Foxheart Page 13

  “Fox, let me out,” said Quicksilver.

  “Whatever for?” Sly Boots asked.

  “I just want to try something,” Quicksilver explained. “Take the pack, Boots, and keep singing to the bones. Fox, help him get up to the roof. I’ll meet you there.”

  “But the medicine—”

  “I can steal it much easier on my own.”

  Master? Fox questioned. Quicksilver felt a soft paw on her arm.

  Go on. Trust me?

  You know I do, said Fox, and licked her cheek.

  Licking cheeks isn’t very dignified for a monster, is it, Fox?

  We must always respect our heritage. Mine is about licking things and chasing sticks.

  Once they had gone, Quicksilver felt a weight lift off her shoulders. No pack, no Sly Boots, no Fox. No magic. She was alone and free and light as a leaf.

  She moved silently through the apothecary stores, darting up and down ladders, climbing dusty shelves lined with mortar and pestles, squeezing between stacks of heavy burlap sacks that smelled of herbs. A box of empty vials nearly toppled as she brushed by them. She passed closed doors; from behind them came the sounds of people snoring, but Quicksilver moved so quietly that no one came out to stop her. And with no Fox to hide her, she felt rather thrillingly exposed, as she had when sneaking through the convent, magic-less and solid as any human.

  By the time she’d navigated her way up through the house’s five floors, through the cramped, cluttered attic, and out onto the roof, Quicksilver felt ready to crow with joy.

  “There you are!” Sly Boots whispered, hurrying through the roof’s forest of chimneys with the pack full of bones in his arms. “It’s about time! Why’d you leave us like that? Do you know how creepy it is, sitting in the dark and singing to a skeleton?”

  I did it, Fox, Quicksilver thought to Fox, who was foraging through the rooftop garden. I stole things all on my own. Even without you, I’m still a good thief.

  Of course you are. Fox trotted over to her with a fat carrot in his mouth. You always were. But may I remind you, master, it would have all happened much more efficiently, had I been with you.

  “Here, Boots, make sure I’ve got everything.” Quicksilver emptied her pockets to show them the medicines she had stolen—jars of ground crumwort, stoppered bottles of essence of moxbane, tied packets of dried weatherwurst.

  Sly Boots stared at it all with wide eyes. “But how did you know what to steal? I didn’t tell you, but it’s all here! This is exactly what I need!”

  “The fourth rule of thieving is to always notice everything around you,” Quicksilver explained, with not a little puff to her chest. “You never know when it might come in useful. Your parents’ bedroom back home was full of these things—empty bottles and such, of course, but . . .”

  Sly Boots gazed up at Quicksilver, and Quicksilver uncomfortably observed how the stars reflected in his eyes. It was not an altogether terrible sight.

  “Stop staring,” she said shortly. “It makes you look funny.”

  “You’re the best thief in all the Star Lands, Quicksilver,” he declared.

  The words were exactly what she wanted to hear. Feeling generous, she patted his shoulder. “I know. Now, let’s get back before you have to start singing again. I’m not sure my thumb could survive that twice in one night.”

  “I’ll help you carry these,” Sly Boots asked, reaching for the medicine.

  Quicksilver slapped his hands away. “No. They stay with me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And why is that?”

  “So I know you won’t leave me.”

  Sly Boots blinked, looking rather baffled. Fox stopped munching his carrot and lifted one furry eyebrow.

  Quicksilver blushed furiously. She hadn’t meant to say that, but now, of course, it was too late, and she was left standing there looking like the biggest fool there ever was.

  Sly Boots laughed. “Why would I leave you?” he asked. “Without you and Anastazia, I can’t get back home.”

  “Right. You’re absolutely right.”

  “So . . .”

  “So just stop talking to me, how about that?” Quicksilver shoved the medicines into her pack, in the pouch that held their food and coin, making sure to avoid Sly Boots’s steady gaze.

  Making sure not to think about the convent girls, and the sisters, and her parents, and all the other pieces of her life that she’d already lost.

  Thinking about such things made her pause, and think too much, and hurt. Not to mention say things that she shouldn’t. And if she were to become a truly great witch thief, she would need to keep her heart hard.

