“We’ll never make it past the docks,” the fox Gidea said. Her injured eye was covered with a bandage, but the other held cold resignation. “We have no troll’s bane. That evil witch Rafsa torched every oak tree within a hundred miles.”
“The skullbeaks will get us if we go by day,” Castine said, never looking up from her whittling. “They’ll peck our hearts out in moments.”
Too had tucked in her tail. “And if the dark vine is everywhere . . .”
“Even if we got through all that,” a badger said, “at the top of the Frothcliff road, the drawbridge would still be up. The Nighthouse can’t be taken.”
Odar nodded grimly. “I know. But we still have to find a way.”
Niklas noticed how the raccoon didn’t use the word impossible.
“I know a way.”
Everyone turned toward the voice. It came from the corner where Kepler sat huddled under his cloak. “Actually, it’s more of a staircase up the cliffs above the Frothsea, across the fjord. It leads directly into the castle.” He coughed. “I found it last spring.”
Odar showed his teeth, but it wasn’t exactly a smile. “You want us to believe you crossed the Kolfjord? On your own?”
Kepler came up to the long table. “The fjord has changed since last winter. When the tide is out, a narrow bridge of sand rises from the water.” He drew a line at the mouth of the fjord.
Castine put down her carving iron. “But Kepler, why would you go there? Of all ridiculous risks to take, you—”
Kepler lifted his hand to silence her. “Because when I was out breaking Odar’s no raiding rule, I overheard the trolls talking. The Sparrow King has a secret prisoner. One he won’t lose for anything in the world. One that would destroy ‘the great plan’ if he escaped.”
Niklas glanced at Secret. Rafsa had mentioned both a prisoner and a plan in the barracks. They had assumed she meant Kepler, but could there be another?
Kepler reached behind the counter and brought out the painting he had been hiding there since the beginning of the meeting. It was the portrait of Marcelius the gardener. Kepler’s hero. The dark brown weasel now carried a pair of garden shears, which Kepler must have added while they were visiting the Greenhood. “That’s why.”
“You can’t believe it’s him?” Castine twisted her fingers. “Marcelius died in the Breaking.”
“I don’t know for certain it’s him,” Kepler said. “But I don’t care either, so long as rescuing the prisoner will ruin the Sparrow King’s plan.” He looked around at all the Brokeners. “Low tide is at the half-morning mark. The skullbeaks will be watching, but a few of us could make it. Two raiders, three at the most.”
Odar’s nostrils flared. “The stairs lead into the castle, and no one is guarding it? That doesn’t sound like the Sparrow King to me.”
“He might not know about it. It’s very hard to find.” Kepler’s eyes burned bright. “I didn’t go inside, because the tide was coming in. But I meant to go back as soon as I found someone dedicated enough to come with me.”
“You mean crazy enough.” Odar’s voice was calm, but he loomed over Kepler like a storm cloud. Castine looked utterly betrayed. She wore a brim-eyed face that could cut your heart in half.
Kepler didn’t notice. “I mean someone who cares more about Broken than someone else’s rules. Someone who is not too scared to risk their own skin.” His eyes flicked to Niklas. “Someone brave enough.”
No one spoke; the air in the common room felt static. Niklas felt the weight of everyone’s stare, especially Secret’s. He cleared his throat. “I have something to say.”
Muttering and whispers gathered under the beams like smoke.
Niklas couldn’t hear all of it, but he picked out the words not a Twistrose.
“That’s true,” he said above the din. “I’m not a Twistrose. No one called me. I just stumbled through the mountain, and ever since I got here, I’ve been trying to fix my own problems. The thing is, my problems and your problems come from the same root. Because my mother was Erika Summerhill.” The whispers died out, and Niklas’s voice sounded awfully loud and alone. “I’m the son of the Thornghost.”
There. It was out. No way back, and no escape, either, if the Brokeners decided to turn against him.
In the corner of his eye, Niklas saw Secret edge closer, ready to protect him.
