by Lisa DeSelm
I am afraid. Of everything.
Of what comes next. Of not knowing how to live without my father. Afraid for Prima, with a whole territory-worth of burdens suddenly resting on her shoulders. Afraid of what I might build that could take on a life of its own. Afraid of what it means to no longer have the guidance of the trees.
But I stand with Bran, breathing long and deep, as many breaths as I dare, feeling my fears wash over me, one by one, like wet strokes of paint. No splinters besiege me. No slivers surface to wound me. I can hardly believe it.
“Come on,” Bran says, wrapping a blanket around us both. “Let’s go back. You’re freezing.” He pulls me closer, sliding his hands beneath my cloak to curl me tightly against the wall of his chest, another barrier against the night. “Or if you’re not quite ready yet, we can stay a little longer, as long as we stay together?”
My eyes seek the moon and find it over his shoulder, that enigmatic, silver-blue face full of shadows.
“You did it, Piro,” Bran whispers into my ear. “You and the blue moon. Remember? You never know what might happen with a beautiful girl under the moonlight. You might get—”
“Moonstruck,” I finish, thinking it the best possible word to describe my quiet awe. The moon’s magic has taken its tithe, but in its place, I find the gift I’ve always longed for.
A few days later, when the turrets of Wolfspire Hall no longer burn like coals, the Maker’s Guild and the people of Tavia return from the woods to reclaim their shops and farms. Some of the Margrave’s wooden soldiers were lost in the great fire; the rest, when their lifeless husks are discovered, are chopped up and used as kindling.
The accusations flung at me by Laszlo are dismissed by the villagers and my fellow makers as further proof of his foolishness; they saw the marching men and the creeping black soldier with their own eyes. They understand it was he who used illicit magic to keep power tightly in his grasp.
Thanks to the Maker’s Guild, word reached the King about the untimely demise of the Margravina in Brylov, though Laszlo will never receive his due punishment for that crime. The steward has disappeared too, vanishing like smoke. We’re still awaiting the cleric’s return from Elinbruk, to confirm that the King has granted Prima the right to rule us in her husband’s stead. Everyone is happy to leave Brylov well alone, glad to not be forced into a battle none of us wanted to fight.
Now that the streets are safe again, the Margravina of Tavia joins me, her newly appointed advisor and puppetmaster, on the walk back to Curio. I have hopes that with Prima as our new ruler we can start to change things, begin to loosen the grip of the old laws and fears that would have us accusing our neighbors and looking with suspicion on magic that we don’t understand.
Prima and I stand solemnly on Curio’s doorstep.
I thrust something small and much older than me into her capable hands. “I know you have many questions. But first, a gift. I have a story to tell you, and this is the only place where I know how to tell it.”
Prima takes the heavy, brass fob and tries Papa’s key in the lock. When it turns and the latch drops, her face lights up. She steps inside and I follow.
“I know I’ve never been here before,” she says, breathless at the overflowing shelves of treasures, “yet I feel as if I know this place. I feel as if I remember …”
The perfume of wood shavings and paint still lingers strong, though everything is coated in a thick layer of dust. For a second, I nearly call out to my father to let him know we have a guest. I can almost hear the echoing rasp of his sander and the chink of his chisel. What would he make of Prima? Of me?
“I will remember for both of us,” I say, drawing back the curtain, opening up the heart of Curio to us both. “Always.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS BOOK IS BROUGHT YOU BY NUMEROUS CUPS OF TEA, the musical stylings of Danny Elfman and the merciful grace of God.
Nathan: If I were to carve a marionette of you, it would be that of a nimble jester, with a hero’s cape and dagger. Thank you for being my best friend, first reader, and action-scene sounding board. (Also, first-rate child-wrangler and take-out food purveyor.)
Alicia: Thank you for being an ever-trusted critic and bosom friend. Your magical red pen has saved me from many a grievous error and brought me a good laugh when I needed it most.
Mom & Dad: Thank you for putting books in my hands and giving me a childhood full of magical adventures. I love you!
Chad & Leslie: Thanks for reading my stories with such enthusiasm, and for knowing from the first that this writing thing would become a real “thing” for me!
Joel & Judy, Chris & Audra, Andrew & Tanya: Thanks for your support and for being so excited with me each time I finish a book. It takes a village, and I’m so glad you’re in my village.
Grandpa & Grandma Smiley: Your vivid readings of Little Red Riding Hood first introduced me as a wee girl to the delicious fun and fear already woven into fairytales. I cherish all the time we spent together.
My professional cheerleaders: Thank you for reading and proofreading my books and hoping with me each time that, “Maybe this will be the one!” Immense thanks to Jeanna, Taylor, Jami, Bonnie, Robin, Brittany, Kem, Tim, Daryl, Meagan, Laura, and Linzi.
My brilliant agent, Laura Crockett: Thank you for plucking this story from the pile and helping to animate it with your keen eye and intuitive sense for making things shine. You are a gem and I am so thankful for you. Thanks also to Uwe Stender and the support of the excellent team at Triada US.
A huge thank you to Lauren Knowles and the fabulous group of editors, designers, and marketing gurus at Page Street Publishing Co. Lauren, I will be forever grateful you resonated with Piro’s voice and the story I hoped to tell. You picked up the strings and brought to life what is, for me, a dream come true: a real book.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THANKS TO A STEADY CHILDHOOD DIET OF FAIRYTALES, LISA DeSelm still dreams of running away to the woods to live among the fairy folk in her own enchanted bower. Until then, she happily lives with her husband and two daughters in the wilds of suburban South Bend, Indiana. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her working as an art director and designer, most likely daydreaming with a cup of tea in hand. The Puppetmaster’s Apprentice is her first novel.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 Lisa DeSelm
First published in 2020 by
Page Street Publishing Co.
27 Congress Street, Suite 105
Salem, MA 01970
www.pagestreetpublishing.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be repr
oduced or used, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
eISBN 978-1-64567-081-0
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension. 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019957106
Cover design by Laura Benton for Page Street Publishing Co. Cover images: Illustration of hands with puppet © Shutterstock / M3Pics; photograph of sky © Shutterstock / AvDe; photograph of moon © Shutterstock / kdshutterman; vectors of trees © Shutterstock / Binkski, eva_mask and surassawadee
Interior images: Vector of branch © Shutterstock / Binkski; illustration of moon © Shutterstock / Vlada Young
Author photo by Taylor Lutz