  For witches, Anastazia had said—and thieves, Quicksilver knew from her own experience—were better off alone.

  .23.

  TOO LATE FOR WARNINGS

  The next day, the group left Farrowtown and followed the Kivi Road west into the kingdom of Belrike. After some weeks of traveling, Olli explained, they would arrive at the impassable western mountains, and though reportedly everyone who had attempted to cross the mountains had died doing so, they seemed to by all accounts last longer and, in general, have a better time of things if they started out on this particular footpath at the base of Mount Korkaya.

  “That’s the most disturbing explanation about why to go somewhere that I’ve ever heard,” Quicksilver told Olli. “When people start out here, they live a little longer than other people—but still end up dying anyway! Hooray!”

  Fox and Sly Boots laughed, but Olli seemed neither amused nor offended. He simply kept his eyes on the road and, in a much more serious tone than he typically used, said, “I don’t know where else to lead my people, Quix. The Wolf King hunts the witches of the Star Lands, so it makes sense that we should go elsewhere, even if the way is impossible. Otherwise we should stay here and die. Is that what you’d prefer?”

  Quicksilver had nothing to say to that, and, frowning, fell back to walk alongside Anastazia.

  “My people,” Anastazia muttered, loudly enough for Olli to hear. “Pah! Some people they are, most of them running scared when things get hard. One little Rompus, one little roast over a fire, and away they go! Do you think, Quix, they’ll stand by him deep in the mountains, in the brutal claws of winter? Or what about when the Wolf King tracks them down? Will they help their beloved leader fight, or will they run away in a panic and leave him for dead?”

  Olli’s shoulders tensed, and his mouth became a hard line. He hurried to catch up with Freja and Lukaas. Pulka, perched on his shoulder, glared back at Quicksilver and Anastazia with sharp purple eyes.

  “Why do you have to be so mean to him?” Quicksilver demanded. “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

  “I’m trying to do him a bit of good, make him see how foolish he is before it’s too late,” said Anastazia. “We’ll leave them, tomorrow, just like we’d planned to before this whole Rompus ruckus began. When we’re with them, we’re harder to hide, slower to move.”

  Quicksilver kicked a pebble out of her path, startling Fox, who had been tracking a quail.

  “Well, I think that’s a grand idea,” said Sly Boots loftily. “We could have been a lot farther along without them, you know, if they hadn’t distracted us. Maybe you could have even tried some time-traveling magic by now—”

  “Oh, shut it about time travel, Sly Boots,” Quicksilver snapped. “You’re just jealous because Olli’s funny, and kind, and brave, and you’re just a—a nobody! You’re not a witch, and you’re not a thief. You’re just a boy.”

  Fox looked up from his sniffing. That was harsh.

  Quicksilver glared at the ground, her cheeks flaming. It’s the truth!

  I think you’re still worried about losing him. Master, I mean this with all due respect, but . . . not everyone is going to be like your parents.

  Fox, that is one thing we will never—never—talk about. Do you understand me? My parents are not your concern.

  Silence, and then Fox thought quietly, As you wish, ma
ster.

  Steeling herself, Quicksilver lifted her gaze back to Sly Boots. It was remarkable, how his face had changed, how it hardened and closed like a door slamming shut on a bright room, leaving everything else in darkness.

  “I’m a nobody, eh?” he said quietly, and then stormed ahead down the road before Quicksilver had a chance to say anything more.

  “Well done,” Anastazia murmured, squeezing Quicksilver’s shoulder. “We don’t need him. We don’t need anybody. If we play this right, we can leave him behind, too. He’ll only slow us down, just like the others.”

  Quicksilver nodded but said nothing. She hadn’t meant to shout at Sly Boots like that. Only last night they had enjoyed stolen sugar cakes on the roof of the Laughing Farmer, their pockets bulging with goods from the apothecary, before finally crawling back into bed at dawn.

  And now . . .

  We’re not actually going to leave him behind, are we? Fox asked quietly.

  Perhaps it would be best if we did, Quicksilver responded. I’m afraid I’m a splendid thief but a terrible friend.

