“I say we go and fight them!” Nate declared. “The both of them! We have the weapons, the fighters. We can—”
“Do no such thing,” Woolever counseled. “That would break the truce Fledge negotiated with Torin. We cannot risk it. Doone’s not worth it.”
“Not worth it!” Nate exploded. “He’s a murderer. He’ll stop at nothing to get Beau and Cressi and take over the Land!”
“Not if he has power where he is,” Parvenue replied.
“That’s true,” Hugo agreed. “And our scout did report that Torin has given Doone an entire village to rule.”
“I agree. Our pact with Torin means too much to him,” Beau added. “I can’t see what makes it worthwhile for Torin to forfeit the steady supply of Cressi’s healing charms we’re providing them. I don’t like it any more than you do, but I do think we are safe from them both.”
“For now,” Cressi added.
“I want Doone punished,” Nate said. “I want him to pay!”
“We do too. But the people of the Land deserve some peace,” the cordwainer said. “The fever victims are all well mended now. We have our lives, our families, and our safety back. He’s gone. We have to let that be good enough.”
Nate threw his hands up in resignation. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said to Beau and Cressi. “I need some air.”
Beau waited until Nate had gone before he turned to the other council members. “Even given this news, I think we continue as planned. Please know I have the utmost faith in my surrogate. He will serve the Land well and faithfully. He always has.”
“It doesn’t seem right for you to go,” Jakers said.
“I think it’s more than right,” Beau replied. “Given Doone and Torin’s alliance, it’s past time we find new allies beyond our borders, discover new ways to protect ourselves, new weapons before our enemies do and use them against us. And it’s time I go too.”
“You’ll take some of our scouts with you. Gerta insists.” Hugo moved for the door. “I’ll get them ready.”
“No,” Cressi said. “We’ll be fine. Leave them here where they’re needed the most.”
“Gerta won’t like that,” Hugo warned.
“She’ll get used to it,” Beau laughed. “Look at everything else she’s grown accustomed to.”
“You’ll send word as often as you can?” the cordwainer asked.
“Of course,” Cressi replied. “Beau will be recording every moment, I can guarantee you that.”
“Very well then.” Woolever nodded a small bow. “By the Goodness of All, safe travels to you.”
After a hearty round of handshakes and even a few hugs, Beau and Cressi left the council room.
Two steps out the door and Beau already felt lighter, easier. Younger. Who knew what waited for them on the other side of the sea, but he couldn’t wait to find out.
“There’s only one last thing to do then,” Cressi said.
Beau nodded.
Of all the goodbyes he had to make, this one would be the hardest.
They found Nate waiting for them by the front door, whispering conspiratorially into Pervis’s ear before sending him running off.
“You weren’t telling him where to find other veils, were you?” Cressi scolded. “He already scared the life out of Lula when she couldn’t find him yesterday.”
Nate shrugged innocently as the three friends headed out to the front lawns.
“You’re a terrible influence,” Cressi continued. “You know that?”
“Of course I do.” Nate smiled. “It’s my job.”
Cressi and Nate continued teasing and taunting each other all the way to the stables but stopped short of the entrance.
“Do you want to go in alone?” Cressi asked Beau.
“Of course not.”
Keb and Boz were posted outside the door, as they always were these days. Even though Fledge told them daily they didn’t have to be there, they refused to stand down. Beau and everyone else knew their loyalty wasn’t actually directed at Fledge, but as long as Anka and Fledge were together, Keb and Boz would be nearby.
Beau had been coming to see Fledge every day since the master of the stables returned home to a hero’s welcome after forging the treaty with Torin. But Fledge had been in such terrible condition he barely had the strength to enjoy it. How unfair it was that after walking straight into the enemy camp and boldly striking a deal, it was a panther attack on the way home that had almost cost Fledge his life.
Almost. But thanks to Cressi’s brews, he’d been slowly regaining his strength, and he was beginning to walk with the help of a cane. He still had some bad days, but today, it appeared, was not one of them.
“You look good,” Beau exclaimed, rushing to his friend’s side.
“And you look like a poor excuse for a liar, all three of you do.” Fledge smiled. “Sit down and tell me the news.”
Anka brought in a tray of strawberry hand-pies and some tea while Beau told Fledge about Doone.
“Are you certain that leaving now is the right choice?” Fledge asked.
“We are,” Beau said. “He won’t be expecting it, and we’ll be long gone before word of our departure ever reaches him.”
Beau shrugged out of the heavy velvet robes and laid them across the back of a chair. “These are yours now.”
“Only until your return.” Fledge looked at Beau, Cressi, and Nate, his lips pursed tight. But his look wasn’t one of hesitation or fear. It was contentment, pure and simple, woven through with pride.
After several rounds of long, warm hugs the trio left Fledge’s quarters and headed back to the Manor to pack for their journey.
It was only once he was back in his mother’s room to gather his things that Beau finally knew how to end The Histories.
