“You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t!” Lin whirled about to face him. Rufus’s eyes were liquid and pained, and his hands were trembling. After a moment, she added, softer, “So explain it to me. Please.”
“Remember when you found me in the mountains above Summerhill? That burrow was a fox’s den. He had me pinned and I knew I was dead. But then you came along, all noisy and stomping in your human way, and you scared him off.”
“Oh.” The silver scar on Rufus’s bad leg reached all the way from haunch to heel. “A fox did that?”
“I know I’m supposed to let all that go here in Sylver. But I’m not like the other Petlings. I can’t settle for waffles and tea and visits to the Observatory. What’s worse, I keep acting on my instincts, like some first-day fresher.” Rufus sighed. “Teodor has had my guts in a knot from the moment we met. But I shouldn’t have let that get in the way of our investigation. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for leaving you. It’s just . . . Up until tonight, you were always so big. Sometimes I forget that you’re not anymore.”
“I thought your old memories were fading,” Lin said. “That you are forgetting everything from before.”
Rufus looked crestfallen. “No! Not you. I remember everything about you. I’ve spent almost as much time up on that balcony as you have by the rosebush.”
Lin shook her head. Why were they quarreling when she really wanted to give Rufus a hug? She reached up and buried her fingers in the soft fur by his ear. “Then I think we should stop leaving each other,” she said.
Rufus’s whiskers perked up. “You’ve thought about my idea?”
“I’m still thinking.” Lin’s smile was quick. “But your logic makes sense. Disasters don’t occur every ninety-four years on the dot in time to fit with a Wandergate. There has to be another way.”
“Let me see that,” Rufus mumbled, taking Lin’s injured hand in his. The cut from the shard had stopped oozing blood, but it looked awful and hurt worse. “You climbed a chain with this? You’re no softie, Miss Rosenquist.” He winked at her. That was medicine as good as any.
“No,” she laughed. “I’m a lot harder than you’d think.”
“But not as hard as dung-covered rock!”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The lake was dark and free of snow, and Sylverings skated around the Wanderer’s reflection like silver moths circling. A cold breeze came sweeping over the ice to tug at the low houses along the Winderside shore. Lin and Rufus huddled by the outmost building of them all, the mead house called the Burning Bird, Rufus’s favorite.
“I told Doctor Kott to meet us here.” Rufus peered in through a window. “But I had no idea your cover would be blown so spectacularly. Everyone at the Observatory saw you. Someone might very well have made it here with news already.”
He was right, their careful route through Sylveros had cost them some time. Lin frowned at a Rodent with flaring pink ears who gesticulated eagerly to a group of Hoofs at the bar counter. Was he talking about her? Warning them that a Twistrose had been called?
“Then maybe we shouldn’t risk it,” she said wistfully. “Didn’t you say Figenskar is a regular here? I don’t want word to reach him that we came this way.” She would have loved to go inside. Laughter and fiddle tunes drifted out from the rose-painted booths, along with a lovely smell of savory pastries.
“Well, it’s true what they say,” Rufus muttered. “Rumors spread faster than fleas, especially here at the Bird.”
“What a gruesome name, the Burning Bird.”
“True, but it’s the best place for storytelling in all of Sylver. The name is taken from a legend about a screaming red bird, who flies through the heavens with wings on fire. If you betray someone, and the betrayal is horrible enough, the burning bird will come plunging out of the sky to die at your feet.”
“That is gruesome.” Lin cradled her injured arm. The cut throbbed viciously now.
Rufus saw. “Come on. I have an idea.”
He took her to the back of the building and into a storage room that smelled of old skates and sawdust. Yellow light spilled under a door on the opposite wall, highlighting a chopping block on the floor. Rufus barred the exit and blew life into a lantern on the rough block.
“Now, I really wish you didn’t have to wait here,” he whispered, listening at the entrance to the common room. “I wanted you to hear the seven Twistrose legends.”
“Eight,” Lin said. “Eight with the boy by the Red Cat. There’s another statue hidden in the lane outside.”
