Chapter Ten

Ten

They pulled their remaining boats to the shore, tethering them to the banks and covering them as best they could with loose branches and leaves. Sylvia was suspiciously quiet and stood with a very ignoble slouch, as though she could barely hold herself upright. Ludwig slid his arm around her shoulders, and despite her drenched cloak, he let her lean her head into the crook of his neck.

He waved a hand, as though he meant to lift the water from her clothing. He barely managed to wring more than a few drops from it. He flashed her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

Sylvia offered him a wan smile.

Heike eyed them with vague disgust. She cast her eyes around the group as though searching for a target for her annoyance. Predictably, she landed on Lorelei. “So. You can use magic.”

Her tone was conversational, but it dripped with sickly sweet poison. Lorelei’s stomach twisted as her father’s warning rang in her ears. You must never do that where anyone can see.

For years, she had been exceedingly careful. One mistake—one foolish act of selflessness—was all it took to jeopardize everything. It was one thing for people to suspect you were a monster. It was another thing entirely to hand them proof.

She could not tear her gaze away from Johann’s sword, glinting in the pale moonlight. Her voice kept miraculously steady when she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Heike curled her lip. “My eyes deceived me, then.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Ludwig interjected.

“I did. She channeled aether.” Johann had removed his glasses and set to drying them with the corner of his shirt. When he replaced them on the bridge of his nose, Lorelei could not read his expression at all. Begrudgingly, he said, “However, her quick thinking likely saved your life.”

The force of Lorelei’s gratitude startled her. It took a moment for her mind to catch up with the fact that Johann zu Wittelsbach, a supporter of the Hounds, had defended her. “What did you say?”

Heike’s mouth hinged open. “Are you feeling quite well? She’s—”

“A witch, yes.” Johann’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Even so—”

“No, you superstitious oaf . She’s a liar.” Heike advanced a step toward Lorelei and raked her gaze across her face. “Isn’t that right, Lori? How terribly convenient for you to let us believe you were the only one who couldn’t have killed her.”

“Tread carefully,” Lorelei replied lowly, “before you say something you regret.”

“Can we let this go?” Ludwig sounded uncharacteristically desperate. “At least until we’re out of the cold. I’d like to keep all my fingers if possible.”

After an agonizing few moments, Heike sighed, and the anger bled out of her. “Fine.”

“There’s surely a bright side to all this,” Ludwig tried. “At least we still have the map?”

“We don’t. Or a dowsing machine, for that matter.” Heike wrung her wet hair out like a dish towel. With false cheer, she added, “We’re well and truly fucked. I hope you’re pleased with yourselves.”

Adelheid let out an irritated sound. This was the most ruffled Lorelei had ever seen her. Her dress was sodden and mud-stained, and her blond hair hung limp down her back. Still, she looked as imperious as ever. “If only there had been another route we could have taken.”

Heike jabbed a finger at her. “Do not blame me for this.”

“Of course not,” Adelheid replied. “You are a victim in this, as you are in all things.”

Heike grinned maliciously. “You’re one to talk.”

“Enough,” Lorelei cut in. “I can’t think with the two of you squawking in my ear.”

A tense silence fell over the group.

She drew in a deep breath and continued, “In every tale, lindworms feed on livestock. There should be a town nearby.”

Sylvia’s pale eyes were like a brand on her face, but they lacked their usual fire. The emptiness of them unsettled her. “She’s right.”

Johann gestured to the groove the lindworm’s belly had carved out in the earth. It was littered with broken trees and streaks in the torn-up grass that looked disconcertingly like blood. This must have been its path to town. Lorelei could all too easily imagine it slithering back into the water, glutted on hapless cattle. “You’re suggesting we follow its trail to town?”

“Unless anyone has any better ideas,” Lorelei said, “yes. If nothing else, we can regroup there.”

They set off on foot with fog eddying around their ankles. Bit by bit, the night filled up the bowl of the sky like dark waters. The lindworm’s trail led them through a dense forest of fir and white-trunked birches. Bone-pale mushrooms unfurled from the bark of trees gone to rot, reaching toward the dappled moonlight.

