremy let out a ridiculous sigh of relief and nearly walked into a suit of armor.

Me (11:02 A.M.): good. c u soon

“I was born for this,” Jeremy said, mid-bite of a gigantic fried Mars bar.

Aggie flinched in disgust. “D’you have to do that here?”

“Of course.” Jeremy stepped further under the shade of her tent, out of the glare of the sun. Beside him, the large, portable freezers hummed with the effort of keeping a dozen gallons of ice cream cold. He chewed loudly. “Almost ready?”

“Ugh, yes.” She finished wiping down her set of scoopers and lay them on a table to dry. “Can you see Winston?”

Jeremy scanned the crowd near the toilets. “No, not yet.”

“Bugger.” Aggie rolled her eyes. “And why do you look like a debutante?”

Jeremy feigned a swoon, heart to his chest. “Wow, you really got me with that one!” He polished off the last of his Mars bar and threw the empty stick in a nearby trash can. “My mom made me. I hate it more than I have words to say.”

“Aw.” She reached forward and patted his cheek. “Such a grown-up.”

“Hey.” Jeremy nodded at the crowd. “Winston’s coming back.”

“Brilliant!” Aggie took off her apron and shouldered her rucksack.

Sure enough, a few moments later Winston appeared, looking as surly and brooding and usual. “You owe me for this,” he said to his sister. “Big time.”

Aggie rolled her eyes. “I’ll cover your opening shift next week, okay? Big baby.”

Jeremy smiled at him and waved. “Hi, Winston. Have fun.”

Winston eyed him, clearly trying not to smile. “Just,” he gritted out. “Just get out of here before I change my mind.”

Aggie grabbed Jeremy’s arm and tugged him away. “And we’re gone!”

They walked down towards the main area of the Green, where the Games were thoroughly underway, keeping to the outer edges of the crowd. Jeremy couldn’t see any of the competitors, apart from the occasional flash of tartan. A loud, booming voice announced, “And here comes MacAllister, looking very confident—” Suddenly, there was an echoing thud, followed by a tremendous roar from the crowd.

Jeremy glanced around, trying to figure out what had just happened. “This feels very… primitive.”

Aggie snorted, putting on her sunglasses. “Don’t let Colin hear you say that.”

Something flipped inside Jeremy’s stomach. “Did you get to see him, before?”

“Yeah, but just for a second. He had his concentration face on, I think he barely noticed I was there.” Aggie shrugged. “We might get to see him before the semi-finals, if he makes it that far.”

Something occurred to Jeremy. “Has he ever won before?”

“Reigning champion in the youth division.” Aggie flashed him a smirk. “So don’t pay any attention to that whole nonsense about him not winning. He’s going to win.”

And, because the universe hated him, they reached a break in the crowd where they could see straight through to the arena. “Next up,” boomed the announcer, the words echoing around the Green, “is MacGregor, and he’s got one hell of a distance to meet. Let’s see how he does.”

Jeremy froze, his mouth dry as he caught a glimpse of Colin squaring up to a white line. He was wearing a thin black t-shirt and a kilt in the MacLewan clan tartan, his lucky armband was wrapped around his forearm, and he had stripes of black zinc under his eyes. His hair was tousled and sweaty, and his jaw was set in a line of fierce determination as he bent down to pick up a heavy metal weight with a long handle.

Something inside Jeremy died and exploded at the same time. Colin let out a loud grunt, hefting the weight with his right hand. His body tilted, the weight lifting off the ground, and he turned on the spot, spinning like a top before he released the weight with another grunt, sending it soaring through the air.

A few seconds later, the weight landed far out of sight with a loud thud, and after a beat, the crowd let out a massive roar.

“He’s done it!” yelled the announcer. “MacGregor has landed the best distance yet, folks! That is the record to beat, ladies and gentlemen, and—”

“See?” said Aggie, all smug. Her hand went to Jeremy’s wrist. “Come on. He’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, Jeremy turned to follow her, but, at the very last second, Colin turned as well.

He froze, his gaze landing on Jeremy. They stared at each other for a beat, then Jeremy gave him a tentative smile.

Colin broke out into a dazzling grin, and he ducked his chin before he turned away, heading back to wherever it was he had to head back to.

Jeremy let Aggie pull him away, his heart doing cartwheels and his face burning hot. Idiot, he couldn’t help telling himself, but he didn’t care, not really. Because having Colin looking at him like that was one of the best things in the world, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

When they got to the castle a half hour later, the building was quiet, calm, the complete opposite of the town. Jeremy just stood in the Entrance Hall for a moment, drinking it in.

That is, until his mom appeared from the hallway to her office, her eyes wide with excitement. “Hey. Do you have it?”

“Yep,” said Aggie, waving the package.

Rochelle let out a sigh of relief, and she headed for the stairs, beckoning them to follow her up the right side. “Come on, let’s get it up there before anyone comes back. I only disabled the alarms for ten minutes, so we have to be quick.” As she passed the little sign on the first landing with the tour times, she flipped the card on the front to read, ‘Back in 20!’

“You can’t really think that people are going to show up?” said Aggie, but she followed anyway. “Everyone and their mother is at the Green, I can’t imagine—”

“Tourists are insane,” Rochelle tossed over her shoulder. “Let’s say a family of four has been trying to get a tour of the museum, but they didn’t plan ahead and all the slots for this weekend are taken. They decide to wait until everyone else is busy at the Games and they show up to ambush us. They technically can, because the museum is open until this evening.”

“Yikes,” Aggie grinned. “You make it sound so—”

“I make it sound so because it is so.” Now they were at the top of the stairs, which opened onto a wide, long hallway. “It’s just through here.” She took a sharp right, through a massive arched doorway and into—

Jeremy actually stopped in his tracks. “Whoa,” he breathed. Behind him, Rochelle waited until both he and Aggie were in the room before she closed the double doors, turned the lock, and pocketed the key.

