Jacob took her hand and put the ball in it.
The gold gleamed as if it had been cast from the sun itself. "You're trusting the wrong Fairy."
"You have to polish it," he said. "Until you can see yourself in it as clearly as in a mirror."
Then he left her alone and entered the crumbling ruin. Will would want to see Clara's face first. And they lived happily ever after. Unless the Dark Fairy had deceived him, as her sister had.
Jacob pushed aside the ivy that covered the entrance to the tower. He looked up at the sooty walls and remembered how he had climbed down for the very first time on a rope he'd found in his father's study. Where else?
The skin over his heart was still sore, and he felt the imprint of the moth like a brand under his shirt. You paid the price, Jacob, but what did you get in exchange?
He heard Clara's suppressed cry.
And then another voice spoke her name.
Will's voice hadn't sounded so soft in a long time.
Jacob heard whispers. Laughter.
He leaned against the wall, which was black with soot and damp with the cold caught between its stones.
It was over. The Fairy had kept her promise. Jacob knew it even before he pushed through the ivy again, before he saw Will standing next to Clara. The stone was gone, and his brother's eyes were blue, only blue.
Go, Jacob!
Will let go of Clara's hand. He looked at him, stunned, as Jacob stepped out from between the walls, but there was no rage on his brother's face, no hatred. The jade-skinned stranger had disappeared, though Will was still wearing the gray uniform.
He went up to Jacob, his eyes fixed on his chest as if he could still see the blood gushing out after the Goyl's bullet hit him, and then he hugged him, clutching him hard as he used to when they were children.
"I thought you were dead. And I knew it couldn't be true."
Will.
He stepped back and looked at Jacob as if to make sure there was nothing missing.
"How did you do it?" He pushed back the gray sleeve and touched his soft skin. "It's gone!"
He turned to Clara. "I told you Jacob would figure it out. I don't know how, but he always could."
"I know." She smiled, and in her eyes Jacob saw everything that had happened.
Will touched his shoulder where the saber had cut the fabric. Did he know that the stains were his own blood? No. How could he? It was pale Goyl blood.
He had his brother back.
"Tell me everything." Will took Clara's hand.
"That's a long story," Jacob replied. And he would never tell it to him.
Once upon a time, there was a boy who set out to learn the meaning of fear.
For a moment Jacob thought he could see a trace of gold in his brother's eyes, but that was probably just the pupils catching the morning sun.
"Take him away. Far away."
"Look at this! I'm richer than the Empress! What am I saying? Richer than the King of Albion!" Gilded hair, gilded shoulders — even Jacob had trouble recognizing Valiant. The gold stuck to him like the sticky, foul-smelling sap the tree had always discharged over Jacob.
The Dwarf pranced past Will without even noticing him.