  Well, so is he. Always going on and on about his parents, as though you aren’t in fact doing your best to learn magic and help him—

  “What was that?” Anastazia asked.

  Quicksilver realized she must have said something aloud. “I said, I’m no good at being someone’s friend.”

  Anastazia laughed. “Well, thank the stars for that! What do friends ever do but get in the way? The only people a witch can trust are herself and her monster.”

  Did you feel that? Fox asked, pausing at Quicksilver’s side.

  Feel what? Quicksilver glanced around. They had stopped beneath a towering tree with a white trunk and leaves as blue as lightning.

  Someone’s here. The fur on Fox’s back stood up.

  But Quicksilver saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  We’re not alone, Fox insisted, and at that moment, darkness flitted across Quicksilver. Looking up, she saw a strange shadow darting through the leaves overhead. There were two, and they moved like birds might, wheeling about through the branches before perching on one to leer down at her. They were both human shaped, but only somewhat. Their bodies swirled like trails of smoke, and their shifting faces wore horrible, hungry grins.

  “Anastazia.” Quicksilver tugged on her older self’s sleeve—but then the howls began.

  It was too late for warnings.

  The Wolf King had arrived.

  .24.

  A STORM OF FUR AND FANGS

  The wolves came first, surging onto the Kivi Road in a storm of fur and fangs. White, black, red, gold, brown, gray, and blue—the Wolf King’s pack of monsters.

  The brown wolf lunged for Olli, its fangs gleaming. Olli shouted to Pulka, and Pulka soared around Olli, her white wings forming a shield of light. The brown wolf smashed into her and collapsed, whimpering.

  The red wolf, blazing like fire, rammed Lukaas in the stomach and sent him crashing to the ground. Lukaas’s belly was scorched black. His bright green lizard monster leaped onto the red wolf’s back, shifted into a fiery green wildcat, and sank her teeth into the wolf’s neck. The wolf, pinning Lukaas to the road, grabbed the wildcat’s tail with its teeth and flung her to the side. Lukaas screamed.

  A teenaged boy wearing a fur-trimmed cloak clasped with a silver wolf pin sauntered out of the forest, laughing. The two shadows from the tree now hovered over his shoulders like a pair of malevolent crows.

  “Boots!” Quicksilver cried.

  Sly Boots, standing frozen with shock, whirled around in the chaos, but Anastazia grabbed Quicksilver’s arm and hurried her away down the road. Fox ran alongside them, whining frantically.

  “Where are you taking me?” Quicksilver pulled against Anastazia’s grip. “Where’s Boots?”

  “We can’t worry about him,” Anastazia snapped. “We have to hide, keep that skeleton safe. Now run!”

  But Quicksilver was the witch. She was the one with the monster. She would not be dragged away.

  “Quicksilver!” came a faint cry—Sly Boots’s voice, cracking with fear.

  Anger flared up inside Quicksilver. Fox, free me.

  Right away, master, and with a muttered apology, Fox shifted into a mouse and plummeted down Anastazia’s shirt.

  Anastazia twitched and squirmed, batting at her clothes. Fox sank his tiny mouse teeth into her shoulder. She yelped and let go of Quicksilver.

  Quicksilver turned and ran back toward the fight. Fox, I need you!

  Fox jumped out of Anastazia’s cloak, shifted back into a dog, and tore after her. Anastazia screamed at them to stop, but they kept running. They were witch and monster, girl and dog, and they were not afraid.

  Quicksilver spotted Sly Boots scrambling through the undergrowth, hurried toward him, and yanked on his collar. He yelped and hid his face.

  “It’s just me!” she hissed. “Are you all right?”

  Sly Boots turned, his cheeks smeared with bright pink pollen from the tiny flowers scattering the forest floor. “I-I’m . . . yes. I’m fine, I think.”

  “Go with Anastazia and hide,” she said, pointing back down the road.

  “Quicksilver, get back here!” shouted Anastazia, hurrying toward them as fast as her frail body allowed.

  “But—” said Sly Boots.

  “Go!”

  Quicksilver shoved Sly Boots at Anastazia and then turned and raced toward the coven. She did not pause to strategize or think. Her blood roared and her heart pounded, and she understood what she must do like she understood how to put one foot in front of the other.

