Foxheart

by Claire Legrand

  And she was alone.

  Fox? She whipped around, searching for him.

  Coming. Don’t worry. After a long moment, he tunneled out of the shadow of a nearby fir tree, like gold fur being squeezed out of a tube, and pranced through the snow to her side.

  “Where were you? What were you doing?”

  Fox shook himself from snout to tail. “Nothing important. She wanted to talk to me for a moment, told me to watch out for you and make sure you take care of yourself.”

  She rubbed his silky ears, then stepped back to look more closely at him. “Fox, what is it?”

  “Hmm?” He was avoiding her gaze.

  “You look frightened.”

  “Nonsense.” He thrust his snout into the snow and ate a large chunk of it. “I’ll just miss her, is all.” He turned to face north, his nose dusted with white—and still, he wouldn’t look at her. “Well?”

  “Well,” Quicksilver agreed, and together they started climbing—though Quicksilver kept glancing Fox’s way, trying to determine what had shaken him so badly. But every time she searched his thoughts for the answer, she ran into a dead end, as if someone had planted a door where a hallway had once been.

  She realized, with a slight twist of unease, that maybe Fox was lying . . . that maybe Anastazia had told him something he didn’t want her to know.

  .40.

  THE WINTER KINGDOM

  At the top of the mountain passage sat a small village winding between rocky outcroppings. Snow covered the sagging rooftops and drifted along fences that surrounded empty animal pens. Most windows were dark, but a few, in the largest building at the center of the village, glowed warm and yellow.

  Quicksilver headed that way, holding her hood tight around her face. From the nearby trees, a crow cawed three times. A crooked sign marked the village as Vorhaven.

  “What a dismal place,” Fox remarked.

  Hush. Quicksilver thought him into his mouse form and slipped him into an empty pocket in her cloak. Sorry, but we’re too far north for you to be out in the open. Anyone could be spying for the Wolf King. I’m going to pretend to be a normal girl. You stay out of sight.

  You could have just asked, Fox grumbled.

  The building with the lit-up windows included an inn, a tavern, and a small store that sold ice picks, snowshoes, packs of dried meat, and fur-lined cloaks and boots that looked splendidly warm—but the shopkeeper, though he appeared to be reading a book, kept glaring around as though he suspected catastrophe at any moment. Quicksilver wouldn’t risk lowering her hood, or using Fox to steal any supplies, not until she knew the village was safe for witches. But she did stroll by a table in the corner and swipe two hot rolls from a snoring man’s plate.

  As Quicksilver ate at another table in the opposite corner of the room, sneaking bites to Fox while the fire thawed her toes, the door opened to admit a gust of icy wind and a group of snow-dusted travelers. They tromped in, stamping their boots, and ordered supper from a serving boy who eyed the now wet and snowy floor with despair. After he had hurried back to the kitchen, one of the travelers lowered his hood, revealing a familiar shock of white hair.

  Quicksilver rushed over to throw her arms about him before she could think better of it. Something about the sight of a friend, when she hadn’t thought she would ever see one again, left her feeling wild and careless, like she could climb to the rooftops and yell out her happiness for all of Valteya to hear.

  Olli knew her at once and burst out laughing. “Quix? What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” She stepped back, grinning. “I thought you were going to—”

  Olli clapped a hand over her mouth. “Not so loud. You don’t know who’s listening, this far north.”

  Quicksilver glanced around. The room was largely empty save for the snoring man and the shopkeeper. “Listening to what?”

  Pulka peeked out from Olli’s coat to glare at Quicksilver. “You stink of bones,” she declared, with a stern owlish gaze.

  Olli leaned closer. “Did you find them, then?”

  “Well . . . something like that.” Quicksilver took a deep breath and settled on a bench beside Olli. Across the table sat Lukaas, still bearing raw red scars from the fight with the Wolf King, and Freja, her freckled face grim. Grumpy Bernt, one of the four surviving members of Olli’s original coven, glared at Quicksilver from beneath bushy, fuchsia-colored eyebrows speckled with silver.

  Not too happy to see us again, is he? Fox observed.