But no one lifted a paw. No one even snarled or said an angry word. Instead Odar laughed, of all things. “You humans with your old wars and grudges,” he said, stroking his whiskers. “You thought we would care about that? It wasn’t you who failed Jewelgard, Niklas. So Erika Summerhill happens to be your mother. That doesn’t mean she guides your hand or makes your choices.”
“You don’t hate me for being her son?”
Heads shook around the room. Too even smiled at him, and Kepler’s eyes were liquid and dark. But it was Secret’s face he looked for. Was this honest enough for her?
She squinted and looked away.
Niklas let out his breath. “Then I think that Secret and I should go with Kepler to the Nighthouse.”
• • •
Morning would come swiftly, and there was no telling when. So the three secret raiders waited in the common room for the right time to enter the garden.
Secret climbed up under the rafters, and soon she snored softly above their heads. Kepler lay curled up in a chair by the fire. He couldn’t seem to get warm enough, and he shivered in his sleep.
Niklas and Odar stayed up a while longer, poring over the map.
“Jewelgard had no wall or defensive works,” Odar explained. “We had always been protected by the land itself: the peaks, the fjord, and the magic of the earth. There were trolls in the mountains, sure, but they were made for darkness and deep caves, not a sundrenched valley. They could never take Jewelgard to hold. Not unless they had an ally. Someone to rule by day.”
“The Sparrow King,” Niklas said.
Odar nodded. “And his skullbeaks. They showed up a few weeks after the Breaking. Three at first, then more and more until the sky went dark with bones.”
The embers in the fireplace crackled, and Kepler buried his snout in his arms with a little cry. Niklas felt sick at the thought of dragging him back into the Nightmares’ reach. He could only hope he was doing the right thing.
“All those names in the Book of Twistrose,” he said. “They were chosen.”
“That is true.” Odar nudged at the magnifying stone. “The Rosa Torquata chose them because they were somehow suited for their task. When your mother was picked, the news spread like dandelion seeds all over Jewelgard. The creator of Rafsa would return to bring the troll witch down. Sebastifer became a hero then. Never mind that he was a fresher who did nothing but sit and carve images of his girl. Everyone wanted to shake his paw. An honor guard went with him to the canyon to wait. He couldn’t stop talking about this wonderful girl who had saved him from the shotgun. He was convinced she would save us all.”
“But she never came.”
“No. The gate withered day by day. The honor guard left to help defend the city. Only Sebastifer remained in that canyon. He refused to give up.”
Niklas thought about Erika’s entry in the Book of Twistrose, marked by the shameful Thornghost name. Sebastifer must have been so heartbroken. “Even if she had answered the call, what could she have done against an army of trolls?”
Odar scraped at the red jewel that marked off the Ruby Inn. “Your mother knew Rafsa better than anyone, and she knew how to fight trolls. But I believe most of the magic lies in the legend itself. People expect the Twistrose to be able to save them. If she had come, many more Jewelgarders would have chosen to stay and fight instead of fleeing the city. We might have stood a chance.”
“That’s what Kepler believes,” Niklas said. “You need a hero to lead, and the rest will find their
courage.”
“Instead of putting all our faith in some legend, we should have found a way to fight them off. We had teeth and claws and heart. That’s not nothing.” Odar sighed. “But Kepler is wrong. Hero or no, forty-one souls against a troll army isn’t courage. It’s crazy.”
Niklas nodded at the chair where Kepler slept. “Do you think he’s strong enough for the raid?”
Odar grunted. “In all my years here, I’ve never met a more stubborn lad. He knows you need him to find the right cove. He won’t fail you if you don’t fail him.”
Niklas winced. “Maybe I’m the one who is crazy for volunteering. You heard the other Brokeners. I’m not a Twistrose. The Rosa didn’t pick me. I came here uninvited.”
“But you came. Sometimes you have to choose yourself.”