“There is?” Rufus wrinkled his brow. “I’ll have to take a look at that. I don’t think I’ve heard of an eighth Twistrose.” He laid a finger over his mouth and cracked the door open for a very quick moment, letting in a burst of loud voices and delicious smells. “All clear. I’ll just go right inside, fetch the doctor and the key to this door. But I won’t turn my back for a heartbeat. I promise.”
He snuck through. Just as the crack closed, a guitar chord strummed and a voice began to sing. It was a melancholy tune that rose from dark to light and ended in a deep sigh. Lin knew it immediately. “The Margrave’s Song.”
The Margrave wandered in woods winter-wild.
Stole through a gate for the heart of a child.
The boy gave to them his heart to devour.
A Winter Prince lost in the Wanderer’s hour.
Roses will wilt as the eve grows old.
Silenced and caught in the secret cold.
She drifted closer, shivering at the words. Did the singer know what she did? That the Margrave was not just a figure in an old song, but someone who this very night waited for Figenskar to bring him a child?
Lin took a quick step back. What had the wheezy voice said? The Soothsinger has sent a warning to the Vulpes of Lucke. He must not see the song. She stuck her hand into her boot, and there found a slim leather tube. The falcon message that Figenskar had intercepted.
With icy fingers she eased the letter out and unrolled it in the muted glow of the lantern. She had guessed right, this was “The Margrave’s Song.” But it was not the same verse Teodor had sung in the woods.
The Margrave hunted in riddles and lies,
Seeking his draught in the Child of Ice.
Thorns of gold through flesh and marrow,
Who then will suffer the death of a sparrow?
Stronger than Falcons and made of a child,
A Blood Lord wakes in the Winter Wild.
Below the song, the author had added a postscript in spindly letters.
My dear old Vulpes of Lucke. I know you have been searching for answers. This came to me in fitful dreams. It is a variation of “The Margrave’s Song,” the one sung by my grandmother many years ago. I believe the verses complement each other.
As always, the words of the prophecy are not mine to understand. But it seems to me that a new lord will be made on Wanderer’s Eve, one whose magic will be more powerful than we have seen since the last Starfalcon left. If I were you, I would keep a close watch on the Child of Ice.
Raymonda, Queen of Soothsingers
Lin stared at the letter. What was it the gramophone message had said? From the ashes of Operation Corvelie, a new lord will rise. The Margrave wanted to become this Blood Lord? And he wanted Isvan to make a draught of some sort? And who was this Vulpes? Had he taken Isvan?
The door opened briefly, and Rufus returned with the key. Sadly, he had brought no pastries, but he clutched a steaming mug. When he saw Lin by the chopping block, he cocked his head. “That’s promising. You’ve got your quizzy face on.”
Lin lowered the falcon message. “My what?”
“Your quizzy face. With the lifted chin. That you wear when you’re about to figure something out.”
“My father has a quizzy face. I don’t.”
Rufus laughed
and gave her the mug. “Here. Something to keep the cold at bay.”
The drink sparkled silver in the cup, and it tasted of cardamom and fireworks. After two sips Lin already felt much warmer. “This is wonderful!” she mumbled into the mug. “What is it?”
“Starmead. No one but the owner of the Burning Bird knows what makes it shine. The caravans buy it by the barrel. What have you got there?”
Lin handed him the parchment roll. “The message I found in Figenskar’s office. The one Teriko had tried to burn.”
Rufus twirled his whiskers as he read the song. “I don’t like all this talk of thorns and flesh and marrow. Lin, do you think there’s any chance this Child of Ice is not Isvan?”
They both jumped at the knock on the door, two quick raps first, then a third. Rufus rolled up the message swiftly. “That’ll be Doctor Kott.”
He opened up for a tall Feline with a large, black bag. “Now then, Rufus,” the doctor said as he stepped through, “what is the meaning of this?”
Rufus closed the door and turned the key quickly. “Sorry about the secrecy,” he said. “But at the moment it’s not . . . convenient for us to visit the Bird. Lin, take your hood off.”
