He wondered sometimes, now that he was free of Ferla Cavenda, if he needed to be so alone. What if news came through that Lovisa and the queen had gotten away someplace safe? What if Benni and Ferla were hauled off to jail and he didn’t have to plot and plan and worry anymore? If he could know that Lovisa no longer needed his protection . . . did that mean he could go far away, to a place where no one knew or cared what a blue fox did? Could he go as far away as Monsea, and live with someone he didn’t have to lie to? Could a blue fox be free?
* * *
—
Then the day came when Ledra’s head magistrate arrived at the Devrets’ front door. He had news: A person claiming to be Lovisa Cavenda had sent a signal message accusing Ferla and Benni Cavenda of kidnapping the Monsean queen and murdering an academy boy. The Monsean queen could confirm this, said the message. The queen was alive.
* * *
—
Lovisa was safe. The queen was safe. They were safe! The fox felt like his blood was made of light. Joy rushed in his ears. They were safe and this would all end soon. Ferla would go to jail, where she couldn’t hurt anyone. He would find them. He would go away with the queen. Everything was going to change!
Then something agonizing happened: nothing. Nothing happened. The head magistrate didn’t arrest Ferla or Benni. He didn’t even bring them to the Magistry to ask them questions. He told them that his was a courtesy visit, to inform them of the situation, but that naturally the Magistry would need to confirm that the message really came from Lovisa, that Lovisa was of sound mind, and most of all, that the Queen of Monsea really was alive, and if so, what she had to say about it.
“Where are they?” Ferla demanded of the magistrate.
“We don’t know yet,” said the head magistrate. “The message didn’t include the usual location marker.”
“That certainly doesn’t lend it credence,” said Benni.
“Nothing lends it credence!” said Ferla. “Someone is trying to frame you for a monstrous crime, Benni!”
“Frame me?” said Benni.
“Frame both of you,” the head magistrate corrected primly.
“It’s absurd,” said Ferla. “And the cruelty of it is stunning, when here we are, grieving our daughter’s death.”
“Indeed,” said the head magistrate. “The entire thing is stunning. I’m sure you’ll respond to our courtesy with courtesy of your own and stay in the Devret house until we have more information?”
Ferla put all of her vicious fury into her response. “Are you saying that we’re under house arrest? The president of Winterkeep and a member of Parliament?”
“Certainly not,” the head magistrate said, his eyes bulging with alarm. “It’s just that we’ll want to be certain of where to find you, should more information come to light.”
“I’ll be here, at one of my offices, or on our grounds sifting through our burnt possessions,” Ferla said. “My husband will be here, at his office, on our grounds, or in an airship, searching for our missing child. When you’ve found the person responsible for these criminal accusations, we’ll be happy for you to inform us of it anywhere, anytime, so that we can begin our own legal proceedings. Do you understand me?”
The head magistrate hesitated, swallowing. Parliament could remove him from office just as swiftly as they’d placed him there. The fox felt him considering this. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Thank you, I’m sure.”
Then he scurried away, leaving the Cavendas and the Devrets together in the entrance hall. Mara and Arni stood quiet and unmoving. They weren’t looking at each other and their faces were carefully composed, but the fox could feel the beginnings of their joint comprehension.
“Well,” Mara said, with a deliberate attempt to soften herself. “This is a terrible thing. I’m so sorry, Ferla and Benni. Please let us know how we can help.” Then, glancing once at her husband, she went away.
Arni grunted something agreeable and followed her. He wasn’t trying as hard to put on an act, though the fox could feel that this was only because he was distracted. Arni was suddenly overwhelmed with concern for, and confusion about, the three small boys living under his roof. He went to seek them out in the guest apartments, invited them to his own library. For a while, he sat with them and read them stories, trying to assess, from some sign in their faces, how much they knew, how much of the magistrate’s accusation was correct. He looked into their eyes, trying to see what their lives had been. He also sent a message to the academy, asking his son to come home, for he wanted to know what his son knew about what Lovisa’s life had been.
But before that, still in the entranceway, Benni turned searching eyes upon his wife. “Frame me?” he repeated gently.
Ferla looked back at him, not speaking. The fox could feel the wall she’d built; Ferla was standing in another world. Her face was turned to Benni, but she couldn’t even see him from where she was.
“My wife of twenty years,” Benni said. “This is how you want it to end?”
Ferla walked away, climbed the narrow stairs to the guest apartments, barely hearing. She was plotting her escape.
* * *
—
That night, Benni and Ferla planned separately.
Sort of. Benni was too bereft and bewildered by his new understanding of Ferla to make much of a plan, and anyway, planning a route through chaos had never been his strong suit. As far as the fox could tell, every time Ferla had ever blamed their dilemmas on Benni’s decisions, Ferla had been right.
So Benni, under the pretense of planning, moped. He wished for his airship. If he only he had it, he could fly up north and make sure the house was free of incriminating evidence.