Over by the fire, the whimpers had stopped. Though the ferret kept his eyes shut, Niklas thought that he was listening, too. “How?”
“Can you think of any reasons that you may be suited for this task?”
“Because my mother was a Thornghost and I should make up for what she did.”
“No. Why you are suited for this task.”
Niklas shrugged. “Unless you count by Secret’s impossible standards, I am good at sneaking.”
“And?”
“I know Rafsa, and I know how to fight trolls.”
“Even better,” said Odar. “You’re willing to risk your life for the sake of others. You proved as much when you went into those barracks to save Kepler.”
“And that makes me a Twistrose?”
“No.” Odar placed the magnifying stone over the Nighthouse. “It makes you perfect for a task with no hope.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
In the small, stretched hours, somewhere between waking and sleep, Niklas curled up in a dark cage. The sound from Kepler’s pen in the barracks whispered by his ear.
Drip, drip, drip.
He knew he had to stay asleep and stay quiet. If the sound of his heartbeat got too loud, they would hear. His arm burned where Rafsa had marked him, and when he peered out through his lashes to look, his skin glowed with magic. But it wasn’t the break rune anymore. It was an eye inside a square.
Awake.
Niklas opened his eyes.
He was in Sorrowdeep.
In the middle of Sorrowdeep and so cold.
He saw his mother. Twelve years old and the captain of a small rowing boat. Anders was there, too, and Peder Molyk. Sebastifer at the bow, barking hard. Wedged between them was the cage. They were sinking.
The little boat foundered fast. The children scooped water over the gunwale, all of them crying, until there was no gunwale anymore, just a pale frame in the dark water. They were all in the lake, and Sebastifer’s barks turned to yips as he treaded the water fast, fast. The boys splashed around in panic first, then made for land. But Erika wasn’t with them. She was below, deep under. Her pale hair billowed as she clawed at something on the bottom of the lake. Something heavy, something impossible to shift.
The cage.
Bubbles rose in frantic streams from Erika’s mouth and from between the bars, but they grew smaller in size now, and farther between. She had no breath left, but Erika wouldn’t let go. She kept tugging, kept wriggling.
Pearls of air clung to her lashes as her hands slowed.
A shadow came from above and stuck his snout under her arms, jolting her into action, pushing her up toward the splintered moonlight.
Erika kicked and kicked.
When she broke the surface of Sorrowdeep, she was alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and packed his things into his satchel. Might as well bring everything. Chances were they wouldn’t come back here.
“Make sure you get some bread, too.” Secret melted down from her beam. The smell of fresh baking wafted out from the kitchen.
Niklas smiled. “Wouldn’t go without.” He would have to learn how to make that bread if they made it back home. When, he told himself. No point in inviting the bad luck.
“What was it about?” Secret said. “The nightmare?”
Niklas closed the lid of his satchel. He must have been thrashing in his sleep, then. “Oh, the usual. Sorrowdeep. Drowning. Mixed with some nice troll runes this time.”
Secret tilted her head. “You’re scared, and with good reason. I don’t need dreams to tell me this won’t end well.”
Niklas shrugged, but the image of the pearly air slipping up through the dark water jostled its way into his head and left his fingers clammy. At the threshold Secret stopped and flicked her ear back. “You can only be brave if you’re scared in the first place, cub. Come on. Kepler is waiting for us.”
• • •
Dawn trickled through the leaves of the Rosa Torquata, promising a gray day. Lucky: It might make it easier to escape the hollow eyes of the skullbeaks. Kepler had made a big fuss out of Secret’s fur, and she had grudgingly agreed to wear a drab cloak to hide it.
She pulled it on now, one whisker short of pouting, when Castine called behind them, “Wait.”
The squirrel stood on the steps to the Second Ruby clutching something in her paws. “I can’t let you go to the Nighthouse without these.” She held out two small discs, each fastened at the end of a leather cord. They were carved from wood and painted in mist blue, dark rust, and gold. She opened the lid. Even in the wan light, Niklas could see what they represented: a boy and a lynx.