Lorelei walked alone in the back of the group, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her greatcoat. Ludwig had an arm slung around Sylvia as they walked. Heike trudged alone just a few paces behind them, radiating a self-pitying misery. Adelheid and Johann followed her, speaking so quietly Lorelei could not make out a word of it. His head was bowed low, as if in prayer—or perhaps awaiting her judgment. After a short pause, Adelheid covered his hand with her own, there and gone in an instant. With that, she went to join Heike. Lorelei watched Heike bristle, then relax as Adelheid talked. Finally, Heike threaded their fingers together.

Apparently, all was forgiven. The ease of it reminded her painfully of arguing with her own sister.

A persistent headache throbbed at the base of Lorelei’s skull from some dreadful mixture of stress and exhaustion—one that only worsened when she saw Johann deliberately falling back to match her step for step. Perhaps if she looked sufficiently uninterested, he’d leave her in peace. No such luck. He walked beside her in unsettling silence, his sunken eyes roving over her face.

Reluctantly, she met his gaze. For the first time, she noticed he had scars like Sylvia’s, notched into his temples and shining dully in the moonlight. They were fainter, though, and old. He clearly won his duels more often than not.

“I suppose you’re expecting gratitude,” she said.

“No.” His lip curled. “That wasn’t for you. Sometimes Heike needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to ask you something.” He spoke every word as though he were spitting out a mouthful of glass. “How did you gain your powers?”

“The same way you did,” she replied icily, “I would imagine.”

He narrowed his eyes. Clearly, he did not believe her. “Who taught you, then?”

“Ziegler.” The pain that knotted in her chest almost knocked the breath from her. Desperate to steer the conversation into safer waters, she added, “It’s reasonably common among my people, but few of us practice magic.”

Magic dwelled in water; that much was a scientifically observable phenomenon. Brunnestaaders took great pride in their magical abilities and saw it as an intrinsic link between themselves and the land. Yevani, however, didn’t fit neatly into the narrative. Rootless, they were called: suited to enterprise and city life. Yevani wielding magic made Brunnestaaders uncomfortable, and discomfort made them violent. Easier to forgo magic entirely than to invite them into the Yevanverte’s walls with their stones and torches. Ziegler had always disdained bigotry of that sort. Any institution that sought to bury the truth had no place in her world. And so, she had taught Lorelei to manipulate water as part of her studies.

“With training, you would fight well,” he said. “Unless you’re holding back. I’ve heard of Yevani who can manipulate the very blood in your veins.”

“Regrettably, I haven’t yet found an entity willing to teach me that,” she replied sourly. “You’re wrong about us.”

“I’m not wrong about you.” He met her eyes steadily. “You might have defended us today, but that changes nothing. You will turn against us when it suits you.”

“So assured,” she spat. “How will you be able to live with yourself when you’re forced to bow to an Albisch queen?”

Johann suddenly looked exasperated. “If this is about the other night, I spoke in anger. Wilhelm has a strategic mind, and doing what he can to quiet Albisch discontent is a wise move. I fought for him and that dream of his. I can be patient in seeing it realized.”

Lorelei was surprised to hear him say it. “And what is that?”

“A united Brunnestaad,” he replied, with something like reverence in his voice. “Something pure.”

God, she loathed him. She could not keep the disgust out of her voice. “And you believe he’ll deliver you that.”

“In time.” Johann frowned. “Once he has the area fully under his command—and the power of the Ursprung in his hands—he can administrate it as he sees fit. I look forward to it myself. Peacetime is so dull.”

“What if he doesn’t see fit to do what you want?”

“Herzin is influential,” he said coolly. “He will see reason.”

Lorelei was not sure what disturbed her more: his vision of a “pure” Brunnestaad or how thoroughly he had upset her expectations. If he was willing to accept Sylvia—and Wilhelm—then he had no motive. Scrambling to regain control of the conversation, she said, “You don’t believe one of your own would be better suited to rule?”

He smiled coldly. “Not all of us are as disloyal as you.”

