Once Upon a Broken Heart (Once Upon a Broken Heart)

Evangeline tried to ignore the nearby whispers and the ever-present pit in her stomach. She was in the Magnificent North, home to her mother’s fairytales, surrounded by fantastic sights, and about to enjoy a dragon-roasted apple. But the murmurs were like villains at the end of a story. They just wouldn’t die.

“It’s her, I’d bet a dragon on it.”

“I read she kissed one of Prince Apollo’s friends last night—”

“Ignore them,” Marisol said, shooting an impressively scathing look over her shoulder toward the line of muttering people behind them. “They should know better to believe everything they read in the scandal sheets,” she added loudly.

And Evangeline loved her just a little then. Although much of what Kristof had written about her in that morning’s paper was accurate. She had been seen in a scandalous position with Jacks, he’d held her as if he’d wanted to kiss her, backed her up to a table, and then he’d painted her lips with his blood. Her stomach tumbled just at the thought.

Marisol had believed it all a lie as soon as she’d seen the paper, and Evangeline hadn’t corrected her. She’d simply tried to forget about it as she and Marisol had set off that morning to make the most of their time in the North by exploring a variety of spire shops. Her stepsister had sought Northern recipes and rare ingredients, while Evangeline had wanted to find the impossible things mentioned in her mother’s stories—like the dragon-roasted sticky apples they were waiting for now.

Her mother used to say that dragon fire made everything sweeter. Dragon-roasted apples were supposed to taste like true love. The queue for the treats was so intense, Evangeline and Marisol had been waiting nearly half an hour. All the while locals still chattered about Evangeline and her rumored kiss with Apollo’s friend.

A part of Evangeline was relieved that this was today’s gossip. It could have been so much worse. She’d left the party last night fearing her real kiss with Apollo had placed him under a spell. She’d been half-terrified she’d open the scandal sheets this morning and learn that something terrible had befallen the prince. But the only thing that had changed was her reputation, and the things people were saying weren’t even terrible. Still, they unnerved her.

She wondered again what Jacks was really after. She’d sensed a rivalry between Jacks and Apollo. But she didn’t understand why she would fit into that. Jacks had to want something from her kiss. But what?

Evangeline rubbed her wrist. Only two broken heart scars remained. The third had disappeared after last night’s kiss. Jacks had hinted he’d collect on another kiss tonight. But first he’d have to catch her, and this evening, she did not plan on being caught by him.

Avoiding the first night of Nocte Neverending was not an option. This morning’s rumors might have diminished her chances with Apollo, but Evangeline couldn’t bring herself to believe they’d ruined them. Something had happened between them when they’d kissed. The only question was, had the heat in Evangeline’s kiss with Apollo been a part of Jacks’s plan, or something he hadn’t expected? Evangeline didn’t know the answer, but she hoped to find Apollo again tonight and figure it out before Jacks found her.

“Salt! Get your salts and seasonings!” cried a vendor, pushing a heavy cart across the cobbled street. “Imported from the mines of the Glacial North. I’ve got sweet, I’ve got savory—”

“Evangeline, would you hate me if I left you alone?” Marisol gave the salt cart a longing look. “I’d love to take home some Glacial spices.”

“Go ahead,” Evangeline said. “I’ll grab you an apple.”

“That’s all right. I don’t actually want one.” Marisol was already backing away.

Evangeline sensed that although her stepsister was enjoying the North, she hadn’t quite gotten over her discomfort with all the little dragons.

“I’m still full from the goblin tarts we bought earlier,” said Marisol. “But you enjoy one! I’ll meet you back at the inn.”

Before Evangeline could argue, she was at the front of the line and Marisol was on her way to making her dreams of imported salts come true.

“Here ya go, miss.” The vendor handed Evangeline a smoldering apple on a stick, still sparking with dragon fire.

The outside of the apple was the caramelized color of gold, and when it finally cooled enough for Evangeline to bite, it tasted like hot, searing sweetness and Jacks—

Evangeline closed her eyes and cursed.

Suddenly, she didn’t want an apple anymore.

A pair of stray speckled blue dragons flew about her hands, and she gave them her treat as she started toward the climbing spire shops.

