Winterkeep

by Kristin Cashore

  Oh! she said. Your siblings! What a coincidence. That’s—nice, isn’t it?

  She has more than seven secret foxes, the fox blurted out.

  She does? said Bitterblue. How many?

  I don’t even know, the fox said, almost wailing. She keeps them everywhere! At the academy, the Keep, the Cliff Farm, the Varanas’ airship hangars. And they’re all so obedient!

  Goodness, said Bitterblue. She’s more of a force than I realized. Well. Is that such a bad thing, for them to be obedient?

  Maybe it’s not a bad thing if your person isn’t a monster, the fox said gloomily. It’s a luxury I’ve never had.

  I expect Quona is much more compassionate to foxes than Ferla Cavenda was, said Bitterblue sympathetically. And certainly more fun. You, my fox, have had to be a hero. That’s much harder.

  There was a long pause, during which Bitterblue examined the street, bustling with shops and vendors and small, noisy children. It was quite a smelly place, really. Fishy.

  Fox? she said, suddenly thinking of it. If your siblings have names, does that mean you have a name too?

  Yes, he said.

  What is it? May I call you by it?

  There was a longer pause. My name is Adventure Fox, he said. Adventure, for short. My siblings call me Ad.

  That’s an excellent name, said Bitterblue. Thank you.

  This was followed by the longest pause of all. Then the fox spoke in an almost inaudible voice. I don’t deserve to be called by my name. I’m not a hero.

  What? Whyever not?

  Because I did something terrible.

  She’d been right, then.

  It was objectively terrible, he said. You’ll never think well of me again.

  Suddenly, instantly, Bitterblue guessed what was coming. She’d wondered about this, like the tiniest light paw touching her mind with curiosity, doubt. Now she took careful control of her thoughts and reactions so that the fox couldn’t feel them. Why don’t you tell me what it is, she said, and let me decide?

  The fox had stopped. He was crouched under a short staircase that rose to a shop door and he was pressing himself to the wood siding of the shop, trembling. It was hard to resist the urge to crouch down, pull him out, sit on the stoop, and settle him into her lap, soothing him like a cat. This fox had comforted her when she’d been desperate. He’d risked his own safety to keep her safe.

  Instead, Bitterblue climbed the stairs to the shop, because that would look normal to passersby. She shot a glance at Mart and Ranin, warning them not to follow. Then, stepping inside, she pretended to muse over rows and rows of what turned out to be pastries.

  Go on, she nudged.

  His voice got even quieter. I sort of, more or less, murdered Ferla Cavenda, he said. More, not less. I tripped her. Then I choked her. She was going to hurt you, and maybe Lovisa too.

  Well. That was it, then. And it was more awful to hear than she’d expected, because tripping and choking were no small thing to imagine him doing. They were violent. Shocking.

  But how different were they, really, from framing someone in a court of law, if the results were the same? And what would she have done, if she’d been a fox?

  Oh, it was all such a mess, the things people did to each other, and the decisions that had to be made.

  Why did you decide to tell me? Bitterblue asked.

  Because you think I’m honorable and helpful and true, he said in a voice like crying. I want you to see who I really am, even if that’s the most terrible fox in Winterkeep.

  The Cavenda house created the same illness in everyone, it seemed. Adventure, she said. You’re not terrible.

  How can you say that?

  Because I know it’s true.

  How do you know?

  She didn’t have the words for it yet. This fox had been her friend in a desperate time. He’d broken his own rules because he cared for her.

  She realized that she was staring, unseeing, at a pastry very much like the pastry the fox had brought her once in the attic. To the astonishment of the shopkeeper who’d been watching the Queen of Monsea bumble vaguely around her shop, she attempted to purchase two of them, discovered that the coin in her pocket wasn’t enough money, tried to put one back, had both pastries pushed upon her by the shopkeeper who insisted that the queen could have everything in the shop for free if she liked, shamefacedly promised to send her guard in to pay, then turned to go.

  “Wait! Your proof of purchase, Lady Queen!” the woman called, then handed her a slip of paper Bitterblue was sure she didn’t deserve.

  Kittens, Bitterblue said expressively to the fox as she left the shop. The richest woman on earth is not the woman who should be getting her pastries for free. She tromped across to Ranin to ask him to take care of it. Then she surreptitiously slipped one of the pastries into the hood of her fur coat, took a big bite of the other, and said to the fox, Is there some dark corner somewhere where we could get you into my hood, so you can have a treat?

  The fox’s voice sounded confused, and incredulous. You want me to ride in your hood, and have a treat?

  Do you not want a treat in my hood? she said, then remembered that her coat had once belonged to Ferla. This fox had been in this hood many times. Oh dear, she said. I forgot that I wear her coat. I’m so sorry. Of course you might not want—

  I want to ride in your hood, he said.

  Oh. Good. Here, I’ll sit on this rock under this droopy tree and pretend I’m fixing my shoe. Can you manage to sneak in?

  A moment later, the fox was in Bitterblue’s hood.

  Is it tasty? Bitterblue said.

  I—I’m afraid to eat it.

  Why?

  I don’t understand what it means.

  The pastry?