He climbed the stairs to the guest apartments, gripping the banister, not noticing that it was starting to come loose. He walked to his bedroom and stood numbly at the window, looking down onto the Devrets’ dark, tree-filled grounds. He tried to figure out if this window faced the ruins of his own home, but couldn’t remember, which made him feel stupid and impotent. Benni was usually good at things like directions.
Then Ferla came bursting into the room. He turned and watched her. She stared back, wound up with something Benni couldn’t read. Then she crossed to him and began touching him roughly, kissing him. Her touches reached through his fog of grief and he grasped her, held her, cried against her, brought her to the bed and gave her the pleasure she wanted that made her even sharper and colder. Then Benni fell asleep. Ferla got up and dressed while the fox observed from the grate, trembling, wishing he’d never bonded to someone so manipulative and confusing.
When all of this is over, he thought to himself, I want such a different life. And he thought of Lovisa, hidden somewhere, bravely delivering messages; and the queen, the only being in the world to whom he’d ever told the truth.
When all of this is over, he thought to himself again, then stopped, because it wasn’t over. And if Ferla did, somehow, manage to frame Benni for all that had happened, Lovisa would never be safe.
Should he? Shouldn’t he?
But should he or shouldn’t he what?
What could a fox do?
* * *
—
Ferla was up all night. The fox plumbed her grasping mind, listening to her plans, trying to assess how realistic they were.
Ferla would claim that Benni had kidnapped the queen of his own volition, that Benni had killed Pari Parnin. That Ferla had objected, begged, pleaded against both crimes, but Benni had overpowered her. That he’d threatened her and the children should she ever expose him. Ferla was tiny. Benni was big. She would say it had always been that way in their relationship; she was afraid of him.
She would make the same claims if any of their other crimes were uncovered. She would say that Benni had done all of it without her knowledge. The business at the house in Torla’s Neck, the scuttling of the Seashell
, Katu. Especially Katu. Surely no one would believe Ferla would harm her own brother?
The terrifying thing about all these claims was that for the most part, they were true. Benni had done everything, every single thing, without her assent, and usually without her knowledge. He’d gone rogue with their careful plans, starting too soon, making dangerous decisions. He’d murdered the two Monseans without consulting her. He’d struck the blow to Pari’s head while she’d tried to stop him. Katu. Katu! Ferla had known none of it—none of it!—until the day Benni had scooped the queen out of the sea, then told her all—with no regrets! As if he was proud of himself! As if he expected her to admire his initiative!
And Ferla had argued with Benni, berated him, pleaded for him to stop creating new problems. Had he bullied or intimidated her? No, never. She was the bully. Had she ever hesitated to help conceal his crimes? Never once, not even with Katu. She had the brains. Would she be happy to benefit from the crimes, if they could only be sure of getting away with them? Of course. However, Benni couldn’t prove any of that.
But what was the Magistry likely to believe? Ferla had a problem: She radiated power and strength. Everyone who worked with her knew this. Benni was the likable one. Ferla was the one who scared people. Could Ferla convince the Magistry that she’d been anyone’s pawn?
In the drawing room of the Devrets’ guest apartments, the fox watched Ferla sitting, standing, moving around, talking to herself, practicing looking believably bullied and scared. It was fascinating, because at first, she was terrible at it. She only knew how to open her eyes wide and throw her hands in the air; she couldn’t cry, or show any subtle signs of fear. But she seemed to have enough self-awareness to realize that she was terrible at it, and she kept trying and trying.
She tried for two hours. Then she struck upon the notion of her own children. That made her sit back and consider. She stood and lifted the big mirror from the wall.
Things got eerie after that, for Ferla spent another hour imitating the expressions of her own bullied and frightened children in the mirror. And, quite naturally, she resembled her children; in particular, she had the facial features of her daughter. There was a certain combination of anger, hatred, fear, and sick resignation that came together in Lovisa’s face sometimes. It was a complicated and believable expression and Ferla remembered it. Of course she did; she caused it. It was one of the trials of being the mother to such a girl.
Ferla searched her own face in the mirror, until she found it.
* * *
—
In very early morning, the fox scampered through the heat ducts up to the grate he’d converted in the Devrets’ attic. He hadn’t had much time in this house to convert grates yet. This was his one and only swinging grate, and his only access point to the paths inside the walls.
The fox stepped out onto the attic floor, trying to decide what it meant to be honorable and helpful and true.
Surely it didn’t mean the plan he was about to execute?
The fox pattered down from the attic, past the room where Ferla lay sleeping beside Benni, then made his way to the guest apartment stairs. An unlit lamp sat on a table at the top of the steps, for the use of the Cavendas at nighttime. The fox, who had excellent night vision, jumped lightly onto the table and inspected the lamp. It had, as he’d hoped, a wick, a glass globe, and, most importantly, a deep, open well of oil.