This room was like the Great Hall on steroids. The walls were lined in a rich, red wallpaper, offsetting the huge framed paintings and hanging tapestries, and the domed ceiling was painted a fresh, dazzling white. Ornate gilded scrolls and trailing lines of leaves were carved into the crown molding, reflecting the sunlight from a wall full of windows facing the sea.

Rochelle’s footsteps echoed on the original wooden floor, polished within an inch of its life, and Jeremy looked around at the well-spaced collection of artifacts. Most of them were behind glass, though some sat in the open air, cordoned off with velvet rope. He saw yet another collection of broadswords, some ancient armor, a few manuscripts, and—

There, in the middle of the room, on its own podium, encased in glass. The cross, polished to a brilliant shine.

It looked smaller than he remembered. He’d forgotten that he could hold it in one hand.

“Shouldn’t take long,” Rochelle said. She reached into her pocket, pulled out one of her fancy pairs of cloth gloves, and put them on.

“This room is insane,” said Jeremy, still drinking it all in. “Did it always look like this?”

“Not really,” his mom replied. “The big room downstairs is where the chief and the other clan leaders would receive visitors, but this room was for special events. So it always looked the nicest, but the wallpaper was first installed in the nineteenth century, along with all the molding and the vaulted ceiling. Before that it was a little rough around the edges — less plaster, more stone. Robert actually had the wallpaper refreshed a few years ago, before this it had more of a pattern.”

Aggie hummed, her attention on a ceremonial hunting knife. “I’m surprised he didn’t start a civil war. Some people on this island have very specific feelings about wallpaper.”

Rochelle chuckled, gently lifting the glass case off the podium, exposing the cross to air. “Yeah, I get the feeling. Can someone please get me the replacement?”

Aggie whipped out her Swiss Army Knife and flicked open the blade. “Let me.”

It took a few moments — Doug was apparently very enthusiastic about tape — but soon enough, Aggie unearthed a small, styrofoam box, and inside it—

“Wow,” said Rochelle, blinking. “He actually did it. He really, actually did it.”

“It looks real,” said Aggie, her surprise showing on her face. “It looks—”

“We get it, it looks incredible,” said Jeremy. “Friendly reminder we’re on the clock?”

Rochelle twitched, snapping out of it. “Yeah, sorry.” She reached out, gently taking the fake cross from Aggie, then turned and took the real cross off its stand. “Here,” she said, handing it to Aggie. Aggie stared at it for a moment before she wrapped it in one of Jeremy’s old t-shirts.

And then, then.

“Excuse me,” came a rigid, deep voice. “Just what, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

Jeremy froze, but his mom flinched as if she’d been burnt. She whirled round, nearly dropping the fake cross, and gaped at their unwelcome visitor. “Robert?”

“Indeed.” Robert’s voice was as hard as nails as he stepped out of what appeared to be a hole in the wall. A moment later, Jeremy realized that it was a hidden door, and it must’ve led to a secret passage. Robert glanced between the three of them before he spoke again. “Please, Rochelle, explain what is going on. I find myself drawing several conclusions and not wanting to believe a single one of them.”

To Jeremy’s surprise, it was Aggie who spoke next, though he had no idea how — his own voice had shriveled at the back of his throat. “What about you, Chief MacLewan?” she said, hugging the old shirt close. “Why aren’t you at the Games? Shouldn’t you be at the judges’ table right now?”

The chief seemed to swell in indignation. “I,” he said, “came back to get the family camera. Siobhan left it behind by accident, and she would come get it herself, but she cannot leave before her performance.”

That checks out, thought Jeremy. Robert’s daughter, Siobhan, was in the local Highland Dance group that would be performing throughout the day.

“I went to my office, saw that the alarms for the main gallery had been switched off, and came to investigate. Now,” snapped Robert, his tone hardening once again. “Please explain why I seem to have caught you replacing a priceless artifact with a fake one.”

Jeremy looked at his mother, and she seemed to tremble where she stood. “Robert,” she tried, “I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t— if it weren’t absolutely necessary—”

“Necessary?” he repeated, the word sharp in his mouth. “Don’t even begin to—”

“It belongs to the Order,” Jeremy blurted, before he could stop himself, and Robert’s gaze snapped to him. A burning heat crawled up his neck but he forced himself to keep talking. “We know about the Order, and this is their cross. It belongs to them, and without it, the dragons can’t protect us. So we’re giving it back. We have to. For the sake of the island.”

It was as if some great, cosmic force had sucked all the air from the room. Jeremy could still hear the waves, the gulls, and the occasional muffled creak of the rafters, but all else was silent. He wasn’t even sure the others were breathing. Robert was just staring at him, his dark eyes void of all obvious emotion. It seemed that many small eternities passed before Robert spoke.

“What do you mean, dragons?” he said, his voice neutral and flat. “All the dragons are dead. Killed, in the Flood.”

And just like that, all the air came rushing back into the room. Jeremy had the sudden urge to sit down. He heard, rather than saw, Aggie’s mouth fall open, her gasp ringing flat and empty. His mom just stared at Robert, a frown slowly breaking over her face.

“No,” said Jeremy, again talking without knowing how he was doing it. “One of them is still alive. Amalga. The cross. It belongs to her.”

Robert twitched, his chin jutting out. “Technically, it belongs to the clan, it was a gift from us in the first place.”