  What any of it means, said the fox. You really don’t think I’m terrible?

  I think you did something terrible, said Bitterblue, because you had to. I don’t think you’re terrible. It’s not the same thing.

  It’s not?

  These matters are morally ambiguous, said Bitterblue with a sigh. I’ve done terrible things too. I think we need to discuss it more. I’d like to include Giddon.

  I remember Giddon, said the fox. He’s the big one who wrapped Hava in a scarf.

  No doubt, said Bitterblue, who hadn’t heard that story yet, but thought it sounded silly enough to be true. He knows about you.

  I gave you his notes, said the fox.

  Yes. He was very happy to see them again, said Bitterblue. Those notes were helpful to me. They helped me with some important realizations. Oh! she cried, remembering. I still haven’t told Giddon happy birthday!

  Is it Giddon’s birthday?

  His birthday was in August.

  You’re very late, the fox said frankly.

  Yes.

  I’ve been thinking, said the fox, about what it’d be like to be bonded to someone I didn’t lie to.

  Bitterblue had wondered if this topic would be forthcoming. Adventure, she said. I’m not certain you comprehend what a queen is, or how complicated it would be for one to have a telepathic fox.

  Complicated sounds interesting.

  I could not possibly lie about you to any of the people I trust. I’m afraid it would extend far beyond Giddon.

  I’ve been thinking about that, said the fox. You live in Monsea. There are no other blue foxes there. What if I began a brand-new culture of foxkind, with brand-new rules? Less lying!

  I admit, that’s interesting, said Bitterblue, meaning it. Such a thing would be both complicated and interesting.

  Do you have airships in Monsea? asked the fox primly.

  No.

  You really should.

  Adventure, said Bitterblue. Focus. I don’t think you realize how many ground rules we’d have to have. For example, no reading pe
ople’s minds.

  What? said the fox. Ever?

  Maybe, if someone is an enemy. I don’t know. We’d need to talk about it.

  I’m not sure how not to read people’s minds, the fox said, if their minds are hanging wide open.

  Well, practice, said Bitterblue, feeling stern, and tired, and hopeful. There are three dozen people on this street, all staring at me. Can you try reading none of their minds?

  * * *

  —

  When Bitterblue finally reached the hotel, the hotel guards were closing the doors behind a pale, blond-haired woman in a yellow coat.

  “Oh, hello,” said Bitterblue, who’d never seen this woman before. She was so surprised to encounter someone from home that she almost forgot to speak Lingian.

  The woman shrank at the sight of her. She shot Bitterblue one quick, searching look through black and yellow eyes. “Hello, Lady Queen,” she said, then scampered away down the street.

  Bitterblue found Giddon inside the doors, staring into the middle distance with a thoughtful and slightly grumpy expression. Since no one else was in the lobby and Ranin and Mart were still trailing behind, Bitterblue had the pleasure of admiring him for a moment, then going to him and kissing him.

  “I have something to tell you,” she said.

  Happy birthday? suggested the fox, who was still hiding in her hood.

  You be quiet! Bitterblue said. And no mind reading!

  I’m not! he cried indignantly. But you should ask him about that woman! I know her!

  “And I, you,” said Giddon, the grouchy lines of his face smoothing as he returned her kiss. “Did you see that woman who just left?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s Trina.”

  “The Graceling who betrayed you?” said Bitterblue, surprised.

  “And you,” he reminded her.

  “What did she want?”

  “Believe it or not,” said Giddon, “she claims she wants to know what it would mean to get involved with the Council.”

  “Oh,” said Bitterblue, understanding. “Do you trust her?”

  “That’s always the question, isn’t it?”

  “Along those same lines,” said Bitterblue, “before you say anything more, I have someone to introduce to you.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Wait, what?” he said suddenly, groping at her coat, his voice changing. “Bitterblue? Is there a fox in your hood?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Oh dear,” he said, in a voice like he knew what was coming.

  “Yes,” she said. “Are you ready for the next big decision?”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Lovisa faced an awful choice.

  Where was her father now? Suffering in a jail cell, with nothing to distract himself, nothing to read? Good, she kept telling herself. That’s where he belongs. And her mind knew it was true, but her heart was with him in his cell, wondering if he was cold. If his face had healed, if his mouth hurt when he ate. If he was scared.

  And then her heart would jump to that boat trip, sick and confused, as he lied and made excuses that eventually turned to threats.

  If she testified against him, she was probably signing his death warrant. Which is what he deserves, she kept telling herself, but that was a place her heart could not go.

  If she decided not to testify against him, he might actually get away with it. Maybe do some prison time for smaller offenses, as an accessory to someone else’s crimes. Maybe lose a portion of his fortune. But then, be a free man. Be the father to her brothers. Raise them. Be her own father. Be part of Ledra society. Probably begin to rise, politically or commercially, again.

  So then? Should she testify?

  If she did, then it was as if they were standing together on the roof of the northern house again and she pushed him, her own father, off the edge.

  * * *

  —

  When an academy messenger intercepted Lovisa on campus, handing her a sealed note that turned out to be an invitation to Saturday lunch with the Queen of Monsea, Lovisa was only half surprised.