Before he could second-guess himself, because really this was a terrible, threadbare, hopeless plan, the fox shoved the lamp off the table in the direction of the staircase. It soared through the air and landed with a thud about two steps down, then, with a tinkle of glass and a series of smaller thuds, bumped on down the steps. He could see the oil, slick and shiny, illuminating much of the top half of the staircase.
The fox reached out quickly to touch every mind in the sleeping house. No one had woken from the noise, but one of the guards who stood outside the front door thought he might’ve heard something. He was trying to decide whether to come inside and investigate. The fox knew his time was short.
Quickly, he leaped under the table and pressed himself against the wall. Ferla Cavenda! he cried, shouting into her sleeping mind. Ferla Cavenda! Wake up! It’s me! WAKE UP!
Ferla started up in bed. Through her sleepy blur, she was astounded. Fox? she said. Fox?
It’s me! yelled the fox. Wake up!
I’m awake! What’s happening?
I’m alive!
Her mind was already spinning to determine what she could seize, if she had her fox at hand. That’s amazing! she said. That’s wonderful! I tried to save you, Fox!
I remember, he said. I’m injured. I’m dying! I know important things about Lovisa and the queen! I know where they are and what they’re planning to do!
Ferla was electrified with excitement and alarm. Where are you?
I’m outside the front door! he said. But it’s cold, Ferla! I’m dying!
Ferla pushed out of her bedroom and moved toward the stairs. She was still recovering from her head injury. He felt her dizziness. Hurry! he cried. I’m fading!
Ferla staggered through darkness. The fox waited in a panic, screaming at himself not to jump out too soon, for that would ruin everything. Then, as she neared the top step, he sprang into her path. Ferla’s sharp foot stabbed into his side and he yelped, scrambled for purchase, pushed against her, trying to unbalance her. Ferla tripped and went flying. She hit the oil and slipped again. She tried to grab on to the banister and it wobbled, slipped out of her hands.
Crashing down the steps, she landed in a heap at the bottom.
The fox clambered down after Ferla, gasping at the pain in his side, realizing that now she knew what he’d done. If Ferla survived this, he would have to grovel, come up with excuses, pretend his mind had been injured in the fire, go through every kind of contortion to keep her from believing his disloyalty. For if he didn’t, she would guess that foxes lied. And maybe there were some humans who could safely know the secrets of foxkind, but Ferla wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t be able to leave her. He would have to stay, penitent and devoted, until he was sure she trusted him again. He would be hers.
At the bottom of the steps, he found her whimpering. In the dim light of the landing, he could tell that she was twisted oddly, one of her legs bent wrong and one of her arms trapped under her body. It was better luck than he’d dared to expect. How could a fox ever kill a human? his siblings had said.
Her head was arched back, her coat open at the top, exposing her throat. Fox, she shouted, vicious, furious, frightened. Fox. I’m going to kill you.
Quickly, the fox checked the house again for waking humans. He found none. Then, as if he were moving through a dream, he lifted the pads of his paws to the delicate part of Ferla’s throat. Bracing his hind legs as hard as he could, he pressed. What did I just do? he said. I thought I was outside in the cold. I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?
Something feels wrong, said Ferla. I’m choking! Fox! Are you choking me?
I don’t know what I’m doing, said the fox, pressing harder. I think my mind must have been injured in the fire. Where am I? Who are you?
Ferla was trying to thrash, but she couldn’t move her limbs. Something had broken inside her body when she fell. Fox! Stop!
I’m your fox, said the fox. You can trust me.
Then her terror faded away. Everything about Ferla’s feelings faded away. The fox waited a moment, still pressing.
When he was sure she wasn’t breathing anymore, he stepped down from her throat. Then, retreating slowly, he tucked himself against the wall. He was freezing, and old, and stiff. And Lovisa might be safe from her mother now, but he was pretty sure he had at least one broken rib. He felt like he had a broken soul.
That guard had decided to come inside after all. He was heading toward the source of the noise.
Pushing himself th
rough pain, the fox ran.
Chapter Thirty-five
For Lovisa, everything was happening too fast.
Everyone else kept complaining that things were too slow. When the Ledra Magistry didn’t arrest her parents right away, the Monseans were incredulous. When the local Magistry showed no interest in their evidence because part of it came from stories the silbercows told—the queen got angry.
“Why can’t silbercows give evidence?” she demanded. “Why shouldn’t their knowledge matter? People have been murdered!”
“They make things up, Lady Queen,” the magistrate kept saying.
“But what about the things they aren’t making up?”
“And how are we to know which is which?”
“By looking into it!” the queen almost shouted. “People make things up too, you know! Do you believe everything every human witness tells you just because they’re human?”
“You aren’t from here, Lady Queen,” the magistrate kept saying dismissively.
But Nev and Nev’s family were from here, and Lovisa could see the resolve strengthening in their faces during these conversations. Everyone around Lovisa, Keepish or Monsean, was determined to see this through, regardless of rules or laws. It might almost be inspiring—except that what they were striving for was the ruin of Lovisa’s family. It was also the ruin of her own life.
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