“Don’t,” said his mom, quiet enough that he almost didn’t realize she’d spoken. “Don’t you dare debate technicalities with us. That cross has been with the Order since it was first smelted, don’t try to deny it. And like it or not, they need it. They use it. It isn’t just a question of who gets to keep the pretty artifact, it’s a question of whether or not you want this island to continue as it is now. Stable, friendly. All but immune to fucking global warming.” She raised an eyebrow. “And boss or not, Robert, I will not have myself, my son, or Aggie vilified for trying to protect this community when you couldn’t. So watch your tone.”

Jeremy stamped down on the urge to applaud. He stared at Robert, waiting for a reaction, but none came.

Finally, Robert stepped to one side, gesturing to the dark passage. “It seems,” he said, “that this will be a long conversation. Will you join me in my office, so we can turn the alarm back on?”

Rochelle nodded. “Yes, but only after I finish what I came here to do.” She turned, placed the fake cross on its new stand, replaced the glass lid, and took off her gloves.

They followed Robert down the secret passageway, which was nearly pitch-black and a tight squeeze — they had to walk single-file. The walls were dry but cold, cutting directly through the stone, and they turned several corners before they were faced with a small flight of stairs. Jeremy had to duck as they ascended, then they stepped out into a warm, bright circular room. Robert’s office.

The walls were painted a warm, golden yellow, and they were lined with various paintings and photographs. Robert went to his computer and hit a few keys. “There. Now the alarm’s back on. Please,” he added, gesturing to a few chairs placed in front of the hearth.

Jeremy and Aggie each took a seat, but Rochelle remained standing, leaning against the windowsill with her arms crossed against her chest. Her expression could’ve sunk a ship.

Meanwhile, Jeremy’s thoughts were a whirling mess. So Robert knew, had known all along, about the Order and the dragons, all of it. Did that mean he knew everything? Did he know about the ledger, the old agreements between the Order and the clan?

“I must admit,” said Robert, breaking the silence, “that I’m quite relieved to find you weren’t trying to actually steal the cross.”

Rochelle leveled him with a look. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“No,” Robert replied, undeterred. “But what else would I have thought, given what I found you doing?”

“So you didn’t know?” said Jeremy, ignoring his mother’s glare. “You didn’t know there was still a dragon here on the island?”

Robert, for the first time, seemed to hesitate. “No, I didn’t.” He sat down in his desk chair and ran a hand along his jaw. “My father told me they’d all died. And I’ve never seen one, so why would I think otherwise?”

“Your father?” Jeremy repeated. “What else did he tell you?”

“Did he tell you Guibert’s been completely on his own for almost fifty years?” Aggie bit out, her eyes flashing. “Just him and Amalga, all alone on that God-forsaken cliff, doing their best to keep each other alive?”

Robert looked uncomfortable now. “Well,” he tried. “Maybe we should start with how you found out about them in the first place. No one’s supposed to know about any of this.”

Aggie snorted. “Except for you, clearly.”

“We found them by accident,” said Jeremy, before Robert could snap at her. “Just by accident when we were on a hike in the Outer Rolls.”

“And,” said Rochelle, glancing at Jeremy, “I found one of the books, Robert, in the cottage. The worship text, with the frontplate of the dragon on the cross.”

Robert tensed. “Did you? I didn’t know there was one in the cottage.”

“Yes, and I’ve been translating it. So when the kids found the cross—”

“You had an idea of what it meant,” Robert finished for her, then he let out a sigh. “Did you find anything else?”

“A ledger,” Rochelle replied. “Hidden in the wall of my office. I think it belonged to the butler, or whoever it was that kept track of what the clan sent to the Order.”

“That would be the estate manager,” said Robert. He looked at her, his gaze steady. “I think it goes without saying that that translation can never be published.”

Rochelle frowned. “Of course not, certainly not without Guibert’s permission.”

Robert flushed from the implication of his own inferiority, but he didn’t say anything. “Yes, the monk.” He glanced at Jeremy and Aggie. “How did you meet him, again?”

“On a hike,” said Jeremy. “Guibert approached us because he’d run out of food and he needed our help.”

“Right.” Robert frowned. “You said he’s been looking after himself for almost fifty years. So why did he suddenly run out of food?”

“D’you remember that big storm we had, about six weeks ago?” At Robert’s nod, Jeremy continued. “It tore through the monastery and ruined a lot of his food stores. He was the one who was stealing from the general store, not Winston.”

“Ah.” Robert glanced at the bundled t-shirt Aggie was still holding. “And I’m assuming that’s how the cross wound up in the ocean.”

“Yeah. We didn’t know what it was, or what any of it meant, when we first found it. We just thought it was another weird medieval artifact that belonged in the museum.”

“But you knew,” Rochelle said to Robert. “You knew what it really meant, the whole time. You knew it belonged to the Order, that it should’ve been at the monastery.”

Robert looked uncomfortable again. “Yes, I did.”

“Why didn’t you say something, Robert?” she went on, her voice hard. “Anything? We could’ve given it back to them right away and not ended up where we are now, sneaking around behind each other’s backs.”

“I thought they were all dead,” he replied, still uncomfortable. “I figured they wouldn’t miss it. I’m the only one who actually knows about them, so it wasn’t like anyone else was going to remember and accuse me of trying to profit off of a religious relic.”

“But you were afraid someone would remember,” said Aggie. She gave him a sharp look. “That’s why you faffed about the way you did, going all hot and cold over telling the papers. You thought someone might know what it was, and they’d start talking.”

Robert looked away, shame clouding his features, then he nodded. “It was a bit of a risk. So I asked around, dropping a few hints here and there to see if anyone remembered the old stories, but no one picked up on it so I figured I was safe. No one would know where the cross really came from, or who it belonged to, and as long as we had it, I thought we might as well use it.”

