Nikolas turned to the cheering crowd. He wore dark green fall front breeches tucked into high black boots. An old leather jerkin covered his torso. Around his waist was a thick belt held closed by a copper buckle. From his shoulders draped a purple robe edged in golden silk. The sapphire clasp at his throat glinted with a stray catch of light. The crown disappeared into the gold of his hair but made comical spikes at the top of his head.
How strange it was to see him then as the prince I had never known.
He searched the faces below and didn’t cease until he met my eyes. Nikolas bowed his head ever so gently, an almost unnoticeable gesture, which made those near me turn to look nonetheless. I nodded back, feeling as I had the first time I met him, warm and light.
The ceremony continued with speeches and a ritual involving wine. King Aeldrich at last stood.
To the right of the dais, a man sat poised with a pen and ink. A bound book lay open before him. He was the official chronicler that evening. As was our kingdom’s tradition, that night was the first time the king would tell the people of his own quest taken many years before.
To a hushed crowd, King Aeldrich told his tale:
For almost a year, I traveled across many kingdoms which spread beyond our own. Some of the clues my father gave me were helpful, while others proved to steer me from course. One day, I came upon a great hill, where I rested. I heard a thunderous rumbling in the valley far beyond. For a moment, I thought a storm was coming. But I saw a puff of smoke rise slowly, slowly, from a line of trees.
I knew I was close. I took my horse to the valley and left him some distance from where I believed the dragon was. I approached with only my sword to protect me.
I wove my way among the trees. The rumbling grew louder. I knew it was the beast stomping his way to his cave. Carefully, I passed through the brush and peered at him. Such a creature I had never seen! It loomed above me like the towers on this castle. I watched him for a moment to study his movement. It was slow but powerfully strong.
Suddenly, he lifted his head. His nostrils flared. It had caught my scent. Slowly, he turned around, these tiny eyes scanning the brush oh so carefully.
Then I had an idea. I could climb a tree, and as it tried to get me, I could slice across his chest and my scale would fall. I scampered to the closest tree. With sword in hand, I managed to climb several yards from the ground.
“Dragon!” I called. “Here I am, you odious beast!” It viciously tore among the limbs trying to impale me with a claw, finally wounding my leg in the attempt. I held to the tree with my left arm and swung with my right. I nicked the beast twice, and that made it even angrier.
Then, to my horror, the beast grabbed me in its huge claws.
My sword fell to the ground. I watched the beast’s eyes glaze over. He was ready for the morsel I’d provide for him. But then—I remembered the dagger on my side. As the dragon drew me closer to its mouth, I pulled the dagger from its sheath. I cut the dragon’s chin, and he roared. I looked straight ahead and saw nothing but a great wall of red. Clutching my dagger, I drew it across the beast’s chest. Two half scales fell to the ground, and then one whole one. Hoping I could survive the fall, I sliced across the flesh that gripped me. The dragon dropped me.
I fell hard on my side and was winded. With the only strength I had left, I reached out for the scale and stood on shaky legs and ran as fast as I could to the woods. A blistering heat blew across my back, and I knew he’d gotten me with his flame. I dropped to the ground and rolled under the shrubbery.
The dragon stomped along behind me. I scrambled across the ground on my belly like a serpent, going deeper into the thicket. Thorns tore my skin, but I ignored the sting. Finally, I inched my way to the end of the brush and started running. I had survived the clutches of the dragon to return home in triumph.
As the audience applauded, he called his son to him. Two attendants carried forward a table and whisked away a decorated cloth. The king presented Nikolas with gifts. A satchel of gold. A hunting dagger. A sword intended for battle and designed for beauty. Outside in the stables, well fed and rested, was his favorite horse.
“May Fate and your wits keep you safe,” the King said. “The pride of your ancestors and the future of the kingdom will ride at your side. Return to us soon with a red scale and a good story.”
The King shook his son’s hand and clapped his back.
“My people, I present to you my brave, honorable son, Prince Nikolas, ready to embark. All hail!”