  She pointed at the nearest wolf, the gold one, and said to Fox, Do not spare him.

  Fox raced for the golden wolf, which had pinned Freja and her snake monster to the ground and now stood over them, licking its chops. The faster Fox ran, the more he glowed, until he was a furious ball of light, surging toward the wolf.

  The wolf’s head snapped up right before Fox slammed into him. They toppled, wrestling down the road, snarling and snapping their jaws. Freja and her monster struggled to their feet and fled.

  To me, dear Fox! Quicksilver pictured him in her arms instead of locked in combat with the much bigger wolf. A pain in her heart tugged, the cord between her and Fox snapped back to her, and then Fox was there beside her, panting and disheveled.

  But there was no time to waste.

  Again! Quicksilver pointed to the black wolf, who was dragging an unconscious, bleeding Bernt toward the Wolf King. Fox shifted into a hawk and let out a piercing cry. He flew at the black wolf and pecked at its eyes.

  The coven’s seven remaining witches shifted their monsters into wildcats and boars and bears. Colored streaks of energy zipped back and forth between them like bolts of lightning. Each time Quicksilver saw another witch in trouble, she sent Fox flying over to help, and when she felt teeth pierce him or claws scrape him, she shoved her own pain away, thought him back to her, and held him close.

  I’m here, she told him.

  I’m all right, he answered.

  But the wolves were too powerful, and they did not tire. The Wolf King watched from a distance, leaning against a tree by the road, directing his pack with lazy flicks of his fingers. He appeared to be talking to the two shadows perched on his shoulders.

  Who are they? What’s he saying to them? Is he . . . laughing?

  Fox did not answer.

  Quicksilver whirled in time to see him slammed to the ground by the gigantic golden wolf.

  “To me!” Quicksilver cried, her voice breaking, and the pang of magic that pulled Fox out of danger and into her arms was so enormous it knocked her flat.

  “Fox, Fox,” she whispered, snuggling him to her chest. “Are you hurt?”

  I’ll be fine, master, he thought to her, weary. We monsters are resilient creatures, didn’t you know?

  A tingle down Quicksilver’s spine alerted her to the Wolf King, who was watching her from across the road with eyes cold and hard as knives.
He was no longer smiling.

  The bones in Quicksilver’s pack shifted and hissed words she did not understand.

  As one, the seven wolves froze and turned to her.

  The two shadows on the Wolf King’s shoulders rose into the trees, stretching tall and thin. Then they swooped down toward Quicksilver, twin waves of howling darkness big enough to drown her.

  She realized, with a sort of slow falling feeling, that this was the end.

  I’m sorry, master. I tried.

  It’s all right, Fox. Maybe the others will escape, at least. Quicksilver drew a deep breath. Shall we give it one more try?

  I don’t intend to die lying in the dirt like some dog, Fox agreed. I mean . . . well, you know what I mean.

  Quicksilver got to her feet and gathered up everything she had inside her—every fear and every hope, every dream and every nightmare. Her thoughts turned to fire in her mind, and then her heart, and then her fingertips, until she was nothing but the calm, hot certainty that her death would be one that people would tell stories about for the rest of time.

  When she flung out her arms, she sent Fox flying toward the oncoming darkness in a glorious arc of light.

  He cut right through the twin shadows, and the growling wolves, and settled over the wide-eyed Wolf King like a shroud.

  Then Fox disappeared.

  And the Wolf King shuddered.

  And Quicksilver felt the cord connecting her to Fox snap tight in her mind, and she saw . . . everything.

  The images came in sharp flashes—colors and shapes, sounds and textures. She saw a castle in snow-covered mountains, a village being burned by a young boy with night-black hair. A blood-spattered family cowering before a pack of wolves. The same night-haired boy chasing a deer through the forest—calling after it, asking it to stay with him.

  A canvas of swirling stars. Seven figures with eyes as deep as the seas, wearing robes of blinding white. They looked down upon the Star Lands as though studying a map in a book. They clawed inside the night-haired boy’s mind and made him scream, turned his eyes to stone.