“That’s horrible,” said Rochelle, her voice nearly breaking. “Robert, that’s horrible—”

“Can you blame me?” he snapped. “You saw our tourism numbers, you knew our ticket sales were down and we badly needed the money, us and the rest of the island. You know, better than anyone, what state the museum was in just a few months ago. You know we needed something, something special, to put this place back on the map. And like it or not, that’s what that stupid cross has done. So you can be angry at me all you want, but don’t blame me for doing what it took to bring this island back to life.”

“The island was already alive,” Aggie fired back. “Because of Amalga. She’s the one keeping it safe, keeping the weather calm so we don’t lose all our wheat. And she’s the one who needs this!” She held up the cross, still wrapped in Jeremy’s old orchestra shirt. “Like it or not, chief, there’s magic at work here. I’ve seen it, me and Jeremy and Colin, we’ve all seen it. We’ve seen what happens when you try to convince yourself it isn’t there. Yes, we’re better off than some of the nearby islands, but not by much. This can’t go on, not with Amalga all on her own. We’d be fools to ignore the obvious, to pretend our island doesn’t need our help.”

“I thought,” said Robert, his tone pleading, “that the Order was gone, Agatha. Gone. Just another truth that turned into a legend that turned into a story.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy frowned. “Why is that? Why did your dad say it was gone?”

Robert looked baffled. “I don’t know. He just did.”

Rochelle was frowning. “But he still told you about it?”

“Of course he told me about it, he had to. At one point, everyone on the island followed the teachings of the Order, regardless of whether they were Catholic or Protestant. They’d go to mass on Sunday mornings and to the monastery on Sunday afternoons. To them, God and the dragons were one and the same.” He let out a sigh. “That’s not something unimportant. That’s not just a footnote, that’s real. That’s a part of who we are, even if none of us know about it now.”

“But it all changed after the Accords, didn’t it?” said Jeremy.

“Yes.” Robert frowned. “How do you know about that?”

“Because I’m best friends with a monk, your chiefliness.” Jeremy shifted, sitting back in his chair. He hoped that Robert hadn’t noticed the way he’d slipped his hand into his pocket, starting a voice memo. “And he says the Order was blindsided by the Accords. They had no idea people were so against the tithing, so in favor of turning their backs on everything they believed. I mean, you’d held on through hundreds of years of turmoil, of Catholics and Protestants fighting each other at the drop of a pin, and all for what? You just threw it all away.”

“Really? Is that what the monk told you?” Robert seemed to mull over that. “Well… it’s not quite that simple.”

“Then explain,” said Rochelle. “We’ve got the time. And I’ve got my own theories, so I’d quite like to find out if I was right or wrong.”

“I only know what my father told me,” Robert replied. “And what it comes down to is a shift in the island’s needs. The Order was founded after the first Christian missionaries left the island in the tenth century, convinced that they’d done their job. They were wrong, of course, but that didn’t matter at the time. Ulric the Grey, who was—”

“—the Head Druid,” said Rochelle, with surprise. “And one of the highest-ranking members of the clan from that time. I thought he died young?”

Robert shook his head. “No. He’s the one who started the Order, who decided to model it after a more traditional Christian monastery. He realized, dragons or not, that Christianity was coming for this island like a bull on a rampage, and we had to get out of its way or adapt. Adapting was the only way we could ensure the safety of the dragons, keep what remained of our original beliefs for ourselves. And it didn’t hurt that so much of Christ’s teachings — generosity, humility, faith — were already a part of community life here on Rowe. We had always been quiet, benevolent people, so when Ulric took the idea of the Trinity and fused it together with the worship of the dragons, it felt very natural, very unspoken. The transition was seamless enough that it was several years before any Catholic churches actually put down roots on the island.”

“But they were real?” Aggie asked, frowning. When Robert frowned at her in return, she added, “The Catholic churches were legitimate? They weren’t just for people pretending to worship when they actually worshipped the dragons?”

“No. Like I said before, for everyone it was mass in the morning and monastery in the afternoon. Even if it was just to keep up appearances, I do think a lot of people saw them as one and the same, different rituals that served the same purpose. But the churches, the real churches, were a vital part of the island’s economy, especially as the island became more and more involved with the world around it.”

“Yeah,” said Rochelle, answering Jeremy’s unspoken question, “because once the missionaries came, it broke the spell, so to speak. It opened the floodgates to everybody, and Rowe started developing deeper relationships with nearby communities.”

Robert nodded. “And that meant that the churches — not the Order — became a focal point of power on the island. The alliance between the clan and the Catholic Church was necessary for the island’s survival. When there’s a foreign army marching up to your doorstep, it’s not faith that matters, but money.”

Aggie glanced at Rochelle. “Because that was how the world worked back then, right? Powerful families needed powerful clergy to back them up.”

“Yes, Aggie.” Rochelle flashed her a smile. “In those days, everything went through the Church. That’s how it worked everywhere else, so that’s how it had to be on Rowe.”

“I can see how the Order didn’t fit into all this,” said Jeremy. “The only real power they could access was the dragons, which wasn’t much good when the dragons had to be kept secret from everyone outside the island.”

“Exactly,” said Robert. “And once we started getting involved in other people’s wars, things got tense, because the Order is fundamentally against violence and slavery.”

Jeremy blinked in surprise. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“The clan couldn’t afford to entertain a moral high ground like that,” said Robert, “not when those things were just a normal consequence of being a wealthy regional power at the time.”

“Wow,” said Aggie. “I’m glad we didn’t live in the Middle Ages.”

“Um, yeah,” said Jeremy.

Robert offered them a weak smile. “So it wasn’t always perfect. There was always tension between the idealism of the Order and the reality of day-to-day life here on the island. Theirs was a world of dragons and magic and worship, and ours was one of strategy, politics, and bloodshed. Clan leaders had more to think about than how many sheep to offer as a sacrifice every year.”