Lorelei did not rise to the bait. “I know you’re not here for Wilhelm. I heard you were here to fulfill an oath.”

“Adelheid told you about that?” He adjusted his glasses, clearly flustered. “I seldom think of it, honestly. Alexander saved my life on the battlefield, yes, but Adelheid has saved it every day since. That’s stronger than an oath.”

“How romantic,” she said dryly. “I almost envy you.”

He scoffed. “There’s nothing to envy in that regard.”

“Then what is it?”

“In Herzin,” he said after a long moment, “from the moment you can walk, they take you by the shoulders and point you toward an enemy. They place a sword in your hand and call it purpose. She is the only one who has asked me to set it down. I don’t know what you call that.”

For a moment, he seemed almost weary. Human. Lorelei studied the fang glinting around his neck. “Do you know what a golem is?”

He eyed her almost warily. “No.”

“It is a protector,” she said. “There are many stories that are told. The most famous one, however, is about a rabbi who saved the Yevanverte from men like you.”

He said nothing.

“One day,” she continued, “the king threatened to expel all of the Yevani from his city, and so the rabbi went to the banks of the river and built a golem from silt and mud. When he wrote the name of God on a scroll and placed it in the golem’s mouth, it came to life.

“The golem, it was said, could turn himself invisible and summon the spirits of the dead. Every time the king sent his armies to drive the Yevani out, the golem sent them screaming from the streets. On the day of rest, the rabbi would remove the scroll from the golem’s mouth, and he would go dormant.”

“And? What happened?”

“It depends who you ask. In some versions of the tale, the king begged the rabbi to destroy the golem in exchange for the Yevani’s safety. With one stroke of his pen, he changed the word truth to death on the golem’s scroll. The Yevani lived peacefully in the city, and it is said the golem can be revived again in times of crisis.”

He seemed disappointed. “And in the others?”

“The rabbi forgot to remove the scroll, and so the golem went on a rampage outside the Yevanverte’s walls. He slaughtered many people before the rabbi could stop him.”

“How bleak.”

“It is a comforting fantasy for us,” Lorelei said, with more heat than she’d intended. “Nonetheless, you remind me of him. It seems to me she takes the scroll from your mouth.”

Johann froze as though she had struck him. Lorelei kept walking.

She hated him, yet somehow, she pitied him. Had she not seen the way he’d transformed when he began to fight? Had she not seen the vacant, animal terror in Sylvia’s eyes? Lorelei knew what it was like when your mind was still fighting its own wars, ones that had ended long ago for everyone else.

Even as a boy, he was cruel and petty , Adelheid had told her. His father did not give him much choice in the matter.

Wilhelm surely knew what he was. It did not surprise her he’d used every weapon, every amusement, at his disposal. Lorelei thought of the yearning in Johann’s voice when he spoke of Adelheid, the glimpse of weariness when he described the purpose he’d been given. There was another version of the golem’s tale—one in which the rabbi began to fear what he’d created. As he went to remove the scroll from the golem’s mouth, it turned on him.

But that did not seem sufficient for murder. Perhaps she’d been wrong about him. And if she had, where did that leave her?

When they crested a hill, the land opened up before them. Tall grass and pastures were silvered with moonlight. In the distance, soft lights bloomed out of the darkness and crept gently up the mountainside.

“A village!” Ludwig cried. “We’re going to make it!”

The village was little more than a smattering of wood-paneled cottages with smoke curling from their chimneys. As they passed through, Lorelei took in the wards: iron spikes driven into their doorframes and the silver wind chimes clattering in the breeze. Lorelei could feel the eyes of the villagers on them. The few still outside stopped what they were doing. Others watched from their windows, candles burning on the sills, their gazes narrowed and watchful. Although they’d all dressed for traveling, their clothes were likely finer than anything the townsfolk had seen in years.

“It looks like there’s an inn,” Heike said. “Thank God .”

Ludwig and Adelheid exchanged a look.

“Ah…about that,” Ludwig said. “Lorelei, can I talk to you for a minute?”

His tone filled her with dread. The way he steered her away from the group did nothing to help matters. “What is it?”

