Page 127

I almost lost my nerve, too. She wasthatgood at staring.

She folded her hands primly in front of her. “The carpenter commissioned by my mother—you’re that woman’s girl? The one who made the delivery on her behalf?”

I drew in a breath. “Yes.”

“You’ve taken the acorn?”

“It’s a long, dishonest story.”

“And what did you do with it?” When I hedged, her voice softened in encouragement. “You can tell me.”

“Mama,” Nicu spouted like a water pump. “Mama, don’t—”

“I buried it,” I replied. “It’s gone.”

Murmurs throughout the group. The princess searched my face, intrigue slanting her voice. “Are you lying?”

“For once, she is not,” Aire said from behind her.

“I would second that, beloved,” the jester said. “Her tone leaves nothing to be desired, nor admired...what?” He shrugged at the wry glances of the soldiers. “Every crime deserves a rhyme.”

“You could show us where,” the princess prompted. “You could unearth the acorn for your kingdom.”

And for Aire. For his wife.

I was just so surprised that Princess Briar wasn’t demanding it. I thought of the woodland, and where I’d buried the acorn, and my hunch of why it needed to be done. I could have told her my theory, could have used it to defend myself, but that would mean revealing the acorn’s location. Otherwise, they’d never even humor me.

And even then, I couldn’t offer a guarantee that my theory was correct. And if I couldn’t offer a guarantee, they might dismiss whatever I said. And if they did that, they might dig up the acorn.

And that might undo everything.

I shook my head. The princess sighed. “Then take her away.”

And so they did. While Nicu argued with his parents—“No! She’s my friend!”—and while Punk flapped to my side, and while Lyrik growled at the soldiers who escorted him as a witness, they took me away.

While the acorn remained, they took me away.

While our treehouse refuge got smaller, they took me away.

While Aire bypassed me, sparing me only a cursory glance, they took me away.

They bound my wrists with irons, cold and heavy against my...my flesh.

They tied me atop the mule, and they tied the mule to a horse, and Punk landed on my shoulder. She clasped my feather hat in her beak. My throat cracked as she fluttered, setting it atop my head, at the angle I liked.

I grinned at her as she perched on my thigh.

The trip dissolved from one hour to the next, from one day to the next. We passed a mad village, both an outlying sanctuary and a quarantine for those of a violent mind. I’d heard about these places. A place where born fools deemed too dangerous for integration could exist and be monitored, but without being locked up like beasts. A place where they might be treated, helped, or at least humanely restrained.

Mother’s face filled my mind until we passed the hamlet completely.

I spotted Aire’s golden head; he hadn’t glanced back at me once. Nicu rode beside him, alternating between speaking rapidly and casting about for Lyrik, who rode his own horse.

I became an observer until a face appeared from the net of hickories and bushes. A familiar form with rusted hair and a checkered skirt, a fox slinking around her ankles, a quiver dangling from her shoulder.

The fox maven who’d stolen my hat. From the bowels of the forest, she watched me, and I think she recognized me beyond the newly shed woodskin.

The manacles clanked as I shuffled, pulling off my hat. On impulse, for no reason at all, I held it out to her.