The crowd rose to its feet. Hail! Hail! Hail!
As guests dispersed to find their seats at the banquet tables, Fewmany maneuvered away from vies for his attention and walked toward me. How little he had changed since the night I met him in that same hall—his hair still lightly oiled, the Tell-a-Bell and timepiece gleaming, his boots brightly shined. There I was in his shadow, no longer the child he frightened with the words So, if I tried to eat you up, you wouldn’t even scream? My fear of him had shape-shifted. It was now founded, and in check.
“Good evening, Miss Riven,” he said. “ ’Tis a momentous day in the kingdom, the prince leaving for his quest.”
“Good evening, sir. Indeed it is,” I said, playing along.
“What-ho, where are your spectacles?”
“Broken. How bright everything is.”
He stepped within intimate distance. “All preparations made?”
“I received the allowance, quite generous, thank you, and the maps.”
“What are your thoughts as you prepare to go?”
“How unusual it will be to walk in the bustle of the world,” I said.
“ ’Tis a brutal one you enter. Mind your purse and your instincts,” he said.
A shockingly tall man interrupted us. Fewmany made introductions, then attempted to hurry the conversation, urging the lord with a parcel of land to sell to make an appointment with his secretary.
Nikolas suddenly appeared at my side.
“Good evening, Fewmany. How honored we are to have you as our guest,” Nikolas said.
“Good evening, Your Highness.” He bowed. “Please accept my sincere gratitude for the invitation and wishes for a safe, triumphant return.”
“Thank you. I do hope I’m so fortunate. I apologize for any interruption, but may I have a moment with you, Miss Riven?” Nikolas asked.
“I believe we were about to part ways, weren’t we, Miss Riven?” Fewmany said.
They addressed me but kept their eyes on each other. And then—the tug. Fewmany drew me toward him without a touch. He’d sensed something he couldn’t identify. I pressed my toes through my slippers.
“Yes, we were, sir,” I said.
“Assure me you won’t leave for the evening without a farewell,” Fewmany said.
“I mind my manners,” I said.
“Your Highness, Miss Riven . . .” Fewmany stepped away with a bow.
“How proper we are,” Nikolas said.
“What is it, my liege?” I asked.
Nikolas leaned toward my ear as his mother approached with an exquisitely dressed, impeccably poised, very beautiful young woman next to her. “Meet me on the tower after midnight,” he said.
Before I could ask which one or why, he slipped away to Queen Ianthe’s open arms. She kissed his cheek and linked her elbow in his. The young woman clasped her hands in front of her, eyes bright and lashes fluttering.
I joined the merriment. Charlotte and Muriel waved me toward a group of former classmates, among them Michael Lyle. To my surprise and relief, my infatuation had vanished. He remained perilously handsome, but I felt no urge to trace my hands over every inch of him.20 We had a pleasant if pedantic conversation and parted ways to enjoy a happy evening.
When a hidden clock struck twelve, Nikolas thanked his guests and took his leave so that he could rest before his journey at dawn.
Before I searched for the tower, I told Father I would meet him at the hall’s entrance when he was ready to leave.
Then I wished a good night to my friends, who seemed prepared to see the festivities to their close. Finally, I looked for Fewmany.
He was in conversation with two of his twelfth-floor men and two Council members. My approach didn’t distract them, but my direct address—“My pardon, good sirs. Might I have a word with you, Fewmany?”—brought bewildered looks.
Fewmany walked with me to a quiet corner.
I stared at his coat pocket, the bulging shape covered with the handkerchief, as always, as long as I’d known him, from our first encounter to this parting. I glanced over the rough scar at his jaw, his smooth-shaven cheek, to meet his amber gaze.
“I’ll be leaving soon. It will be some months before I see you again,” I said.
“Travel safely and swiftly, and bring back word of the boon,” he said.
“I’ll do my best.”
“You have my full faith, Secret. Farewell.”
“Farewell.” I clutched his left arm over the symbol’s brand. His hand pressed mine until I released.