“Our instruments are…How to put this? Well, half of them are at the bottom of the river, and the other half are in bad shape.”

Purchasing their equipment had eaten up more than half Wilhelm’s grant. Even if they did have the funds, they could only be repaired by specialists, and somehow, she doubted there was a barometer maker in this yokel town. “Anything else?”

“Most of our money is also at the bottom of the river, so…” Ludwig cringed. “Um, Lorelei? What are you…?”

After everything that had happened today, she had no energy left in her to yell. Slowly, Lorelei sat down in the middle of the street. The cold of the cobblestones seeped into her skin, and above her, the stars set into the pitiless black of the sky seemed to be laughing as they twinkled.

I’m ready, she thought. Just strike me down now.

God, however, was cruel. Sylvia von Wolff’s face appeared in her field of vision instead. “Please get up. People are beginning to stare.”

She refrained from pointing out that they had already been staring. “I don’t care.”

Sylvia sighed, as though Lorelei were being very unreasonable indeed. She supposed she was, but she could not bring herself to care. “I can’t do anything about the equipment,” Sylvia said, “but I can handle our lodgings.”

She extended a hand. Lorelei pushed her arm aside and stood on her own. The stung look on Sylvia’s face, she told herself, did not bother her at all.

The inn stood proudly at the end of the road. It was by far the largest building in town, with a quaint, overgrown yard and a wooden fence that had seen better days. Lorelei and Johann both had to duck beneath the low doorframe as they entered.

It looked to be lifted straight from an Albisch woodblock print. The white walls behind the bar were cluttered with portraits of saints, paintings of cows, an impressive collection of cuckoo clocks, and no fewer than five sets of antlers, small enough that Lorelei surmised they belonged to a family of rasselbocken.

Townsfolk clustered around tables near a roaring fire, chattering over glass mugs of ale and plates filled with beets and headcheese. Conversations slowed as people did their best to pretend they weren’t staring. Most of them, Lorelei realized after a moment, were eyeing Sylvia as though they were trying to place her.

They were greeted by a middle-aged woman who—after what Lorelei thought an excessive amount of bowing and scraping—introduced herself as Emilia.

“Come in, come in, my lords! I wish I’d known you were coming. I would have had the kitchens prepare better for your arrival.” When her starry eyes landed on Lorelei, her smile faltered, as if she’d just noticed a snag in an otherwise perfect tapestry. “What can I do for you?”

“Lodging for the night,” said Lorelei.

Emilia recoiled. “Oh.”

Oh, she thought. So it begins.

She appealed to Johann first. “The Yeva won’t be able to stay.”

Lorelei bit down on a retort. She had tried for years to scrub the accent off, but it was impossible to do it perfectly—especially when she had gotten carelessly comfortable in Ruhigburg.

“What would you like me to do with her?” Johann asked, clearly amused. “Put her in the stables?”

Sylvia, who still had not fully recovered from the encounter with the lindworm, underwent a sudden and glorious transformation. She smiled, bright enough to dazzle, as she stepped forward and took Emilia’s hands in her own. “No intervention will be necessary! I assure you, she won’t cause any trouble.”

“You can’t promise that, milady, as much as you’d like to. They’re a scheming type.”

“Regardless, she stays with us. She is a valued companion.”

Emilia looked as disgusted as Lorelei felt. Still, it surprised Lorelei to hear Sylvia express such a sentiment. Perhaps Sylvia was not as horrid a liar as she’d once believed.

Sylvia’s expression grew resigned. “If I may be so bold as to introduce myself, my name is Sylvia von Wolff, and—”

Emilia gasped, stumbling back a few steps. “My sincerest apologies! I didn’t recognize you, Mondscheinprinzessin.”

Moonlight Princess? Lorelei made a mental note to mock her for it later. Heike coughed to cover a laugh.

“Please, there is no need for formalities.” Sylvia laughed uneasily. She lowered her voice, as though she did not want anyone else to overhear. “Allow me to apologize for catching you so off guard. We were waylaid by a lindworm on our travels. Johann here has dealt with it, but tragically—”

Emilia’s voice flattened. “You killed it?”