It sounded horrible, Jeremy realized, even if it was true.

“What about the Reformation?” said Rochelle now. “I’m guessing that didn’t help things.”

“Well,” said Robert. “It did and it didn’t. Presbyterianism never really caught on here like it did in the rest of Scotland, because the Church and the clan were joined at the hip. But it did mean we had to adapt, especially when all that nonsense went on with the Tudors. As the country shifted, we had to shift with it, to a certain extent, just to keep our allies happy and our enemies on their toes. Unfortunately, as our world got bigger, Rowe got smaller, and the Order became less and less of the clan’s priority.”

“So if this was the way things were for so long,” said Jeremy, “what happened? Why 1858?”

Robert now looked uncomfortable again. “There had been talk for some time, among certain people in the clan, that we didn’t really need the dragons’ help anymore. Medicine and science were advancing, and remember, that was right in the middle of the industrial revolution — there was more information than we’d ever had before, stuff to do with farming techniques, weather prediction, animal husbandry. We were relying on the dragons less and less, so many people didn’t want to keep paying them a wheat tax—”

“Or allowing the Order to take two kids from each generation,” Jeremy finished for him. “Understandable, I think.”

“Yes. And all tithes were outlawed in 1836, so if anyone found out that our people were still paying a wheat tax to a religious group, we could get into serious trouble, legally and politically. The clan had to concentrate its resource base, focus its power, prioritize the concerns of its people. So the head from one of the big families drafted the Accords, and everyone signed it.”

“But how could they do that? Just turn their backs on their entire history, part of their culture?” said Rochelle. “Didn’t they care about the dragons, about the people who lived and worked at the monastery?”

“We never knew the monks, not personally. And they didn’t know us. They were strangers even to the people who had once been their families. It’s not like we had one-on-one conversations with the dragons, either. They were distant, untouchable.” Robert winced. “I think everyone hoped… they would just die out.”

An awful silence followed this. Unhelpfully, a mockingbird began to sing in one of the trees outside the window.

“So you cut the history,” said Jeremy. “Rewrote it. Changed the tapestries and the artifacts. And people stopped talking about the Order as something that was real. They turned the dragons into songs and the magic into legends.”

Robert ducked his chin. “Yeah. It was unofficial policy, I guess, but it became official in the fifties, when my family struck a deal with the government to turn this place into a museum. We had to make sure all the books were out of sight, along with anything else that might have turned heads. But it wasn’t like people were foaming at the mouth to talk about the great beasts that saved our arses more than we liked to admit. And the clan chief never really had contact with the Order after the Accords, maybe once or twice in the early twentieth century. One of those was during my great uncle’s time as chief. He had to tell them that the clan would no longer supply the Order with anything whatsoever.”

“That,” Rochelle said, her voice low, “is despicable.”

There was a long pause before Robert spoke again. “When the Flood happened,” he said, “my dad just assumed the worst, and it seems like he wasn’t completely wrong.”

Rochelle was still staring at him, expectant. “Who was it, in your family? Who kept worshipping the teachings of the Order when they weren’t supposed to?”

This shocked Robert badly — it was obvious he hadn’t expected such a question. “I—I— my other great uncle, the chief’s younger brother and his estate manager. He was always on about the dragons, how we had to pray to them even if we couldn’t go there in person. When I was little, my dad just told me he was senile and not to listen to him. It wasn’t until I became chief that he told me everything old Uncle Albert had said was true.” Recognition flitted across his face. “Albert used to live in the cottage. He’s probably the one who hid the book you found, when they were all collected and brought back to the castle.”

“What did you do with the books, and everything else you saw fit to cover up?” Rochelle asked next, her eyes flashing. “Where is it?”

Robert looked at her for a moment, apparently deciding how much he wanted to tell her. He seemed to make up his mind. Shaking his head, he crossed the room, squatted next to the mantelpiece, and flipped a hidden switch.

A door appeared in the opposite wall, about the same height and width as the one to the secret passageway. At Robert’s touch, it slowly swung open, revealing not another tunnel, but a series of shelves packed with old books.

Jeremy stared, astonishment rendering him mute. He could see six more copies of the so-called secret book his mother had translated, next to what looked like a dozen copies of an older book, bound in something covered with a lot of gold. Their covers shone in the muted sunlight, revealing a series of numbers stamped on the bottom edge of their spines — 14, 15, 16, and so on. Jeremy suddenly realized that these copies were only a selection from a much larger collection. There were more, then, or maybe they were all gone, disintegrated into dust.

The other shelves were crammed with naked stacks of paper and other books that he didn’t recognize. His heart pounding in his throat, Jeremy tried and failed to swallow, wondering if these were books that told the real history of the island, the story of the Order and whatever had existed before it.

“Well,” said Rochelle, the word shattering what was becoming an icy, tense silence. “I’m glad you didn’t burn them.”

Robert shot her a glare. “We would never. We just had to… make sure nobody found them.”

“Aye,” said Aggie. “You did that right enough.”

“So.” Robert reached out and closed the door. If Jeremy squinted, he could still see its outline in the wallpaper. “I think this is the part where I ask, what happens now?”

“We’re taking the cross,” Rochelle said at once. Her gaze was steady, her voice firm. “Amalga needs it, really needs it. And the replica will stay put where it is.”

“I don’t… agree with that plan,” said Robert, clearly restraining himself from using more colorful words. “It’s dishonest of us to lay claim to and display a relic that we don’t actually have.”

“The real cross has already been authenticated,” Rochelle replied. “There are records. Archives. Samples. There’s no one who could say that the fake is actually a fake.”

Robert sighed through his teeth. “Unless they actually want to see it for themselves.”