It couldn’t end in a period—it needed something less definite. It needed a question, a prompt, a dare to those who one day might read his account.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned by living through this piece of history,” Beau wrote, “it’s that in order to live, to thrive, to win the day, you have to be willing to follow fate where it leads, trusting you are exactly who and where you need to be.
“So then the only question left to ask is: Where will you let the truth take you?”
Acknowledgments
Like many books, this one took a long time to make its way out into the world. Writing, rewriting, editing, and then doing it all over again took long enough for some readers of this book to have gone from kindergarten into middle school. But in a lot of ways this book took even longer still. Don’t ask me why, but I ran away from writing for a long time. It was hard. It was lonely. And mostly I wasn’t as good as I wanted to be. So I left it. Found other outlets. I had a couple of interesting careers, started a family. But writing was always there, sitting on my shoulder, reminding me I had stories to tell. A move out of the city and into the country, where it was quiet, sometimes too quiet, left me with far fewer distractions and the wherewithal to finally sit down and get to work.
With this work now done, I am so grateful to be able to thank those who’ve guided, inspired, and bolstered me along the way.
I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t met Christine Heppermann, and then hadn’t been pushy enough to make her my friend. Thank you for the chance to thank you.
Rebecca Ansari and Phoebe North are immensely talented writers who I’m lucky enough to call my friends, support system, and part-time therapists. Thank you for holding my hand when I need it. I couldn’t have asked for two better guides through this new and wonderous terrain.
Thank you so much to the brilliant HV writers Ann Burg, Julie Chibarro, Lesa Cline-Ransome, Jocelyn Johnson-Kearney, Stephanie Tolan, and Virginia Ewer Wolff, who welcomed me into their ranks and make me feel at home.
Nan Gatewood Satter has been generously sharing her wisdom with me for a long time now. There are not enough cups of coffee in the world to thank her properly.<
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Although in very different arenas, both Peter Lerangis and Peter Nathan gave me the encouragement and confidence to keep going, for that I am incredibly grateful.
Thank you to the remarkable writer friends I’m so fortunate to be surrounded by: Erika Ely Lewis, Leah Glennon, Jennifer Mazi, Gail Upchurch, Janna Wallack-Cohen Kowan, and my 21der pals. You inspire me.
To Linda Oehler-Marx, Jane Dunkel Hernandez, and June Wheeler, thank you for always cheering me on.
Maia Rossini has been my friend, endless source of culinary inspiration, and generous sounding board for a long time—I can’t wait to see what we cook up next.
To my brilliant Atlantic Theater Company family who’ve been inspiring me since those summers in Vermont so, so long ago. I love you all.
David and Shirley aren’t here to read any of this, but they’re here in every page of this book.
Thank you to my sisters, Dara and Kari Wishingrad, and to my sister of the heart Kate Blumberg, who told me to write that none of this would have been possible without her. She’s probably right.
To Laura Ruby, a remarkable writer and teacher, thank you for your guidance and faith.
To Anne Ursu, weaver of beautiful tales, generous cheerleader, and fairy godmother, thank you for believing.
So much gratitude to Laura Mock, whose beautiful design has brought the world of the book to life. To Laura Harshberger for wrangling my over-exuberant use of commas and em dashes, and Alison Brown for ushering this book into the world. Infinite thanks to Emily Zhu and Lauren Levite for their work promoting and marketing this book. I am so grateful to you both. Júlia Sardà is a genius, and I am incredibly honored to have her gorgeous artwork adorning the cover.
To Victoria Marini, as fierce and brilliant an agent as there could ever be. I’m as lucky as they come to have her in my corner.
I am forever grateful to my magnificent editors, both charmers in their own right. Megan Ilnitzki believed in this book from the start. And Toni Markiet, whose wisdom and insight cut straight to the heart of this story, knew what it could become and exactly how to help me get there. Thank you for sharing your magic with me!
Owen and Oona are the brilliant humans who own my heart, who keep me honest, and always learning. And lucky for me, they’re both fantastic sounding boards who have helped me fill in many plot holes.
And finally, nothing would have been possible without Dan, who has held the gates open all this time, while I followed this long and sometimes twisting path. Thank you for your ever-faithful trust. Here’s to continuing to follow winding paths and seeing where they lead.
About the Author
Photo by Kimberly Silvia Hall Photo
ALYSA WISHINGRAD once had a different career, working in theater, film, and TV, but nothing could be better than building worlds for middle grade readers. When she’s not writing, she’s probably out walking the dogs or seeing as much theater as she possibly can. Alysa lives in the Hudson Valley of New York with her family, three cats, and two demanding dogs.
The Verdigris Pawn is her debut novel. Visit her at www.alysawishingrad.com.
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Copyright
THE VERDIGRIS PAWN. Copyright © 2021 by Alysa Wishingrad. Pawn illustration © 2021 by Shutterstock. 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.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2021 by Júlia Sardà
Cover design by Laura Mock
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Digital Edition JULY 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-290807-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-290805-6
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2122232425PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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