  Can you blame him? The last time we were around, the Wolf King attacked.

  The rest of Olli’s coven—six witches Quicksilver didn’t recognize—sat at nearby tables, hovering over hot drinks. Every now and then, a flicker of bright color darted out from a sleeve or hood to grab a bite of food.

  Quicksilver took a deep breath and told Olli, Lukaas, and Freja everything—about the catacombs, the Lady in White, the Shadow Fields. When she came to Sly Boots’s betrayal, Olli’s expression darkened, and Freja pounded her fist against the table, startling the serving boy so badly he dropped a tray of drinks.

  “That rotten scum,” Freja growled. Her bright orange snake monster, peeking out of her sleeve, hissed in agreement. “I knew he wasn’t one of us, but I never thought he’d do that.”

  Lukaas placed his hand over hers. “It sounds like he wasn’t quite himself.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Even if the Wolf King got his hooks in me, I wouldn’t betray any of you.”

  “And now you’re on your way to find the last skeleton,” said Olli thoughtfully. “All by yourself?”

  Quicksilver lifted her chin, ready to snap out something defensive—but then an idea came to her. The words from Anastazia’s journal whispered through her mind.

  Tucked inside her cloak, Fox perked up. Now that’s an interesting thought.

  “Or you could come with me,” said Quicksilver, without meeting Olli’s eyes. She clutched her mug of hot cider, breathing in the steaming warmth. “All of you could. We could . . .” She swallowed hard. She couldn’t imagine how they would react to this. “We could use our magic, together. We’d find it faster that way, I’ll wager.”

  Collective magic.

  Many will be mighty.

  Lukaas snorted. “You’re joking, Quix.”

  “Come on, now,” said Freja. “I’m not in the mood for such ridiculous talk.”

  Olli, however, sat up straighter. “Collective magic.”

  “You know what that is?” asked Quicksilver.

  “It’s a wild idea,” he said, leaning closer with sparkling eyes. “Only a few witches throughout history have ever dared talk about it aloud, and they’ve always been run off or killed for it. Forming a coven is one thing, and risky enough. But the idea of sharing magic with other witches is—”

  “Absurd!” Freja burst out. Across the room, the shopkeeper grumbled and flipped a page in his book with a snap.

  “It’s just not done,” Olli conceded, with a wry smile. “But I’ve always wanted to try.”

  Quicksilver gripped the table’s edge and sent Fox a wave of hope. “So will you do it, then? Will you come with us?”

  Olli glanced around at the others. “Freja and Lukaas will come, but beyond that—”

  Freja snorted and crossed her arms. “Oh, will we, then?”

  Olli gave her a pointed look. Lukaas’s green lizard monster poked its head out of Lukaas’s sleeve and flicked its tongue with the air of someone preparing to give a good scolding.

  Freja slumped, rolling her eyes. “All right, all right, of course we will.”

  Olli smiled at her. “But the others . . . I don’t know. Out of our original coven, only Bernt is left. And our new brothers and sisters . . . I can’t be sure.”

  “Who are they?” asked Quicksilver, looking around.

  “There’s a witch settlement not far from here. Very unusual, but they’ve had to band together for survival since they’re so close to the Wolf King’s ca
stle. But they keep getting in fights and setting off all kinds of magical mayhem. Scaring off livestock, setting buildings on fire. And that means the humans in the nearby villages—including this one—have to pick up the pieces.”

  Olli shook his head and dragged a hand across his face. “And the more trouble they make, the more attention they draw to themselves—which means they’re easier for the Wolf King to sniff out. When we heard about it, I knew we had to find them, convince them to come west with us and leave this place. For their sakes, and for the humans’ as well.”

  “And will they go with you?” Quicksilver asked.

  Olli sighed. Though he was only a few years older than she was, Quicksilver thought he looked, in that moment, as old as Anastazia.

  “Some of them have already agreed to come with us, but others . . . they refuse to leave. And so this is where they’ll be when the Wolf King arrives, alone and fighting among themselves.” Olli clenched his fists.