“If that happens,” Jeremy said quickly, “you could borrow the real cross, then take it back once you’re done with it.”

“Yeah,” said Rochelle, cottoning on even though she and Jeremy had never discussed anything of the sort. “And the replica’s good enough, Robert. If I hadn’t known, I’d be fooled.”

“And this… person who helped you make a false copy,” said Robert. “You trust them.”

A statement, Jeremy noticed. Not a question.

“Yeah,” said Rochelle. “I do.”

And not just because it’s his career on the line, too, thought Jeremy.

“All right.” Robert looked around at them for a moment, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Finally, he cleared his throat. “And this… this business about the Order…”

“We won’t say anything,” said Aggie, understanding before Jeremy or Rochelle did. “To anyone, ever. We’ll hold to the party line.”

“Even… you mentioned Colin, earlier,” said Robert.

“I can promise for him,” Aggie replied. “We won’t tell a soul.”

Something in Jeremy strained, painful, but he nodded. “Yeah. No one.”

Robert gave a single nod. “Good.”

“I promise,” said Rochelle, “so long as you promise something in return.”

Robert’s face did that weird purplish thing again. “Yes?” he gritted out.

“That you help Guibert, the monk. That you stay in contact with him, that you send him supplies when he needs them. The poor man doesn’t even have electricity, Robert. The least you could do is give him some flour and a few proper blankets.” Rochelle was looking him dead in the eye, unfaltering, forceful. “The dragons served you and your family, they’re the reason you’re standing where you are today. They’re the reason you needed a castle and a chief in the first place. They’re important, and the people who serve them are important, even if you don’t believe in them.”

A thick silence fell, and Jeremy fought the urge to start clapping. His mom was such a goddamn badass.

Robert swallowed, hard. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll discuss it next week. I’m assuming that’ll give you enough time to sort out the details with your… contact.”

Rochelle grinned, sudden and bright. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

“Fine.” Robert sat down behind his desk with the air of someone who really needed a drink. “I hope to hear very little about this ever again. And I think it’s high time you went back to the Games, or, in your case, Rochelle, to the front office.”

“Yes.” Rochelle crossed to the exit, nodding at Jeremy and Aggie. “Come on. I’ll show you guys the way out.”

Jeremy stood, his mouth numb and his ears ringing as the shock and adrenaline caught up to him, flooding his body in cool waves of terror. He was only half-aware of his mom leading them through a winding corridor, down a set of stairs, along another corridor, down another set of stairs. Unrecognizable rooms sped past him in a heady blur, and when he finally stepped into the Entrance Hall, he was grateful to be back on familiar ground.

There was a small group of people standing in front of the staircase, murmuring and frowning at the ‘Back in 20!’ sign. “Shit,” Rochelle breathed, then she plastered on a bright smile. “Good afternoon, everyone, and apologies for the delay! If everyone could gather on the first landing, the tour will begin momentarily.” She turned to Jeremy and Aggie and hissed, “Get out of here. I’ll be at the awards ceremony and we can tell Colin everything after it’s over.”

“Okay,” Aggie whispered back, stuffing the cross into her rucksack, then she grabbed Jeremy’s arm and dragged him out of the castle almost faster than he could blink.

Aggie set them at a fast march back towards the cottage, and it took several minutes in the sunshine and birdsong before Jeremy’s brain switched back on.

“Holy shit,” he managed. “Holy shit. Did that really just happen?”

“It did,” Aggie replied. “But if I start thinking about it I might have an honest-to-God freakout, and we do not have time for that right now. We just need to get back, get in the boat, and get this goddamn cross to Guibert.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Boat.”

“I’ll tell you one thing though,” she said, shaking her head. “The tapestry. From my church.”

“Yeah,” said Jeremy.

“The missing piece…”

“Yeah.”

Aggie shook her head again. “Damn. Be a lot easier to get through mass if I had a great bloody dragon to stare at.”

His heart sitting somewhere in his throat, Jeremy sipped at his ginger beer and watched as Colin stepped down from the podium, a gold medal shining around his throat. He looked… the only word for it was radiant, really, because ‘joy’ wasn’t big enough and ‘satisfied’ didn’t even begin to touch it. But there was a certain amount of satisfaction buried beneath his grin, Jeremy thought, because Colin had been waiting for this moment all summer, not even certain that he’d get to have it, not with a gold medal instead of a silver or a bronze.

The medals were all fake, of course, but at least they looked heavy, and people seemed to take them seriously. It meant something, winning a medal at the island’s annual Games. The tradition might be a touch outdated, maybe even silly, just an excuse for a group of people to get together and drink a lot, but being able to throw a caber or a heavy iron weight further than anyone else your age was no mean feat. At the very least, it gave the winners an undeniable intimidation factor, enough that no one questioned the plastic seams around the edges of their medals, or the fraying ribbons that were almost as thin as paper.

Aggie was somewhere behind him and to the left. She was hopping from tent to tent, convincing the food vendors to fill a gigantic picnic basket she’d dug out of the back of her dad’s van — all for free, of course.

“Aggie,” Jeremy had said, pointing to a huge table being set up some twenty feet away. “They’re about to put out a buffet, the real food.”

She’d looked at him like he had a second head. “We go there last, Jeremy. We carry the plates, and everything else goes in the basket.”

She’d left him here, leaning against an empty picnic table, watching the end of the awards ceremony. Everyone was sprawled across the grass, clapping and cheering as the medals were handed out, soaking up the last bit of the day before the ceilidh took over. Jeremy had guessed she’d watched Colin win one of these every year, so the effect had probably worn off a little.

It certainly hadn’t for him. Colin was moving through the crowd, shaking hands with what looked like every farmer on the island, getting thumped on the back, hands shoved in his hair, and bear hugs that threatened to lift him off the ground.

