My vision blurs, glazing over the chuff of smoke from the marketplace and the sharp smell of spices in the air. I can see the dark shape of a Woodsman’s suba, trotting toward the barbican on his black horse. And then, beside him, impossibly: the white blur of a wolf cloak, and a girl with hair the color of snow.
I blink once, hoping I will wake from a nightmare.
I blink again, praying it’s a mirage, a trick of Király Szek’s pallid sunlight.
I blink a third time, and I know with a sickening crush of dread that it’s real.
Someone’s cart of cabbages overturns, and the cabbages go rolling across the filthy cobblestones. In the ensuing scuffle, I dart forward across the courtyard, toward the Woodsman. I skid to a halt between him and the barbican.
It’s the Woodsman with the horrible mangled nose, Lajos. He looks down his half nose at me and sneers.
“Get out of my way, wolf-girl,” he says. “Nothing you can do or say will save your sister.”
“She is not my sister,” Katalin huffs.
In that moment, I can’t decide whom I would rather kill—her or Lajos. From up on her silvery mare, Katalin’s blue eyes are gleaming with stubborn reproach, but I notice that her hands are bound, and there’s a ghost of a bruise smudged purple on her cheek. It’s not quite enough to make me pity her, but a snarl of fury coils in my gut.
“The king swore,” I say, going on despite the trembling in my voice, “he swore that no harm would come to Keszi!”
“I don’t make bargains with wolf-girls,” says Lajos. He kicks his horse so that it shoulders roughly past me. “I just follow the king’s orders.”
Looking at Katalin now, she hardly seems real. I have been so worried about Nándor’s treachery that I have forgotten that the king is a tyrant in his own way. After so many sleepless nights, my belly churning with fear over what would become of the Yehuli, I have nearly let Keszi slip from my mind. Guilt and horror twine in me at once, a fiery string of pain.
I turn to Katalin. “Get down from the horse.”
Katalin’s gaze shifts uncertainly between Lajos and me. She’s not worried about provoking Lajos, of course—she’s more concerned with snubbing me and making sure I know it. But she puts one leg over her horse’s saddle and then slides off it, boots hitting the ground with a muted thud.
“You don’t give anyone orders, wolf-girl,” Lajos spits, leaping from his mount in one furious motion, his hand on his ax. “I don’t care what sort of bargain you have with the king—you can serve him just as well when I’ve cut your demon tongue out of your mouth.”
But the bargain is broken already and the air is cold and clear. All my fear shudders out of me, leaving only anger in its place. “I welcome you to try.”
And then Lajos swings. It’s a warning strike, halfhearted, but I reach out for his blade with my right hand, as soon as its movement slows enough that I won’t lose the rest of my fingers doing it. In my grasp the metal peels with rust, flaking away in long strips like iron tongues, until the whole blade has crumbled right down to its shiny hilt. Lajos takes a step back, eyes widening.
“How did you do that?” Katalin demands.
“The king will punish you!” Lajos cries out as the crowd startles like spooked chickens. “You’ve attacked one of his loyal Woodsmen!”
“You attacked me,” I remind him hotly. Perhaps I have lost all my good sense, broken the promises I made to myself to stay quiet and cowed. But the king broke his end of our oath first.
I jump as the gate of the barbican grinds open, expecting Nándor or worse. But it’s Gáspár. I hate how relief stills in me when I see him, the way the warmth of a fire can make you feel sated and sleepy as it settles into your marrow. There are two Woodsmen with him, Miklós and Ferenc, but my gaze trains on him and him alone, remembering how he looked in the chapel’s puddled candlelight. Remembering how he told me he kneeled.
Gáspár takes in the scene and my trembling hands and draws a breath. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” I look between him and Lajos, gaping. “Your father broke his bargain. He promised that if I served him, Keszi would be safe from harm, and now he’s brought another wolf-girl anyway!”
I see a shadow go across his face, but I can’t guess at its meaning. Gáspár turns to Lajos. “When did the king order you to go to Keszi?”
“Just after Saint István’s feast,” he mumbles. “After the wolf-girl—”