With no time to wallow in thought, I exited the hall, stood in the courtyard, and saw a mouse running in circles. I followed it to the gatehouse. A guard stepped aside from the stairwell to let me pass. I found Nikolas leaning against a space in the battlement. When I called his name, he gestured for me to approach.
Standing next to him, I looked out to Rothwyke. In the streets, people were celebrating his departure with music and dancing. To the south, I could see the outline of Fewmany Incorporated. To the west, where the waning moon traveled, the woods were too dark to see.
“My father gave me a map,” Nikolas said. “It’s a long journey, but the terrain isn’t too harsh. The roads are well marked, with several villages to find supplies.”
That moment, I remembered a rupture that cracked through before he’d left for the goodwill visits. There was a door with a bobbin and latch, and a man entered a room. The map he was about to see was a lie, and the last one the mapmaker ever drew. I suspected Aoife’s manuscript would reveal the image’s meaning, but all I could tell Nikolas then was,
“The map is false. It’s connected to Aoife and the war somehow. She knew the truth.”
“What do you think that is?” he asked.
“The dragon isn’t part of the known world.” I thought to myself, Neither is the hoard.
“Not on a map.”
“No.”
“Then how am I supposed to find it?”
“Something Cyril wanted me to tell you makes sense now. Follow squirrels. Stall when they stall. Hide when they hide. I’ll add, if you find a cottage and see the symbol carved in stone at the hearth, you’ll be safe there.”
Nikolas stared into the distance. “We stood in this same place three years ago when I questioned whether the dragon was real and if the quest mattered anymore. I was afraid then, as I am now, but the need for the truth is stronger than the fear.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Which is why you won’t refuse what Fewmany asked of you.”
“That’s my quest. You have the dragon. I have the hoard. If any old tale is true, they’re in the same place.”
He curled his arm around my back and drew me toward him. My cheek pressed against his chest. I held him tightly, one ear turned toward the stairs, the other to his heart. Unlike the last time we were separated, I wasn’t going to pull away too soon, and from his grip, I could tell he wasn’t either.
“So then—why don’t you come with me?” he asked.
His tone was light, but I didn’t think he was kidding. “Because I’m meant to travel alone, unnoticed, and I suspect you’re going to attract attention along your way.”
“Perhaps we’ll cross paths,” he said.
“Possibly.”
I slipped back then. “I should go. You need your rest.” Hesitantly, I raised on tiptoes to peck his cheek good-bye, but somehow he moved or I did, and although it was only for an instant, brief and chaste, there was a kiss.
“I suppose that makes this a proper farewell,” he said with a bashful grin, so unlike him.
Despite the blush in my cheeks, I laughed. He reached for my hand, clasping it gently, and I began to ease away.
“Be careful,” he said.
“And you.”
“Secret, I—”
I waited through his pause. “Yes?”
“I’ll miss you,” he said.
“I’ll miss you, too,” I said.
He released me and waved good-bye. As I went back to the hall to find Father, fighting a rush of complicated tears, I wondered whether Nikolas had meant to say something else.
DIARY ENTRY 7 JUNE /37
As I write this, a bee hovers between my eyes. A messenger, she says, who will tell the others I’m on my way. In my satchel, I’ve packed bread and cheese, a change of clothing and my cloak, the allowance, and the manuscript. Old Woman waits outside to see me take my first steps on the journey. Once I begin, I cannot turn back.
– Part II –
FROM THE START OF MY journey, animals wild and tame served as my escorts. The first nights, they guided me to cottages where hearths bore the symbol. Not one old woman showed herself, although I found, each time, a pot with a warm meal to eat, a basin of water to bathe, a gown for sleeping, and candles by which to read.
I walked several miles a day, but these cottages weren’t as close together as they appeared. They were, in fact, many miles apart, distances I couldn’t travel so fast on foot. Aoife’s manuscript revealed the mystery. Before she embarked on her own quest, she had been given an incantation to ask the elements to show her the way. Subtle forces directed Aoife’s steps, and animals led her to what she called “links”—hollow trees—which connected what she described as “gaps,” thin places where time and space looped and compressed.