  “And we’ve heard the Wolf King’s on his way,” Lukaas whispered. “Coming home for the summer, maybe.”

  “Or looking for the same skeleton I’m looking for,” said Quicksilver.

  I wonder why he hasn’t already found it? Fox thought to her. Shouldn’t he be moving more quickly than we are? He’s more powerful, he’s got the First Ones helping him, and he probably didn’t get stuck in the Shadow Fields, either.

  But Fox—maybe Anastazia brought us faster than he can travel. I bet the Wolf King can’t travel by shadow, like we did.

  Maybe. Fox sounded worried.

  “You do know where to find it, then?” asked Olli. “The last skeleton?”

  Quicksilver tried to appear more confident than she felt. “Mostly I know where to go. But Fox will still have to track it down.” She hesitated, and then clasped Olli’s hand.

  Witches, she knew, were not supposed to trust each other—but then, she was no ordinary witch.

  “Please, come with me,” she said. “We’re strong on our own, yes. But think how much stronger we could be together. And think how angry the Wolf King will be when he gets here and can’t find his bones.”

  After only a slight hesitation, Olli grinned and placed his other hand over Quicksilver’s. “I’m in. Freja? Lukaas?”

  Lukaas added his hand to theirs. “Why not? You haven’t steered us wrong before, Olli.”

  “Sure he has, plenty of times.” Freja glared at all of them. “But if I refuse, neither of you will let me have another moment of peace for as long as I live, will you?”

  “No,” Olli and Lukaas answered in unison.

  Freja sighed and looked to the ceiling. Her monster snake wound around her neck, nuzzling her.

  “Fine.” Freja slapped her hand down, too. “Let’s go be a bunch of fools, together.”

  “I’ll ask the others,” said Olli, nearly bounding across the room in his excitement.

  Freja leaned forward and fixed Quicksilver with a hard glare. “You’d better know what you’re doing, Quix.”

  Quicksilver smiled. “Oh, Freja. Haven’t you noticed? I always know what I’m doing.”

  I hope you’re right, Fox thought to her.

  I hope I am, too.

  .41.

  ODD, BUT MARVELOUS

  Collective magic, Quicksilver decided, felt like being bound to other witches by a net stretched far too tight. And if you did not move with care, the net would snap apart, and everything it held would whoosh away to the edges of the world.

  Quicksilver, Olli, Lukaas, Freja, and the three other witches who had agreed to accompany them—Lumi, Aleksi, and grumpy, frowning Bernt—and all seven of their monsters—moved cautiously up into the mountains, as though making their way across thin ice.

  Quicksilver kept her head low against the wind and watched her feet trudge through the snow. Olli, Lukaas, and Freja had scraped together enough coin to replace her long-ruined party clothes with a new pair of sealskin boots trimmed with fur, a proper set of wool trousers, and a long wool tunic. With gloves, a scarf, and a fleece-lined hat with ear flaps, in addition to Anastazia’s cloak, Quicksilver felt warm and bulky.

  “Still steady?” Olli called to her over the howling wind.

  Quicksilver paused to scan the net of their collective magic. The others had agreed to funnel their magic through her and Fox, so that the two of them could lead the way and guide the group. It had taken them the whole night to figure out how to do such a thing, huddled in one cozy, shabby room at the inn, and before they had figured out the right balance, Quicksilver had glimpsed more of the others’ thoughts than she would have cared to see—how completely Bernt doubted her. How Olli secretly loved Freja (which, Quicksilver was glad to realize, made her feel nothing but happiness). How quiet, stoic Lumi was so quiet and stoic because so much of her broken heart remained south in the kingdom of Napurya, with her sisters.

  How frightened they all were that the Wolf King would arrive before they could find the last skeleton.

  Now, as they climbed the mountain in the early hours of dawn, Quicksilver could hear six other witches and six other monsters whispering through her mind—not too loudly, just loud enough to remember they were there, all of them different colors and shapes and sounds. The net of magic tugged and stretched and bunched between them, each invisible thread tethered to Quicksilver and Fox.

