The Golden Yarn (Mirrorworld 3)

The door to the tower was still barricaded with stones, but among Fox’s and Jacob’s familiar footprints Alma saw more tracks, every imprint as clear as if it had been stamped deliberately into the ground. Alma was relieved to see that the footprints didn’t seem to have followed Jacob and Fox. They appeared to be following along another, older trail.

Alma pulled the body of the Heinzel boy from her pocket. She put her finger to the tiny lips and felt that he was still breathing. Silver. She’d dealt with the silver in Jacob’s eyes by using a recipe against metal curses. Even her oldest books said nothing about silver eyes, let alone silver limbs.

Alma gently put the little body back in her pocket and leaned over the strange tracks again. The outline of each footprint was smooth and round, as though she’d pressed one of her herb jars into the damp earth. She rose and looked up at the tower. Before Jacob first arrived, Alma had often been tempted to smash the mirror. She regretted not having asked him more about who’d put the silver in his eyes, but there was already enough danger in this world: Stilts, Nightmares, child-eaters, Fairy curses. She hadn’t really wanted to think about the vanished Alderelves as well. And she’d been worried about a sick child. While Jacob talked, all she’d seen was the child’s flushed, feverish face. You didn’t listen, Alma. You’re getting old, and tired. Four hundred and twenty-three years were more than enough.

It started to rain, as though the skies wanted to recall those who’d waged war on the Alderelves. The water and the earth belonged to the Fairies. Which elements had belonged to the others? Not hard to guess: fir and fire. According to the child-eaters, the reason nobody remembered the Elves was that the Fairies had their human lovers destroy all records of them. The Elves must have been very angry.

Alma ran her fingers along the earthen edge of the footprints. There were two of them, whoever they were. Something ancient was trying to return, but these here were young. What if Jacob’s world had rejuvenated them? Changed, renewed…The Heinzel in her pocket suddenly felt heavy. If nobody remembered whoever was coming, who should recognize them or their messengers? How many had they sent? And what was their mission?

A copper beech swayed in the wind. The rusty leaves made the morning sun draw spots on the old Witch’s skin, which reminded her of another tree, less than a day’s ride from here.

A silver tree with a wooden tongue.

Maybe there was a less dangerous way. Eight hundred years in a tree... Surely that made one yearn for a good conversation, and Alma had even spoken with stones.

Still, she’d also take some silver spoons.

Mirror, Mirror

“She’s traveling to Lotharaine!” “She cursed a village in Flanders.” “She’s gathering an army of Man-Goyl.” “She’s turned herself into poisonous fumes.” “...into water.”

“… into a swarm of moths.”

The Dark Fairy didn’t have to lay false trails. The whole world laid them for her: bored villagers, coachmen, village reporters...Every vagrant high on Elvendust had seen her! But Nerron had more reliable sources. Not only Kami’en’s secret service but also the spies of the onyx lords still regarded him as one of theirs, despite the crossbow debacle (proof that his talents as a double agent were at least as remarkable as his treasure-hunting skills). A drayman who’d been spying for the Goyl for years knew about a carriage that had crossed the river fifty miles to the east by driving over the water. A Thumbling working for the onyx (the little thieves were excellent spies) reported that two guards on the western border of Ukraina were turned into hawthorn bushes after they tried to stop a carriage drawn by green horses. Yes, Nerron was certain that not only Kami’en’s generals but also the Walrus and Crookback were having sleepless nights: The Dark Fairy was traveling east.

Why? Nerron didn’t really care about the answer. He would leave that to the professional spies. What he wanted was his crossbow, the undoubtable proof that nobody hunted treasure like the Bastard. And by the looks of things, he could be giving Kami’en the Jade Goyl as a bonus. Who would’ve thought a trip to a sleepy Austrian town could yield such a rich return? But there was one fly in the golden chalice that fate was offering him: his revenge would have to wait. Revenge. It was all he could think about since Jacob Reckless had escaped through that mirror with the crossbow. All the scenarios he’d come up with while he’d searched for that sly swine... And then the Pup walks right into his path. In his darkest fantasies, Nerron could never have come up with a plan as gloriously vile as capturing Jacob Reckless’s little brother!

As they rode side by side, Nerron almost thought he’d have to tie his own hands, so overwhelming was his urge to punch that innocent face and at least vent some of the rage that had been eating away at him like a poison since the Dead City. He wanted to tie up Will Reckless and drag him behind his horse, scratch a note to his brother on his bloody skin, and hand it to the one-legged cook in The Ogre. He wanted to bottle the boy’s screams, pickle his soft flesh.

Oh, how cruel not to be able to do any of that but instead to have to ride next to the Pup and endure the friendliness with which he met every creature, the guilelessness with which he moved in this world. If this little weakling hadn’t confirmed that he’d once worn a jade skin, Nerron would’ve dismissed the rumors about Reckless’s little brother having been the Jade Goyl as the senseless blubberings of imbeciles.

He still didn’t quite believe it.

And he was still tempted to sell him to the nearest Ogre.

Damn.

He kept telling himself: one week, two at the most. By then they’d have found the Fairy. The Pup would lead him to his brother, and he’d get the crossbow back—and then he could kill them both. Or sell them.

Yes... Patience, Nerron!

Until then, he’d just have to keep imagining his revenge.

They spent their first nights in the woods, but after a Drekavac woke them with its horrifying screams, Nerron moved them to an abandoned logger’s cabin. The Pup was too squeamish to skin the rabbits Nerron shot, but at least he could build a fire. Nerron caught him staring, but Will’s face showed none of what Nerron had seen on his big brother’s face: the revulsion over the stone skin, the “you” and “us,” that unbridgeable chasm between humans and Goyl. Not surprising in one who’d once been a Goyl himself.

It really was hard to believe. The princes of this world must have all dreamed of having a face like Will’s, while the princesses probably dreamed of seeing a face like that climb through their window. The fair hair, the blue eyes, the soft, almost girlish mouth. He even had long eyelashes like a girl’s! And his gentleness could’ve filled a honey pot. All that niceness was enough to make one sick, and every “Thank you, Nerron,” “Good morning, Nerron,” and “Shall I keep watch, Nerron?” just made him want to pummel the boy until his face was blacker than onyx. By all the acid-spitting salamanders of his world, this one saved bugs from the fire! Will called for

a rest as soon as the horses got tired, then unsaddled them before taking a sip of water himself. And every animal Nerron shot made Will look as though the bullet had gone straight into his own soft chest. And this same boy had defended Kami’en against dozens of imperial guards?

“Tell me about the Blood Wedding.”

They’d lit a fire and were eating a hare Nerron had shot. Nerron’s question made Will nearly drop the warm meat into the flames. Bull’s-eye!

“Your brother is mighty proud that he turned you back into a human, am I right? He loves playing the noble hero, but he never anticipated just how badly the Fairy would take his interference. You should’ve heard him scream as the moth tore through his chest.”

How Will looked at him.

Ah, so Jacob had never told Will about that. And still Will didn’t ask Nerron to tell him more. Will Reckless kept his own counsel.