They'll Paint You a Monster

Epilogue

Ember let out a surprised gasp, her muscles tensing in alarm— but she felt only the cool tiles of the workroom floor beneath her palms.

"What— just happened?" Seraphy grunted from beside her, pushing herself gingerly to her feet.

Ember only shook her head, feeling turned around. Somehow, the giant glass window she had been facing was now at her back, and instead of the bright, dazzling midmorning sun, the sky outside was nighttime dark and scattered with stars. It was dark in the workroom, too— the walls were covered in shadows, the only light spilling in through the open doorway behind them.

And Jean and Humor were nowhere to be seen.

"We're— we're still in the control station," Seraphy said slowly, as if not believing her own words. "This is the same room, but—" she looked around, searching for the others as well, but in vain.

"She did it," Ember murmured.

"She did what—" Seraphy glanced from Ember to the starry sky behind them. "Do you mean... Jean sent us through time? Did she open up another portal? How did she—" Seraphy paused and looked down at the sword still clutched in her hand. She rubbed her silver-blue bracer thoughtfully, a strange expression on her face. "I would have sworn he'd broken my bones with that gravity magic of his. That's the second time your sister has fixed my arm."

After another moment's indecision, Seraphy sheathed her sword.

"But what happened?" Ember asked, looking up at Seraphy with alarm. "Humor said it was him, that he made Conclave destroy magic and that he broke the gravity engine. And that Jean was going to help him do it again— do you think she stopped him? Do you think the Unraveling still happened?"

"I know one way we can find out," Seraphy said.

Ember stared at the Knight blankly.

Seraphy gestured to Ember's boots. "Try tapping your heels together."

Ember looked down at her feet and tapped her heels twice— and let out a gasp as she rose a few inches into the air. The magic boots Jean had made for her still worked. So magic still worked. Ember tapped them twice more and sank back to the floor.

"Well, that answers that question," Seraphy grinned.

"But where is Jean?" Ember frowned, turning in a quick circle, as if hoping to see Jean sprawled on the tiles nearby, like she had when they'd come through the first painting a week ago.

But Jean still wasn't there.

"We're not alone," Seraphy said more seriously. "There are voices coming from outside this room."

Ember grew still, listening— and then she could hear them too. The chatter of voices, talking normally, not shouting or arguing or crying. The clatter of walking footsteps. Seraphy crept silently to the door and peered around the edge of it, Ember close on her heels. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light.

On the other side of the door, the hallway of the control station was gleaming with brass chandeliers overhead and rich red carpet spread across the tiled floor. The group of people they had heard were just passing by, all of them pausing to look at one of the large, gold-framed paintings on the wall.

One of the members of the group, an older woman with a steel-gray bun, took a few steps away before gesturing to the painting. "This is one of our more modern acquisitions," she said, her voice loud enough to reach Seraphy and Ember in their hiding place, and clear despite the low background murmurs coming from other unseen groups. "One of the early works of Rivia de Mostrano, a painter who grew up on this very island. An architect as well as an artist, de Mostrano is celebrated for his eye for composition and contrast—"