“Time is part of the problem, though. I don’t have much of it, and I can’t afford to stay in one place too long. It’s not safe for me. There are people—” I paused. Maria knew nothing of my history or my true identity. Revealing myself to anyone meant risking the safety of my anonymity—not that the Church had connections to Le Poing Fermé or Magicians, in general. I swallowed and started again. “There are people, powerful people, searching for me. Bad things would happen if they found me again.”
Maria squinted at me. “You have the look of someone well born. I never thought you were a peasant laborer.”
“Even with hands like these?” I waved my red and rawboned fingers at her.
“It is in the way you hold yourself. It is in your manners and your speech, Evie. I know nobility when I see it.”
“The empress’s court would surely put my upbringing to shame.”
Maria arched an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, I suspect I am not wrong.”
“You’re not wrong. But I’m an extremely long way from home, and I’m not sure how I’ll ever get back.”
Somewhere within Sister Maria’s library, a clock ticked, reverberating in the silence as she considered my words. Finally, she exhaled and leaned back in her chair. “If you do decide to leave Prigha, be sure to stay in contact. If I receive word of the Fantazikes’ location, I will need to know where to forward it. I am sorry I have no more answers for you, but I can at least offer you some comfort.” She rose and collected a bell from her desk before crossing the room. She stepped into the hallway outside the library and rang her bell. Moments later, a young woman in servant’s garb appeared, and the two spoke in low tones. The young woman bobbed her head and hurried away.
Maria returned her desk. “We shall have tea.”
Kočka stretched and kneaded her paws against my thigh before settling again. I stroked her cheek, and she leaned into my touch. “My nursemaid always said: ‘While there’s tea, there’s hope’.”
“She sounds like a very wise woman.”
I smiled, allowing myself a moment to remember Gerda. “Yes. She was, indeed.”
***
I stood on the sidewalk outside the Cathedral of the Risen Son with renewed hope and an improved spirit. The cold constriction around my heart had eased. I turned toward home and refused to dwell on the grueling labor awaiting me there. Instead, I dawdled at street-side pushcarts, studying the collection of items for sale.
A cluster of boys rushed past, and one shoved a handbill at me. The pamphlet showed an illustration of a striped circus tent and a scrawling script advertising Le Cirque de Merveilles Mécanique. I stuffed the flier in my pocket and stopped before the spice shop where I’d bought my square of chocolate the day before.
Andêla, the proprietor’s plump wife, waved at me through the window. As I raised a hand to wave back, a coach rumbled to a stop behind me, and its horse team pranced on anxious hooves. In the shop window’s reflection, I watched the carriage door fly open, and a dark figure in a hooded cloak leaned out, reaching for me. I spun to face him, but before I could act or form an objection, the stranger had latched onto my arm. Stunned, I stumbled, and he hauled me toward the carriage’s interior.
“Stop!” I screamed as my wits returned. He squeezed my wrist, grinding bones together, as he threw an arm around my shoulders. A cold panic gripped my heart, and I dragged my heels against the cobblestones, searching for purchase, but my abductor’s strength overwhelmed my own. Instinctually, my senses reached for the heavens, searching the skies, but the thunder resisted my call.
“Help!” I yelled to a few curious types who had stopped to watch the struggle. “Please—” A hand clamped over my mouth. My attacker’s grip tightened as he hauled me off my feet and shoved a shoulder into my stomach. I choked and sagged against him. With a final heave, he hurled me into the coach’s dark interior. My head slammed against something, and I crumpled to the floor.
By the time my blurry vision cleared, and my eyes adjusted to the dark interior, the carriage had taken off at a jolting pace. We bumped over rough streets and voices rose, slinging curses at the carriage for its dangerous pace. The driver ignored the protests and cracked his whip.
I rose, tumbled into a seat, and shoved aside the velvet curtain over the carriage door. We were climbing a winding road cutting through a part of the city I’d only viewed from a distance. “We’re going to the castle?” I muttered to myself.
“Clever deduction,” answered a deep, rumbling voice, speaking in Inselgrish.
I recoiled, scrambling deeper into my corner of the carriage, away from my abductor who sat opposite from me. Deep shadows from his hood and the carriage’s dark interior obscured his face.
“Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
The shadow flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. “In good time,” he said, his Bonhemmish accent as thick as cold honey. “All in good time.”
Chapter 3
The carriage rumbled to a halt, and my abductor threw open the door. Guards in uniforms—peaked black caps and double-breasted maroon coats—hurried to surrounded us. Tall, crenelated walls encircled us on all sides, and the iron gate that had allowed us entry was already closing. My captor descended to the cobbled drive and extended a hand to me—a gesture more courteous and graceful than his former brutish dealings. Confused but curious, I took his hand and stepped down into the paved courtyard.
My kidnapper dropped his cloak’s black hood, revealing a young face framed by wavy, dark hair. Fierce black eyes regarded me from beneath his elegant brows. His stare seemed to reach inside and lay open my soul. I shuddered and dropped his hand.