I needed no incantation. Since I was a little girl, creatures escorted me along hidden paths and into hollow trees. As a child, I didn’t realize I’d traveled to remote places when animals led me into the hollows, which, in retrospect, happened often. Now an adult, I wondered what was to come of my bond with them and the quest they guided.
As the new moon rose in secret, seven days after I left Rothwyke, I slept through that night and into the start of the next. When I awoke, I found my black hair had fallen out, pressed into the pillow like a nest. My fingers clutched my scalp and slipped through new silver strands, which reached to my waist.
That very evening, I began to travel only under the cover of darkness.
My escorts remained nearby, leading me on, but familiar comforts were no longer arranged. Rarely did I cross the threshold of an old woman’s cottage or abandoned hut. Shelter was as likely to be an empty space within a tree or under a dead log. Many nights, I huddled on my cloak, my satchel as a pillow. For the first time in my life, I experienced hunger. I couldn’t always forage enough to eat. When I became weak from only water and enough fruit, mushrooms, or greens to stave the pangs, I had no choice but to enter a village or town to buy food.
When I encountered other people along the way, most acknowledged me with a nod or a wave, but with suspicion, because what kind of unaccompanied woman walks alone in the dark? The more wary strangers stopped me. Each kept one eye on mine, the colors of night and day, and the other on the satchel I carried.
What is your name? they asked.
It is Secret, I replied with a steady voice.
They expected no name as that. Their pauses of silence gave me the chance to continue along, unless a quick one asked,
From where have you come?
I answered—through the woods, across the valley, over the hills.
Where are you going? some asked.
My grandmother’s house, I said, which was a ruse, as well as the truth.
The menacing strangers sometimes spoke, but beyond words, I sensed their intent to do harm. At those moments, an animal—boar, fox, bear, lynx—emerged with grunts or growls. The strangers looked at the creature, and me
, and backed away in fright.
Yet I wasn’t afraid. Often uncomfortable, sometimes miserable, but the physical conditions forced me into my body with an ascetic pureness that transformed into an ecstasy when my needs were sated. How surprised I was by this surrender and the wholly new silence it offered. My mind was so quiet. Empty. No thought remained for long because as soon as one surfaced, one of my senses pushed it away. I’d feel a breeze rush on my damp neck, hear the song of an unknown bird, smell the essence of a sleeping forest. I welcomed the respite from myself.
I WALKED THROUGH THE SUMMER and into autumn. The dawn of my twentieth birthday was rose and gold, the trees flaming red, orange, and yellow, a tang of frost on the wind. As I settled down to sleep under the roots of a tree, a fox curled against my stomach to keep me warm. When I awoke again, I walked in the light of a full moon.
Days later, I found the first clue that Nikolas was somewhere near. In an unattended cottage, I discovered a round rock in the center of the bed. Under its weight were a blue feather and three long silver filaments of hair. Then I saw three gold strands one-fourth the others’ length. He’d left a message in the language of our childhood.
I didn’t question the mystery of our parallel journeys beginning to converge. Having read Aoife’s manuscript several times by then, I recognized this was inevitable, a pattern repeated from a thousand years before. As for the gifts, I took delight in leaving treasures and looking for others in return—feathers, pebbles, a fallen nest, a snake’s skin.
Four months after I left Ailliath, although I’d become slight from miles of walking, a visceral heaviness slowed my steps. I knew, without the aid of a map, I’d crossed a border into the land where my mother was born.
It was then the silver wolf allowed glimpses of her lithe beauty as she slipped among the trees. She was neither figment nor ghost, but an echo of memory, of another wolf from another time.
In the manuscript, Aoife told the tale of her husband, Leit,I the warrior who suffered a sword cut from his throat to his groin as he stood powerless to save a little girl tied to a tree. His wolf, with the aid of bees, sought to heal him. Leit’s flesh sealed, but the deeper wound never fully closed.
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