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The fox continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do not speak to anyone in the house. When you locate the bird, do not believe anything it might say. You will see two cages. You must not shift the bird from its wooden cage into the beautiful golden one.”

“What will happen if I?—”

The fox talked over her. “Carry the bird back here or anywhere outside the castle walls. Follow these instructions to the letter , and you will escape unscathed.”

She looked to Papa, who raised one bushy brow and summarized, “Don’t listen, don’t speak, bring it outside, and no golden cage.”

Lenka turned back to meet the fox’s stare, but those yellow eyes intimidated her. She said, “I understand,” but she really wanted to know what would happen if?—

“Remember: do not speak,” the fox snapped.

“I remember.”

“I shall meet you once you’ve completed your task.”

“What? No, wait!”

But the bossy beast was gone.

She turned to Papa Hrabik. When he didn’t speak, she asked, “What are you thinking?”

“Foxes are sly. No reason to trust this one just because it talks.”

The castle’s gates stood open. Wind whistled around stone turrets and towers, whipping colorful banners. Sentries lined the walls.

She had no choice but to cross that drawbridge. “If I back out of this task, the fox will give up on me and find someone else to help him break the curse.”

“Then maybe we’d find another way to rescue the bird.”

She heard his words, but . . . “Papa, I must steal the golden bird.”

His brows bunched, but he briefly bowed his head. “This is your quest. I’ll wait here. Do you remember the bird’s advice?”

“I do.” How could she forget when he reminded her so often?

She squared her shoulders, gripped her bow, then marched boldly up to the bridge and across it. She expected to be stopped and questioned at any moment, but the guards looked right through her.

Puzzled, she studied her hands and arms. She wasn’t invisible, yet no one seemed to notice her presence.

She walked around to a side door, which stood open on that windy yet sunny day, and entered a hallway.

To her right, people were chatting and calling out orders.

She peered into a large kitchen, but that room was too busy for safety with so many moving bodies, so she backtracked and followed the hall to a stairway.

Seeing only a few housemaids around, she wandered along another wide corridor, checking rooms as she passed them.

Where would people place a birdcage? In a sunny window? In a tower?

She couldn’t help the chills running up and down her spine. Someone would notice her any minute now. She caught herself breathing hard for no logical reason. From one hall she heard raised voices—both female—but otherwise the place felt almost lethargic.

While climbing and listening, she found herself praying for some kind of guidance. Finally, at the end of a long passage lined with closed doors, she glimpsed spiral stairs through a doorway.

At the same moment, a trill of birdsong tickled her ears.

Guided by sweet chirps and warbles, she quickly climbed the winding stairs, listening with delight.

Only a few cruciform windows allowed light into the tower, but it was enough.

She paused at the top on a narrow landing and braced herself for whatever might happen next.

The door was ajar and opened inward at her touch. She stepped into a room fairly glowing with sunlight and magic. The golden bird in a cage immediately caught her eye. The bird looked Lenka up and down, then puffed out her plumes and shook herself with a resonant jingle.

Lenka opened her mouth to greet the bird but remembered just in time and snapped it shut. But if she couldn’t talk, how could she inform the bird about her mission? Maybe the bird already knew?

“Did the fox send you here?” The voice spoke inside Lenka’s head, rich and musical.

Of course! How had she forgotten so quickly? Without a thought, she answered in the same way. “Yes, he told me I must bring you to him.”

“But I long to be free.”

Empathy and sudden confusion blurred Lenka’s intentions. Never once had she considered that the bird might resent her captivity. And what if the fox intended harm to her?

“Why are you caged? And why must I leave you in this ugly wooden cage instead of moving you into that work of art?” She pointed at the exquisite gold-filigree cage that stood on a nearby table.

The bird tilted her head but didn’t answer.

King Gustik would want the entire package of golden treasure.

But why should he possess the golden bird?

He would keep her captive for his own pleasure and prestige.

Maybe even pluck her feathers to sell! She turned to study the golden cage more closely and noticed four golden apples lined up on its floor.

Now that she saw them, their sweet scent soothed her.

“So, this is where you brought them,” she realized. But if the bird was imprisoned here, how had she flown all the way to Trinec and back each night to steal apples?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To bring you here.”

“Me? Why?” she asked again.

“I can open any cage and fly away, yet always I must return to my prison in any form it takes.”

Lenka couldn’t seem to stop gaping open-mouthed at the bird. “But . . . but why?” she managed to ask, helplessly waving her hands at the cages. “Why did you go to all that trouble to steal apples that might bring me here?”

“Because I trust you to do what is right.”

Lenka had no idea what anything meant. When she tried to remember the bird’s instructions from that night in the garden, the instructions she knew so well, only the fox’s orders remained in her head.

But she did know that the golden bird should never be trapped. It wasn’t right.

Setting her jaw, Lenka marched up to the bird’s cage, jerked its door open, and stepped back. Scorning the fox’s rules, she spoke aloud: “You are a sentient soul who should never be enslaved or imprisoned for your beauty or magic. Be free!”

As she spoke, something new and powerful filled her voice. Was it . . . magic?

Silence and stillness reigned for an endless moment.