His dad, Jeremy noticed, was nowhere in sight.

Then, to his surprise, he saw Irene and Hannah pull Colin aside. Hannah looked like a dream in her long floral dress, and Irene was dressed in her usual trim jeans and a white linen blouse. They both clung to Colin, flooding him with praise, and Jeremy couldn’t help but smile as Colin blushed from the attention.

Then, then.

Colin looked up and met Jeremy’s gaze. He grinned, and Jeremy’s stomach did a somersault.

A few agonizing minutes later, Irene and Hannah let him go, and Colin made his way over to the empty picnic table, looking far too smug.

“Hi,” said Jeremy, then he sort of pointed at the medal. “You did it. The thing.”

Colin was ruddy from the sun, even with the lingering sheen of SPF 100. So when he smirked, his face burst with light. “Yeah, I did.”

“You were,” Jeremy tried, his mind flooding with images of Colin heaving weights and pulling a massive rope, his legs and arms flexing, straining, sweat pouring down his— “Colin, you were incredible.”

Surprise flitted across Colin’s face, and he stepped a little closer. They were barely a foot apart, now. Colin had changed into a fresh shirt emblazoned with Sweet Ray’s logo, and he smelled weirdly sweet and fresh. “So now you know how it felt to see you play on that stage.”

Jeremy’s stomach disappeared altogether, and he tried to smile. “I guess we’re even, then.”

Colin grinned, and at his side, his hand twitched, like he wanted to— “Yeah. I guess we are.”

For a moment, Jeremy just let himself breathe it in, feeling how close they were, the air tense with too much and not enough. Then, he stepped back. “Aggie and I had kind of a day.”

“Really?” Colin’s gaze skated over Jeremy’s body. “Is that why you’re dressed like some wannabe banking intern?”

“Hah,” said Jeremy. He’d ditched the blazer, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. He didn’t even want to think about his hair. “That’s funny. You hungry?”

“Yes,” said Colin at once. “Fucking starving.”

“Good. My mom will be here in a minute, she’s gonna eat with us.”

Colin actually perked up a little at that, which was hilarious, but he also looked confused. “Was that the plan?”

“Is now,” said Jeremy, draining his ginger beer. “Like I said, shit went down.”

“Okay.” Colin stood there for a moment, just looking at him, then he said, his voice quiet, “Thanks. For coming, today.”

Jeremy blinked at him, blushing. He felt like he’d just fallen out of the wind, weightless and weighted all at once. “Yeah, of course. I wanted—”

“Aye aye, you great beefcake!” hollered Aggie, sidling up with the picnic basket stuffed full to bursting. She dropped it on the ground with a grin, and it let out an ominous clinking sound as she threw herself at Colin, nearly tackling him to the ground.

“Watch it!” Colin staggered but grinned all the same, hugging her tightly. “Competition’s over, you’re not supposed to knock me around.”

“I’m putting in for a last minute challenge,” she said, then she did some weird twisty thing, trying to put in him a headlock. She only got halfway, her feet tucked into Colin’s belly, before he let out a laugh and dropped her straight to ground, where she landed with a loud thud.

“All right,” Aggie wheezed. “It’s a draw.” She rolled over, blinking up at Jeremy. “Where’s your mum?”

“There,” he said, nodding to the buffet table, where she was talking to Angus. His silver medal was winking in the sun and they were holding hands, drawing more than a few stares. “She’ll come with us when we get our food. Aggie, are those beer bottles in the basket?”

“No,” she replied, crawling over to said basket. “They’re… my recyclables. Thought I’d drop them off on the way.”

Colin shook his head at her. “Mental, you are. And a really bad liar.”

“We should go,” said Jeremy. “Before the lines get long.”

“Okay.” Aggie tucked and rolled to her feet, brushing the stray grass off her legs. “Where are we eating, again?”

“There,” Colin said, pointing to a grassy ridge that rose in a slope behind the Green. “Best view of the town.” And far enough away from the crowds that no one would overhear them.

When all four of them were walking up the hill, food in hand, laughing and chatting, Colin glanced at Jeremy, leaned in close and said, “You checked your email yet?”

Jeremy swallowed hard, his grin evaporating, then shook his head.

“You should,” said Colin. “You should,” he added, before Jeremy could deny it. “You’re going to get it, Jeremy.”

“Okay,” Jeremy managed, but then they were sitting down, Aggie was cracking open a few bottles of beer, and they were digging through the picnic basket, howling with laughter at the scattered piles of fries, popcorn, iced buns, candy, and every kind of fried food imaginable.

When Rochelle and Aggie started telling Colin about everything that had happened that afternoon, Jeremy only heard half of it. Most of his brain was stuck in the ceaseless loop of should, of not being able to say, not in words that made sense, that he was shocked by how badly he wanted this, how badly he wanted a spot in the Symphony, to have a place, a seat, a music stand that was his own, here, in this country that was still new to him, still foreign, a home that felt like a hotel. He’d never felt like this, not about anything, he’d never had to swallow the fear of rejection, in part because it had never come up, in part because he’d never wanted something enough to care. But he cared, and he sort of hated that he cared. Should should should.

The food was good, at least.

“Robert caught you?” Colin was saying, his eyes as wide as saucers. “While you were—?”

“Yeah,” Rochelle grinned, because they could grin about it now.

As they kept talking, Jeremy just watched them, happy to keep to his food and listen. Sunset fell around them in a delicate shower of blood orange and pink, and down on the Green, Angus’s band started to play a lively, rambling tune. Strings of fairy lights switched on, bathing the Green in a pool of warm yellow light, and Jeremy felt something settle in his stomach, low and fond. Once again, he felt it — the pull of the island, the magic lingering under the dirt and the grass and the sea. Something deep but very near; dwelling, slumbering, but curling at the touch.