It was growing close to sunset. The sky was a haze of violet light and gray clouds that told her it was probably time to head back to her room at the Mermaid and the Pearls and dress for Nocte Neverending. But Evangeline wasn’t quite ready.

She and Marisol must have visited at least fifty stores that day, and there was one shop she was keen to revisit. Lost and Found Stories & Other Distinguishables. The storefront was tired and covered in faded paint, but when Evangeline had peered in the dusty window, she’d spied a book that had never found its way to a shelf outside of the North. The Ballad of the Archer and the Fox.

The story her mother used to tell her, the story that she’d never heard the true ending of. It had been such a thrill to spy the book until she’d also noticed the sign:

Gone for Lunching
Should Return Eventually

Unfortunately, it seemed eventually hadn’t happened yet. Evangeline now found the sign still nestled against the scuffed door. She knocked, in case the proprietor had returned and had just forgotten to remove the sign, unlock the door, and light any of the lamps. “Hello?”

“The door’s not going to answer back.”

Evangeline startled as she turned, noticing how dark the spires had grown, how night had overtaken twilight quicker than it should have. The soldier looming before her looked more shadow than man. She might have run if she’d not recognized the punishing bronze helm concealing all but his eyes, his waves of hair, and his striking cheekbones. He was the soldier who’d been guarding the arch last night. He’d jokingly called her a princess and charmed her just a bit. But tonight he didn’t seem so charming.

“Are you following me?” she asked.

“Why would I be following you? You planning on stealing the fairytales?” He said it as if it were a joke. But there was a predatory spark lighting his eyes, as if he wished that she were there to steal something so that she’d give chase and then he’d be able to hunt her down.

Covertly, Evangeline cast a look behind him, to see if anyone else was nearby.

The soldier made a soft tut tut tut. “If you’re searching for someone to help you, you won’t find it here. And you shouldn’t be here either.” His tone was unexpectedly concerned. But his presence continued to unsettle her as he lifted his head toward all the steps that now ended in errant banks of fog and the narrow bridges that disappeared into dark instead of storefronts. “The spires are not safe at night. Most of the people who get lost here don’t ever get found.” He nodded toward the door behind Evangeline.

On instinct, she turned. It was almost too dark to read the sign now, but she could see that it was weathered and worn, and from that moment on, she’d always wonder if it had been sitting on that door longer than just a day.

When she turned back around, the mysterious soldier was gone. And she did not wait to see if he would return. She hurried back along the closest set of downward steps, tripping on her skirts more than once.

She’d have sworn she’d been in the spire for less than an hour, but more time must have passed. The gas lamps had come alive, and the streets were thick with coaches, all carrying people to Nocte Neverending.

Marisol was already dressed when Evangeline finally reached their room at the inn.

Since Marisol loved baking, the empress had sent her a frothy gown with a scalloped, off-the-shoulder neckline and a double skirt that looked as if it were made of one layer of honey and one of pink sugar.

“You look as if you were born to attend balls,” Evangeline said.

Marisol beamed, appearing more radiant than she ever did in the south. “I’ve already set your gown out on the bed.”

“Thank you.” Evangeline would have hugged her stepsister, but she didn’t want to wrinkle her. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Evangeline tried to hurry. There wasn’t time to curl her hair with hot tongs, but she managed a quick waterfall braid, which she decorated with the silken flowers she’d purchased earlier that day.

Tonight, her dress was designed to mimic the flower trellis in her mother’s garden, where she’d saved Marisol’s wedding. But no one looking at her would think about that. The base of Evangeline’s bodice was nude silk, making her look as if she were wrapped in nothing but the crisscrossing cream-velvet ribbons that went to her hips. There, pastel flowers began to appear, growing denser until every inch of her lower skirts were covered in a brilliant clash of silk violets, jeweled peonies, tulle lilies, curling vines, and sprays of gold crawling paisleys.

“I’m ready—” Evangeline froze as she reached the sitting room, where Marisol stood statue-still as she clutched a sheet of black-and-white newsprint.

“Someone shoved it under the door,” Marisol squeaked, her white-knuckled fingers crinkling the edge of the page before Evangeline managed to extract it.