Medallions.
She approached Niklas first. The medallion settled against his chest, heavier than he had expected, but also oddly comforting. The lynx’s ears were the tips of diamond apple spikes, and flecks of jet patterned her fur. Castine was the one who seemed to hate his mother the most, but from her tired eyes, Niklas guessed she had stayed up all night to finish these. He smiled at her. “I didn’t think the human got one. Thank you.”
She smiled back. “It was Sebastifer who gave me the idea, once upon a time. He couldn’t carve for the life of him with his dog paws, but he showed me how to pour the love into the wood. I never got to give him a medallion. He would want you to have one instead.”
Then it was Secret’s turn. She lifted her paw to study her medallion. The boy’s face within the lid was mostly blank, but the sapphire eyes and mop of dark hair definitely belonged to Niklas.
“I didn’t have time to do the features,” Castine said. “I’ll finish it when you return. So see that you do.”
For the first time, Niklas felt the sting of the medallion. It was like an extra heartbeat that planted a feeling in his chest. Gratitude. “You’re very kind.” Secret shut the lid and looked away. “Maybe you can make a new one for Kepler first.”
Castine frowned at the ferret, who stood by the fountain. Petals drifted down around him, some landing in the water, and he watched them drench and dissolve. “They broke his Marti,” Secret said.
“Okay.” Castine sucked in a deep breath. “Just keep him safe if you can.”
Kepler was supposed to keep them safe, Niklas thought, or as safe as they could be, headed for the Sparrow King’s nest. But as he watched their guide ease his weight over to his injured leg, he knew that Castine was right. “All he needs to do is show us the stairs, and we’ll do the rest,” he promised.
Castine nodded and skipped back to the steps, where Odar and Too had come out through the door with the scent of aniseed. Kepler stirred, nose twitching. “That’s enough for good-byes,” he said. “Let’s go before the other Brokeners show up, too. And before . . .” He pointed vaguely at the thousands of thorns around them, each sharp enough to slice through bone. There was no need to add the rest.
• • •
They chose a different path through the garden this time, staying on the seventh circle among the pear and plum trees until they reached the far en
d of the valley, near the left bluff. There they carved their way down to the fjord, struggling along the tall stone fence that marked the border. The banks were so thick with dark vine that they often had to double back to find another way.
But Kepler brought them down to the shore without once coming near the enemy or exposing them to the pale sky.
“What is that smell?” Niklas crinkled his nose as they crawled to the edge of the fjord. The wind reeked of salty sulfur. “Not trolls, I hope?”
Secret snorted. “No, that’s the smell of low tide. Morning breath of the ocean.”
Obviously lynxes got to travel more than farm boys. He felt a sting of jealousy. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been there, in the cold months. The water is poison. Not good if you want to live.”
Right in front of them, the causeway formed a crescent across the bay. It measured maybe ten yards across and was littered with seaweed that stretched out on the sand, limp and oozing.
Mysterious prisoner or no, Niklas couldn’t believe Kepler had gone out there alone. How did he know that there was something to find on the other side?
“Have you done this many times?”
“Just the once.” Kepler’s voice came out clipped, as if he had trouble squeezing air out of his lungs. He glanced up at the sky. “Morning has flowed faster than I had hoped. We have to go, or we’ll be caught out there.”
The ocean licked at the bank from both sides, lifting the seaweed as it foamed past. The sand was so drenched, it felt wobbly. Their feet made shallow marks that filled with water as they darted along the causeway. Suddenly Secret tugged them to a stop. “Don’t move,” she said in the very calm way that Niklas had learned meant deadly danger. They pulled down the hoods of their sand-colored cloaks.
“What?” Niklas whispered. Secret glanced upward. The Nighthouse loomed atop the cliff, wreathed in wisps of fog. A skullbeak was circling the dome. Now it banked out over the fjord, hollow scream rising as it came closer.
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