  Quicksilver was constantly aware of the other witches and reached out to them with her mind to ensure they were all right, to tell them where to turn next, or if she saw a dangerous drop ahead, and when they needed to rest, even if stubborn old Bernt insisted they didn’t.

  Quicksilver spotted Fox ahead of her in the snow, in the form of a polar fox with fluffy yellow fur. Olli had bought him his own pack, which he proudly wore strapped to his back, the starling bones from the Shadow Fields contained safely within.

  Fox? Are we still on the right path?

  As near as I can tell, yes. The skeleton should be up there, in those caves.

  Quicksilver followed his gaze to a series of dark spots lining the mountainside to their right. She closed her eyes and pictured each of her fellow witches, and his or her monster. She listened to their hearts’ rhythms.

  Olli.

  Freja.

  Lukaas.

  Aleksi.

  Lumi.

  Bernt.

  When she felt she had a good hold on each, she used their magic to delve even deeper into her own mind. It was like lifting a heavy stone with not just one set of hands, but seven.

  Inside her, the Wolf King’s memories shifted and flashed like a storm—dark, angry clouds here, blue-white flashes of lightning there. Fox helped her navigate the tumultuous memory, flickering ahead of her like a beacon.

  “Quix?” Olli called.

  Quicksilver opened her eyes. The others stood around her, tensely waiting, their snow-crusted furs covering everything but their eyes.

  “Up there!” She pointed to the ice caves and felt the other witches’ dismay in a rush of thoughts and feelings.

  No, no, no.

  On foot? With no magic?

  It’s so high.

  We’ll fall.

  We’ll freeze to death.

  I’m so tired.

  Quix will keep us safe.

  This last was Olli, and Quicksilver sent him thanks in a warm wave of feeling that flushed her cheeks.

  We can’t use magic to climb the mountain, she told the group, trying to keep her voice steady and firm. The link of our collective magic is fragile. We’ve never done this before, and we’re not practiced at it. If someone grows careless, lets their thoughts wander, the link could break . . . and we’d all fall to our deaths.

  Dread rushed through them, swift and black.

  Fox cleared his throat. That was cheerful.

  “We climb!” Olli shouted over the wind. “Stay close, go slow and steady!”

  Olli turned to Quicksilver, gave her a nod. She glimpsed his hopeful eyes shining between layers of fur and felt a bit more hopeful h
erself.

  They made their way up the slippery cliffs on foot, keeping as close to the mountain face—and as far from the sheer drop—as possible. Even with her new clothes, Quicksilver’s entire body was stiff with cold, and every breath burned. The path was narrow and packed hard with ice. When they turned a corner and the north wind hit them full in the face, Quicksilver began to shudder and shake—until tall, solid Aleksi placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Steady, he thought to her, in a low, smooth voice. You’re doing a fine job, Quicksilver of the Far-Off Time.

  Her mind was too tired to send him complete sentences. Instead she wearily pushed a feeling of gratitude and comfort toward him. It was the softest, warmest image she could muster up—herself and Fox, warm and safe on the roof of the convent kitchen, snuggling up for sleep.

  Immediately, tall Aleksi stood even taller, straightening like something had repaired itself inside him. And the feeling crept down the line to the others, warm and warmer and warming.

  So they kept marching on.

  And marching on.

  And marching on still farther, up the mountain and through the snow and into the blistering, burning cold until all that was left of Quicksilver’s warm Fox feeling was a faint tingle in each of their chests.

  Cold.

  Keep going.

  Left foot, right foot.

  Cold, scared, too high.

  I won’t give up, never, never.

  Move, keep moving, don’t stop.

  Left foot, right foot, left—ahhhh!

  A bolt of fear shot through them all, zipping hot and desperate from person to person.

  Lukaas! Fox cried. Freja!

  Quicksilver whirled just in time to see Lukaas slip over the cliff, dragging Freja down with him.

  Freja let out a fierce roar and caught hold of the ice. They hung there, Freja clinging to the cliff’s edge, Lukaas clinging to Freja’s waist. Their monsters—the shivering green lizard, the snow-crusted orange snake—held on to their witches, too shocked to move.