“Quite,” the cat said at the sight of Lin’s face. “May I?” He pressed along the edges of her wrist wound, causing eels of pain to slither up her arm. “This requires stitches. How did it happen?”
Lin glanced at Rufus. She had no idea how much the doctor knew.
“Figenskar,” Rufus said darkly.
“Quite,” Doctor Kott said again as he washed the blood from Lin’s face and arm. “That man has a violent streak. I’ve heard him at the Red Cat. He has grand ideas about Feline excellence, and not so grand opinions of the Sylver Pact.”
“Figenskar is against peace among the clans?” Even after all that had happened at the Observatory, Rufus sounded shocked. The Sylver Pact was the foundation for Sylver’s way of life, the very first thing they taught freshers when they arrived.
“He claims it’s unnatural,” Doctor Kott said. “But I never thought he would go so far as to openly attack someone.”
“He didn’t,” Lin said. “Not openly.”
Doctor Kott poured a clear liquid into the cut. It stung, but the pain quickly dulled to a strange pressure. Then he threaded the needle.
It wasn’t the first time Lin needed stitches. She had three in her brow after she and Niklas tried to dive for emeralds in the Summerhill stream. That time there were local anesthetics and her mother to accompany her. And Niklas. “Not bad, Rosenquist,” he had said. “Are you sure you’re not that girl from your mother’s ballads after all?” Of course, after that, there was no way she could complain.
She didn’t complain now either. But she had to fight the urge to wrench her arm back and run as Doctor Kott poked the curved needle through her skin. The thread resembled spider legs creeping along the wound. “Tell me,” Doctor Kott said as he pulled a stitch tight. “Is Figenskar to blame for the blood on your face, too?” Lin grunted, concentrating to breathe.
Rufus stirred from his watch over by the door. “No, that happened earlier, in the Machine Vault. She just started bleeding during a demonstration. Do you have any idea what might have caused it?”
The doctor put a strip of blue lichen over the wound and wrapped it in a bandage. “There were no other symptoms?”
Lin winced. “I heard this loud sound that no one else seemed to hear. Right before. And my head hurt.”
“I’m afraid the anatomy of humans is not my strong suit,” Doctor Kott said, examining her nose and ears. “But I believe this is a case of magical otopathy.”
Rufus clicked his tongue. “Magical otopa-what?”
“Extreme sensitivity to magic, also known as magic ears, because of the symptoms. It is a rare and very coveted talent, especially in Wichtiburg. But if the magic is very powerful, or in some other way puts too much strain on you, it can cause bleeding and severe headaches.” He sighed as he packed up his tools. “The willow drops and withermoss should ease the pain in your wrist, but be careful. Stay clear of Figenskar while you are here. And more importantly: Stay away from whatever magic it is that makes you bleed.”
Rufus stepped aside, whiskers tight with worry. “Thank you, Doctor. We will try.”
Before he slipped out, the Feline paused at the door.
“You were right not to bring her inside. Apparently, the rimedeer are spooked, the Machine Vault nearly blew up, and Teodor just galloped up the Caravan Road as if a pack of Nightmares were on his heels. On top of which a human girl is rumored to be in town, which has everyone wondering if a Twistrose has been called. They’re rather worked up in there. Like I said: Be careful.”
A wave of excitement rose in the common room. At first, Lin thought someone must have seen the doctor come out through the door. But then she heard the footsteps, hop, scrape, hop, scrape across the floor, and a blaring voice, screeching through the din. “Blue and white! She is wearing blue and white, and hides her face in a hood. Has anyone seen her? Has anyone seen the thief?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lin and Rufus held their breath, watching each other, their faces pooled with shadows. But in the common room, no one spoke up to answer Teriko. It seemed Doctor Kott had no intention of betraying them. Rufus ghosted over to the door and turned the key in the lock. Lin thought the click sounded painfully loud.
“Now what,” she whispered.
“Well, my first choice would be to get you away from here as soon as possible.”
