The Golden Yarn (Mirrorworld 3)

And all these months he’d believed Will had forgotten the stone.

All these months? How often did you see him, Jacob? The things we keep from others. What if Will didn’t even want to be found? Just like before?

“You look tired,” Fox said. “Why don’t you go and sleep?”

She felt safe. Jacob could hear it. She liked being in Moskva. Or maybe she was just thinking of the other one.

Things We Desire

A human dagger with a mother-of-pearl handle. Kami’en’s brother Skala had found it in one of the caves where they built their surface cities. Yes. That dagger had been the first thing Kami’en had truly desired. The desire had been so strong that he’d stolen the dagger from his brother. Skala had broken two of Kami’en’s fingers for that. Four years later, Kami’en had killed him in battle and buried him with the dagger. The two fingers still ached in cold weather.

Things we desire...

The palace where the Tzar was putting him up was full of things that woke desire. To Goyl eyes, the rooms seemed overloaded with pomp, all those golden tendrils and flowers, the paintings teeming with human gods and heroes. But Kami’en couldn’t help admiring the craft in all those things. His weakness for human things—where did it come from?

The feet of his bed were formed like lion paws, which didn’t help his sleep. The onyx lords kept black lions in their palaces. Kami’en had fed the last assassin they’d sent to a lion.

And, of course, there was a mirror. Humans were so obsessed with their reflections. Nowhere in their palaces could you ever escape your own face. Kami’en briefly eyed himself in the polished glass. A Goyl face gave nothing away—not the rage they felt so quickly, nor the love that came and went so quickly, nor the pride that ruled them all, nor the determination to retaliate for all the humiliations that were as familiar to them as the heat beneath the earth.

He turned away from the mirror.

Was she coming to Moskva?

He poured himself a glass of water, ignoring the brief hope to see her face in it. He’d never loved like this, and yet he’d betrayed her for things he desired even more: power, a son with human flesh, the throne of his enemy… All this he’d always wanted more than love. Love scared him. It was soft. And vulnerable.

One of his guards announced Hentzau. Kami’en had posted the Goyl soldiers by his door only as a courtesy to his Bloodhound, who saw spies even among the Tzar’s guards. As usual, Hentzau’s face didn’t reveal whether he was bringing good or bad news. The past days had brought mainly good news. The rebels in the North were ready to compromise; the Man-Goyl were rejoining his army in droves; Wilfred of Albion was seriously ill, which put his alliance with Lotharaine in jeopardy; and the onyx were divided. Three of the black lords had crowned themselves King of the Goyl. But Hentzau was not bearing political news.

“We have proof Amalie’s godfather handed your son to his grandmother’s people.”

The throne of his enemy. The Goyl were holding Therese of Austry two miles beneath the earth, but Hentzau had been suspicious for months that she was somehow managing to communicate with the surface.

“And? Where is he?”

“We can’t find any trace of him.”

Hentzau delivered bad news with refreshing neutrality. Kami’en appreciated that.

The Moonstone Prince was Kami’en’s fifth child. None of the others had been as wanted by their father as this one. Kami’en suspected he knew why that was. The prince had also been her son for him. He’

d made it official that the Fairy was not the child’s murderess, but that hadn’t brought her back to him. He wanted her back.

“Not a trace? The prisoners won’t speak? Have you lost your touch?”

Hentzau straightened his back, though it obviously caused him pain. There was no part of the jasper Bloodhound’s body that didn’t cause him pain—all for his King. No, still for the old friend. Kami’en was aware that Hentzau’s loyalty was not to the crown but to their shared past. He would have loved to reward him by giving him back his youth. He’d even asked Niomee, but she had claimed that kind of magic was not hers to dispense. Kami’en was sure that was a lie.

“I could not make them speak because they don’t know where the infant is.” Hentzau sounded brusque. Kami’en quietly reproached himself, as he always did when he’d offended his old friend. “Three of Therese’s former court Dwarfs came to fetch your son. We found two, but the third is still at large. We reckon it’s Auberon, Therese’s old favorite. The others were obviously

supposed to lead us off his track. They have no idea where Auberon was taking the child, and neither does Amalie’s godfather.”

Rage. His old foe. Kami’en felt it searing away all reason and political calculations. He went to the window so Hentzau wouldn’t see how irritated he was, about Therese’s cunning and his own foolishness. He should’ve anticipated that Amalie would do anything to drive away the Fairy. She hated her as much as she feared her. But he had to admit he’d never expected Amalie to make her own son a tool in her plans. He didn’t know her. He had married a stranger, and a stranger she had remained.

The Tzar’s troops were parading on the courtyard beneath the window. His allies. Kami’en and Nicolaij had signed the accord that morning. Varangia was a powerful ally in the East, and it was satisfying to know Albion had paid for this alliance, though he’d again had to give up the engineer who’d built his planes and underground railroads. But the Goyl had learned a lot from him before he ran to become Isambard Brunel.

“Was Therese questioned about the whereabouts of my son?”

“Yes. She claims she has nothing to do with the prince’s disappearance. I think she was smart enough to make sure not even she knows his location, just in case we’d question her more...intensely.”

“Did you let her know I will have her daughter executed if I don’t get him back?”