“Did you want it alive?” asked Ludwig.

“No, milord.” Emilia looked ready to throw herself at Johann’s feet. “No. It’s been picking off our sheep for months.”

She turned toward the room and addressed the small crowd—presumably in Brunnisch, although now that she wasn’t articulating for their benefit, Lorelei could not make out a single word she said. How hard Sylvia must have worked to make herself understood; these days, Lorelei barely detected her accent.

There was a beat of silence. Then, a cheer went up. They hoisted their glasses in the air, sloshing beer and froth onto the floor. Johann looked as though he wanted to disappear.

“Please, stay as long as you wish,” Emilia said. “We must thank you properly.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said.

“I insist.” She smiled at him knowingly. “I know it is provincial compared to what you’re used to, but the Feast Day of Saint Bruno is tomorrow. There will be a festival in his honor.”

“How lovely,” Sylvia said brightly. “We would be honored to stay with you.”

“Von Wolff,” Lorelei said thinly. “With all due respect, we do not have time for this.”

“Lorelei,” Sylvia said with equal venom, “Saint Bruno was the first king of Albe, widely fabled to have fallen into the Ursprung. He is a very important figure to us. Surely you understand.”

She did, unfortunately. With no map and no equipment, they had to rely on local knowledge. They had gotten this far. Surely someone in this blasted village could give them the final push.

“Very well,” she gritted out.

“Besides,” Sylvia added, “we need to restock our supplies before going anywhere.”

“Wonderful!” Emilia folded her hands. “I’ll have someone get a meal for you and show you to your rooms. I trust one of you will watch that one…”

Feeling vengeful, Lorelei said, “Surely, it would make everyone the most comfortable if Her Highness were to do it.”

Sylvia shot her a downright murderous look. “It would be my pleasure.”

They were brought a meal of dumplings stuffed with pork on a bed of cabbage, which Lorelei assumed was intentionally spiteful. She left the dumplings on her plate, which was all the same to her. Her appetite still hadn’t returned. Ludwig quietly pushed his cabbage onto her plate and acted confused when she tried to give it back. No one seemed willing to make conversation, and so, they fell into silence and retired for the night.

Lorelei was filled with a prickling dread as she ascended the stairs. Mercifully, however, the room had two beds. They looked as though they would collapse with so much as a sneeze, but there was a fire burning in the hearth and a washbasin full of fresh, clean water. When the door clicked shut behind them, Lorelei said, “I didn’t need your intercession back there.”

“No? Would you rather I let them run you out of town the next time you are so careless as to open your mouth?” When Lorelei made no immediate reply, Sylvia huffed. “I believe the words you are searching for are thank you .”

“Why waste your breath?”

“You make it very difficult to answer that question.” Sylvia dropped her bags in a heap. “Fortunately for you, some of us have principles.”

“Which you demonstrated so admirably when Heike accused me of murder—and when Johann insisted that I must be a witch.” The strangled hurt stubbornly flared within her. It felt like plunging her own hand into a fire when she asked, “Do you agree with them?”

“Of course not,” Sylvia said vehemently. “You and I may not get along, but you do not deserve that kind of treatment. I am sorry I said nothing—truly. I was not myself.”

To her credit, she looked ashamed. It robbed Lorelei of her well-deserved vindication, but Sylvia’s apology pressed sharply against an old wound. Even as a child, Lorelei had not been easy to love. Early on, she’d found it preferable to embrace her unpleasant nature rather than undergo the agony of trying and failing to please. It had served her well while she walked as a stranger in two different worlds. Over the years, Lorelei had been inured to both the baffled mistrust of her own community and the brusque impersonality of her classmates’ hatred. But in an instant, Sylvia had pierced through her armor, and the pain felt almost like relief.

Far better to be disliked for who she truly was rather than what she represented.

The expression on her face must have been telling, because Sylvia reached out as though she meant to rest a hand on her forearm. Lorelei withdrew a step, putting a safe distance between them. Her heart thudded far too loudly in her chest.