“I can’t just run!” Lin rubbed her forehead. Teriko’s cackles almost made her feel as if she were back in the cage. “I have a task to complete.”
Rufus nodded. “I know you do. So before we leave, we’re going to make a new plan. A better one.” He gave her the cup of starmead. “First, you can finish this. Then you tell me everything you found out one more time. It’s time for you to put on your quizzy face.”
Lin smiled at him over the rim of her mug. “Which I don’t have,” she whispered.
“Then bring your brain to the party, or do whatever it is your father always tells you.”
Quietly, so quietly, they placed all the scraps of papers, letters, and evidence on the chopping block. Rufus added wood chips for everyone they knew had been trying to find Isvan: Mrs. Zarka, who wanted him for her experiment; Teodor, who wanted him for the Wandersnow; Figenskar and the Margrave, who wanted him for their mysterious Operation Corvelie.
Rufus poked at the chip that represented the Margrave. “I wish we knew more about him, other than that he has a wheezy voice.”
He is my kin, Lin thought, at least according to Figenskar. But she said softly, “We know that he wants to become a Blood Lord, whatever that is. And that he wants to make an elixir.”
“Seeking his draught in the Child of Ice,” Rufus quoted from “The Margrave’s Song.”
Their eyes met over the chopping block. Out in the common room, Teriko screeched.
“At least they are all still searching for him,” Rufus whispered. “Let’s hope it means that none of them have him.”
Lin bent over the papers. “Let’s start with what we know.” She frowned at the illustration of Frostfang that Isvan had brought to the Machine Vault. “Isvan wanted this ax. Not just any ax, but this one, the one Lass had found on the Cracklemoor.”
Rufus twirled his whiskers. “Go on.”
“He went to great lengths to get it. First he tried at the Machine Vault, even though he must have been suffering in the heat down there, and even though Mrs. Zarka scared him so much that he panicked and knocked down Nit.”
“And don’t forget that he snuck into Teodor’s turret and vandalized a secret book to get this illustration.” Rufus shuddered. “That takes some serious motivation.”
Lin winked at him. “If you say so. Then, when Nit turned
him down, Isvan trespassed into the backyard of Lass the gatherer to steal the real ax. Twice he did that, even though Lass terrified him, too, and even though she would know he was the culprit.”
“Yes,” Rufus whispered. “So he wanted Frostfang. But why?”
“Well, Lass did say it’s an excellent weapon. And even better, it’s magical and can control ice.”
The door handle moved. Once, twice, harder, until the whole frame rattled. Lin’s breath caught.
“There’s nothing in there,” came Doctor Kott’s calm voice from outside. “Just skates and wood.”
“Skates and wood,” Teriko cawed. “And a little thief, maybe! Bring me the key to this door!”
“Quite. Give me a moment to unearth it,” Doctor Kott said. The rattling stopped.
Rufus put a finger under Lin’s chin and turned her face away from the door. “Forget about the parrot,” he said very softly. “Think about Isvan.”
Lin let the air in her lungs out. She nodded. Isvan. Isvan sitting in his windowsill. Isvan sneaking into Lass’s backyard. Isvan at his lonely table outside the Waffleheart.
She picked up the Waffleheart receipt where Pomeroy had scribbled down the date of Isvan’s last visit: October third. “The waffles,” she said. “Isvan ordered fifteen rounds of waffles!”
Rufus scratched his ear. “Now you’ve lost me.”
“I don’t think anyone has taken Isvan.” Lin swept the wood chips aside. “I think he left. The waffles were provisions for the road.”
“To go where?”
Lin tapped the page she had ripped out of The Book of Frost and Flame. “Listen to this: ‘The ax, which bears the name Frostfang, is not only a most powerful weapon of defense. It also unlocks the sacred Winterfyrst Well.’” She lifted her chin. “That’s why Isvan needed Frostfang. Not as a weapon, but as a key. Isvan went to hide in the Winterfyrst Well.”
Rufus snickered softly. “You want one of those points now, don’t you, Miss Rosenquist?”
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