Then the golden bird burst into song more glorious than anything Lenka’s ears had ever heard before and nearly exploded from her prison in a brilliant shower of golden light. In the next moment, she slipped through one of the cruciform windows in the tower and was gone.

Both cages and the four golden apples vanished as if they had never existed.

Lenka hurried to the window, but she couldn’t see the bird anywhere.

The fox will kill me!

Even so, she would do it again if she had the chance. Truth and mercy prevailed!

Solara—the name popped into her head—was now truly free.

But heavy boots pounded up the tower stairs. The golden bird might be free, but the Baron of Chelm Castle would surely be furious about the loss of his treasure.

Meanwhile, at Castle Valga . . .

Y ears dragged past. Five of them!

With neither sign nor word from Bogumil.

During his first miserable year of captivity, Kazik had wondered if he might go insane, trapped in the castle grounds with dozens of sleeping people and animals. He’d done a good deal of shouting in the chapel, and he wasn’t proud of the fury and despair that still washed over him at times.

Iga was his only company, except at random times when he could hear Helena’s voice in his mind and almost-but-not-quite feel the caresses she lavished on the magical toy horse. Kazik always answered her, and sometimes he believed their hearts connected.

Who would have thought the little wooden horse he’d carved for the girl he loved could help preserve his sanity and keep hope alive? The realization that his mother just might have guessed always made him smile. Someday he hoped to thank her . . . for so many things.

At times he still worried about the future, but mostly he lived in the present.

Early on, he had explored his limits. All of Castle Valga and its grounds were open to him, but he could neither cross its drawbridge nor take so much as one step beyond the outer gardens and pastures.

From the castle towers he could watch distant peasants and townspeople go about their daily lives, plowing, planting, and harvesting their land without the requirement of paying tribute to their sleeping king.

He often wondered how the curse affected them.

Were they able to leave their farms or villages?

After the first weeks of captivity amid a few hundred sleeping strangers, he’d decided to, well, rearrange them.

For one thing, it seemed rude to watch people sleep.

For another, some of the people not only snored but often talked or laughed in their sleep, which creeped him out.

After much thought and preparation, he had gently shifted, one-by-one, every human, canine, and feline sleeper onto a blanket and dragged them all into the Great Hall, where he arranged them in orderly rows.

Next, he’d dragged the outdoor animals small enough for him to roll onto a tarp into the stables.

Moving all those inert people and beasts had exhausted him in unexpected ways, but once he finally closed the doors, he could almost forget they were there since they had no physical or emotional needs.

They all seemed content and comfortable.

More than once he tried to use his magic to escape, but to no effect.

Caroven though he was, he couldn’t hope to overcome Bogumil’s fay magic.

On the bright side, in any room in the castle he could sit beside a gently crackling fire that never needed stoking, or he could read an entire book with light from a candle that never burned down.

He was the only man in the place whose hair and beard grew. At first, he’d enjoyed looking like a wild man, but as the months and years passed, he’d tired of that look and became a decent self-barber.

Unlike the sleepers, he had normal bodily functions.

He’d learned to cook meals for himself (as a change from the perpetually available porridge).

The kitchen provided endless food staples.

Also, wild creatures such as rabbits, pheasants, deer, and once even a wild hog wandered onto castle property and fell prey to his bow.

He harvested fruit from the castle orchards and vegetables from the greenhouses.

Berries and other fruit grew in plenty each summer, almost as if invisible gardeners tended them. He was as healthy as a horse.

Speaking of horses, Iga also thrived on fresh grass, grain, and hay that never ran out. Kazik was immensely thankful for her company.

His original clothing had never worn out, but it had become tight and short, so he’d pilfered clothes from various wardrobes. As the seasons and years passed, to his inexpressible delight and gratitude, he’d finally grown taller.

He set up daily, weekly, and monthly routines for himself, and he followed them.

He practiced archery and swordcraft. He rode Iga through the gardens, pastures, and stable yards, and together they practiced tilting at the rings.

He also ran laps around the courtyards, climbed the walls (literally and figuratively), ran up and down every staircase in the castle, did daily body-weight exercises, hefted bags of sand, and threw large stones.

He finally had the physique he’d longed for when he was younger.

The bathhouse in the castle’s basement was a bonus. He swam in the lap pool there every morning and night for exercise and for the sheer pleasure the beautiful place offered. Like a taste of freedom that soothed rather than tantalized. A promise of hope.

The castle’s extensive library and beautiful chapel were essential gifts. Access to plenty of books and regular activities kept his mind and spirit healthy and active. He even assigned himself reading goals. Who knew? He just might have the time to read every book in the castle.

He observed Sundays and holidays, aware of his need for rest and refreshment of his spirit. He taught himself to play the pipe organ (for his ears only) and sang hymns. Despite current circumstances, he knew that he was never abandoned.

And he had the amazing gift of his magical heart-connection to Helena. He refused to let her down by falling into despair, and he prayed for her safety, courage, wisdom, and faith amid whatever circumstances she faced.

He simply lived in the moment and hoped for the future. But, oh! If he could only know for certain that he would see Helena again . . .