“At any rate, I suppose it must be nice to throw your weight around in a place where your name means something.” With cheerful malice, she added, “ Mondscheinprinzessin .”

Sylvia groaned in exasperation. “Please don’t call me that.”

“What does it mean?”

“Nothing. It’s an old family story,” she said evasively. “Now tell me what that stunt was earlier. You were trying to get Johann alone, weren’t you?”

Lorelei set down her own bag and made her way to the washbasin. She stripped off her damp jacket and draped it over the back of an armchair. With any luck, it would dry overnight, but there was little she could do about the silt-and-iron stench of the river. With brisk efficiency, she began to undo the buttons of her waistcoat. “Am I not permitted to speak with Johann either?”

When Lorelei glanced up at her, Sylvia looked away. Her cheeks were tinged red. Lorelei eyed her suspiciously.

Sylvia cleared her throat and said, “I find myself skeptical that you would want to.”

Lorelei’s fingers stilled on the last button. She did not like the direction this conversation was headed. “Did you get along as children?”

“Most of the time, no. He was a terrible bully and liked to make Ludwig do all sorts of ridiculous things because he was so desperate to fit in. And one time, he conscripted the others to perform an exorcism on me. It was—” She huffed. “You’re changing the subject again.”

“You surely don’t expect me to move past the exorcism so quickly. Did it work?”

“I’m not as dense as you seem to think! Don’t you think I can see that suspicious mind of yours at work by now? When you talk to them, you have the same look in your eye as when you’re collecting folktales.”

“And what look is that?”

“This.” Sylvia contorted her features into an exaggerated rictus. “Even the tip of your nose seems to scowl. It’s quite impressive. Now, out with it. What have you uncovered?”

“That he is an exceedingly unpleasant man,” Lorelei said impatiently. “However, once you are queen, he will not attempt to depose you until it’s politically expedient for him to do so. Are you satisfied?”

Sylvia looked as though she meant to argue more, but as Lorelei shrugged off her waistcoat, she suddenly took great interest in the ceiling. Lorelei—rather heroically, she thought—resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There was no need to get so worked up about it. The Albisch and their prudish modesty!

Without dignifying her with a reply, Sylvia collapsed in front of the vanity in the corner of the room. The mirror had gone hazy and spotted with oxidization. She rummaged through her things and lined up a series of crystal bottles on the counter. Then, she began miserably applying various potions (tinctures? serums? It was all beyond Lorelei) to her skin and finger-combing oils through her hair. She looked tragic, like some lovelorn maiden sitting by her window.

The scent traveled through the room. Lorelei had gotten bare whiffs of her perfumes—lemon, bergamot, roses—over the years, whenever she leaned too close or Sylvia swept the mass of her hair over her shoulders. But now the sheer concentration of it was making her feel light-headed. It would haunt even her dreams.

Lorelei tugged the knot of her cravat loose with force. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Well, you shall have to cope,” Sylvia snapped. “Now…look somewhere else.”

Obediently, Lorelei turned around. Behind her came the soft sound of Sylvia undoing the buttons of her fine linen shirt, the rustle of fabric as it slid off her shoulders and pooled onto the floor.

Lorelei’s mouth suddenly felt quite dry. She fumbled to remove her gloves, but they caught on her skin, damp with river water and sweat. Despite the draft stealing in through the window, it had gotten terribly hot in here, and it was making her irritable. She splashed her face with water from the washbasin.

As quickly as she could, she changed into a sleeping shirt and slid into bed. The covers were thin and scratchy, and they made her painfully aware of every inch of her skin. For a few moments, she lay stiff beneath the linens with her eyes trained on the ceiling.

Footsteps padded lightly against the floorboards. There was a shush of breath, followed by a flood of darkness as the candle went out. The creak of springs as Sylvia climbed into bed. Lorelei lay awake, listening to the wild thrum of her own heart, to the slide of sheets over skin. She’d found Sylvia napping in sunny spots in the library and on campus so many times, she knew the exact cadence of her breath as she slept. She listened for it now, the moment she would surrender.

Neither of them slept for several hours.