Then he looked up, and Colin was watching him, his blue eyes electric in the slanting rays of the sun. They stayed there for a moment, just like that, but then the corner of Colin’s mouth twitched and he dove back into the conversation, asking Rochelle to rehash every detail of what Robert had said.

“I can’t believe I missed all that,” Colin said, some time later, when the plates were empty, the beer bottles were on their way, and the picnic basket had been picked over. “But how was it? Giving the cross back to Guibert?”

Aggie winced and Jeremy bit his lip, caging a laugh. “Well,” she said. “We didn’t so much give it to him as we—”

“Threw it,” said Jeremy. “In the vague direction of his head.”

A hush fell. Rochelle and Colin stared at them.

“Yeah, we just.” Aggie cleared her throat. “We didn’t even get out of the boat, we just hollered and hollered until he showed his face, then we chucked the cross, turned the boat around, and high-tailed it back, didn’t we?”

“That,” said Rochelle, and Jeremy could hear the laughter threatening to burst out of her, “was a little—”

“Dramatic!” Jeremy half-shouted in Aggie’s ear an hour later, his hands fuzzy from the beer as he pointed to a couple stomping at each other in the middle of the dance floor.

She shoved him away. “Oh please, that’s just the Finnegans, they do that every week, you could set your watch to it—”

He frowned, still watching them. “They look like angry chickens.”

“Yes, dear.” Aggie patted him on the shoulder. Then, the music changed, and she latched onto him like a barnacle. “Oh my God, it’s the Sergeant! Colin!” she screeched, then appeared to pull him out of thin air. He frowned at her, his hair looking an absolute disaster, his face still flushed from the sun and the beer. “Colin! It’s the Sergeant! You have to!”

“No,” he tried, his voice lost in the shouts and claps of the other dancers. He looked horrified, like a man meeting his fate, as she dragged them with unsurprising strength onto the crowded dance floor. “No, Aggie!”

But it was too late. Another group of three had lined up across from them, and Jeremy could only stare, speechless, as Colin rolled his eyes and took Jeremy’s hand.

Then they were spinning, and all of Jeremy’s focus had zeroed in on the feeling of Colin’s rough, sweaty hand against his own, and he couldn’t stop smiling at the way Colin’s kilt flapped around his knees. He felt like he was in someone else’s body, someone else’s time, because then Colin was facing him, and they kicked at each other, then Colin’s arm was linking with his, and they spun, brief and fleeting, and then Colin did the same with Aggie, and then all three of them were skipping in a reel, breathless with laughter, and all Jeremy could think was—

Colin was a good dancer.

And he knew, Jeremy knew that this didn’t really count, they weren’t dancing together together, but they were still in public, people could see them, and Colin’s hand was tucked into his, his fingers squeezing Jeremy’s knuckles, and it was stupid and perfect and the night was fizzing under his skin, threatening to break loose. He was giddy with it, drunk on the air and the music and the crush of people, floating as he kicked and whirled, shouting with laughter when Aggie tried to spin him hard enough to fling him off the dance floor.

It was perfect. It was all perfect. The cross was back where it was supposed to be. The island was safe now. They’d solved the mystery of the book. Guibert would have food again, and supplies from the castle.

But it didn’t feel like an end. And it didn’t feel like a beginning. It was somewhere in the middle, and that made it so much better.

When the Sergeant finished and Jeremy slid off the dance floor, he made his way to the drinks table and grabbed a cup of ginger beer. As he chugged it, the bubbles bursting in his nose, he pulled out his phone and opened his email for the first time in several days.

For a split second, everything went quiet. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears, unsteady, thunderous. Then, when he turned off his screen, his hands shaking, the sound came roaring back in a deafening wave, all the shouts and the laughter and the music. He ditched his cup, turned, and went back the way he’d come, scanning the crowd.

He found Colin in moments. Aggie was with another girl — he realized a split second later it was Siobhan, the chief’s daughter, and they were clinging to each other and laughing like old friends. Like him, Colin was chugging a ginger beer, and Jeremy reached out to touch his arm.

“Colin,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to hear. “I checked my email.”

Colin’s eyes darkened and he gave a nod, tossing his cup into a nearby trash can. He took Jeremy by the wrist, his grip firm, unbreakable. He pulled Jeremy across the Green, past the crowds, then behind the abandoned competitors’ tent, which sat cold and dark at the edge of everything.

Colin paused, glancing over his shoulder at the deserted space around them, then he closed in on Jeremy, his golden medal glimmering briefly in the setting sun. “Well?” he said, his voice low.

Jeremy just looked at him, and he realized that so much of what he was feeling had nothing to do with the stupid email and so much to do with the person in front of him. Shit, he thought. “I got it,” he said instead. “Colin, I got it.”

It took a second, and Jeremy watched as it sunk in, as Colin’s face split into a blinding grin, and then Colin pulled him in for a sloppy, artless kiss, his teeth snagging on Jeremy’s lip, but he didn’t care, he almost couldn’t kiss back because he couldn’t stop smiling, and Colin was murmuring something, his hand tangled in Jeremy’s shirt—

“Knew it, bloody knew it— Ridiculous— you’re an idiot, you’re— brilliant—”

Giddy, his heart cracking from the weight of this stupid moment, Jeremy pulled Colin as close as he could get, and it still wasn’t close enough, but it would do for now. He didn’t have words for this, for any of it, but they didn’t need to talk. He lost himself in Colin’s mouth, Colin’s hands, Colin’s chest, his smile, his freckles, his chin, the way his nose twitched when he grinned— Jeremy lost himself in the feeling of this wild and perfect moment, and barely even noticed when up in the sky, fireworks began to explode.