  After all, Lovisa was famous. Everyone wanted to have lunch with her. Strangers, acquaintances, family friends, lawyers—especially lawyers. So many people were trying to push themselves into Lovisa’s life right now to “help” her with her family situation that it was hard to do her schoolwork, walk through campus to class, cross the city. People seemed to recognize her immediately. The white streak in her hair that marked her as Ferla’s daughter turned her into a beacon for opportunists. A few of her friends—Nev, Mari, some of Mari’s crowd, and even a few teachers, like Gorga Balava—had taken to offering their chaperonage, wherever she went. Lovisa had a feeling that some of them offered because they liked the association with a notorious celebrity. But some of them—Nev, Mari, Gorga—seemed actually concerned for her.

  What surprised Lovisa about the invitation was that when she arrived at the queen’s hotel and was ushered into the dining room, the queen was the only person in the room.

  In fact, once Lovisa was seated, Bitterblue got up, pulled the door shut, then sat catty-corner to Lovisa at a table that would easily have accommodated twenty.

  Lovisa was tired of fuss. She also had a lot of homework to get back to. “Bitterblue?” she said. “What’s this about?”

  “Have some duck, it’s delicious,” said the queen, whose plate was already full. “There was a soup, but I told them to bring it back later. I’m too hungry to be filling my stomach with water.”

  “My parents starved you,” said Lovisa, with a small implosion of shame.

  “I shouldn’t have reminded you,” said the queen more gently. “I’m sorry. You didn’t starve me, Lovisa.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Lovisa. “Why are we having a secret meeting?”

  “I’ll get to the point,” said the queen. “I’ve been wondering if it would help you if I were to pretend that I was the one who overheard your mother yelling at your father. That I was awake when your father struck Pari Parnin down, while your mother tried to stop him. That I, not you, saw him carry Pari to the airship.”

  The queen kept talking, but Lovisa hardly heard, because she’d entered a beautiful kind of shock.

  “Why?” she heard herself saying. “Why? Bitterblue? Why would you do this?”

  For the first time in the conversation, the queen looked uncertain.

  No, Lovisa thought to herself, watching Bitterblue’s quiet, steady face, her firm chin. The eyes that seemed to shine at Lovisa with unshed tears. She’s not uncertain.

  She sees me, Lovisa thought, falling into another, new surprise. She understands.

  “It will cost me nothing,” the queen said quietly.

  “I can’t quite believe that. My father will refute you, accuse you of lying. And you’ll know he’s right.”

  “It will cost me much less than testifying will cost you, Lovisa,” she said. “And being able to help you will be my reward.”

  Lovisa reached her fork to the serving plate and took some duck. Sliced it, pushed it around. She wasn’t hungry, but she needed something to do, while she tried to absorb the shock of this woman caring about her and her situation.

  “Lovisa,” the queen added. “Did you ever overhear your parents allude to the sinking of the Seashell?”

  “No,” said Lovisa. “Not specifically.”

  “I don’t like the gap it leaves in the court case,” the queen said. “My men were murdered. And Katu’s suspicions, and his abduction, make little sense without it too. Ah well. Have you shared any of your evidence with the Magistry yet?”

  “No,” said Lovisa, thinking about the words her mother had yelled at Benni. “We never needed to hurt anyone! We were going to do everything legally! You never would have had to break a single law!” She’d told Mari her evidence. She’
d told Nev. She’d shared it with her piglet, Worthy, cuddling him in a quiet corner of the Devret house, which was where Worthy was living these days, delighting her brothers, and apparently gaining a reputation as a genius. “We found him in the heat ducts,” Arni had told her gravely, the last time she’d visited. “Wandering around inside the walls from room to room. No idea how he got in there. Seemed confused about it himself.”

  But she hadn’t shared it with the Magistry. Lovisa’s evidence lived inside herself, wandering around from head to heart to stomach, trying to decide where it belonged.

  Maybe it could stay where it was?

  “I’d like to think about this,” Lovisa told the queen. “May I have a few days to think about it?”

  “Of course,” said Bitterblue. “As long as you need.”

  “I—have homework to do,” Lovisa said. “Do you mind—”

  She knew she was being rude. A queen had invited her to lunch. But just now, Lovisa needed to escape. She had a feeling Bitterblue would want her to escape, if that’s what she needed.

  “Go, and be well,” said Bitterblue.

  * * *

  —

  Outside, Lovisa’s feet carried her to the Devret house. She wanted to visit her brothers.

  She saw a lot of them now, bringing her homework to the Devrets’ some nights, sleeping over on weekends. She and the boys had bedrooms of their own, in the part of the house where family slept. She would crowd with them on one of their beds and they’d all be talking and snacking and laughing, and she wouldn’t be able to shake the sense that it wasn’t safe. And then she’d remember that none of them were going to be punished if they were found together. Joy was no longer a thing they needed to steal.

  Today she wished she could talk to Viri, Erita, and Vikti as their older selves, five, ten, twenty years from now. Find out how her decision about testifying would touch their lives. What would hurt them least? Her testimony, or the queen’s?

  It was an impossible question to answer. They weren’t old enough. They were five, seven, and nine.