“I apologize, Lady Thunder, for your harsh treatment.”
My heart leapt into my throat and pulsed, hot and burning. How does he know me?
Long and lean, he reminded me of a black heron eying a tasty fish. He raised his chin and peered down his long nose. “My lady, Křisnová Tereza Jagiellon, Empress of Bonhemm, asked me to fetch you, and under no circumstances was I to allow you the opportunity to refuse or escape.”
“The empress? How does she know who I am?” I didn’t bother denying the truth of my identity. “And who are you?”
He swept a hand across his chest, bowed, and rose in one fluid, graceful movement. “Otokar Kouzlo, the court’s Magician.”
The fire in my throat turned to ice in an instant. I gasped and stumbled back. “M-Magician?”
Otokar nodded, and a swath of dark hair fell over his brow in a roguish way. Something about his sudden dishevelment eased my dread. So did his grin. “Of course. How else do you think Tereza and I were able to find you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel, and his dark robes swished around his feet. He gestured for me to follow and led us through a slim archway in one of the surrounding walls. I hadn’t noticed the doorway before, but the passage opened to another, larger courtyard ringing a fountain spewing water in tall plumes. Beyond the fountain, a grand staircase rose to meet a set of heavy doors that opened as we approached.
Two men in servant’s attire bent their knees as we passed into an interior hallway. Dark shadows fell over marble floors, and the atmosphere reminded me of the inside of the Katedrála z Vzrostl Syn. Otokar paced beside me like a tall, dark wraith.
“I’ve been taken against my will before,” I said in hushed tones. “It didn’t go well for me.”
My escort peered at me from the corner of his eye. “We mean you no harm, m’lady, if that is your worry.”
“Of course that’s my worry. Why did the empress bring me here this way? She could’ve extended an invitation. It would’ve been much less alarming.”
“Would it? Would you have come if she had sent a messenger? Or would you have run like a rabbit sensing a fox?”
I bit my lip and looked away. We turned a corner and climbed a steep staircase. Light spilled into the second-floor hallway, revealing gold tones in the plush carpets and wallpaper. A cathedral-sized window framed the wall at the hall’s opposite end, and sunshine burned through clear glass panes. A flutter of hope awoke in my belly. Perhaps the empress and her Magician meant me no harm, after all. I swallowed my denial and answered Otokar plainly. “You’re right. I would have run.”
“For someone who seems to crave anonymity, you did a terrible job of hiding. Do you not know we could sense you out in that field, grasping for the thunder and storms?”
Stunned by his claim, I stumbled and lurched against him. He grabbed my elbow, holding me steady until I regained my footing. We stopped next to a potted fern perched atop a tall plantstand. More bristling green fronds adorned the hallway, placed evenly against the walls between doorways and framed portraits of Bonhemmish royalty. “What do you mean you sensed me?”
The Magician’s broad mouth turned down, but a playful light shone in his eye. “Tereza will be angry I told you so much already. She wanted to be the one to reveal everything to you. Might I beg you for patience, m’lady?” He winked. “Save me from the wrath of the empress?”
Moments before Otokar had me fearing for my life. Now he made me want to laugh. Was it Magic, or simply his natural charm? “I don’t owe you any favors.”
He ducked his head and lowered his gaze, playing humble. “You do not. But the issue is irrelevant, now.” He raised his knuckles and rapped on the door beside us. A feminine voice answered from within, and the door opened. He motioned for me to enter, and I stepped past a waiting footman into a sweeping, sunny room full of light and color. Thoughts of oyster shells came to mind as I noted the fabrics, paintings, and fixtures all done up in nacre iridescence, a cacophony of pastel, rainbow hues. At the center of it all sat a beautiful young woman, a dark pearl among the light.
Not knowing Bonhemmish court protocol, I paused and averted my eyes. I struggled to keep my mouth closed and not gape at the splendor any more than I already had. I must look like a complete rustic idiot. Fallstaff had been grand, but it had never been a castle or a palace. We had been comfortable there, and I never wanted for anything, but compared to Prigha Castle’s magnificence, my former home had been humbler than I’d realized.
Since fleeing Fallstaff, I’d lived in an attic, a ship’s hold, roadside camps, and a shabby apartment. Perhaps part of me had forgotten places like this still existed.
Otokar appeared at my side and issued another of his graceful bows. I shifted into a curtsey and spotted several loose threads along the hem of my trousers. Mud had dried in crusted splotches on the tips of my boots, and several dark spots of dubious nature stained my cuffs. A flush rose in my cheeks, but I endured the empress’s scrutiny in silence.
Like a bird, she twittered something at Otokar. He answered in his low rumbling voice and motioned to me. “May I present Evelyn Stormbourne,” he said in Inselgrish. “Lady of Thunder, Crown Princess of Inselgrau.”
