“Maybe she keeps the mice from making nests in the books.”
“Let us hope. If so, then maybe I would not mind her being here so much.”
The vibration of Kočka’s purr rumbled against my legs. I sighed and slumped, relishing the cat’s comfort. “I guess you know why I’m here, Sister.”
“You came to see if I have received word of your friends, the Fantazikes, yes?”
Among the first things I’d done after arriving in Prigha was visit the cathedral and inquire about sending a note to my friend, Nathalie, via the church’s San Marena parish. “I know you said you would send a courier if you received news, but I was restless this morning and needed an excuse to get away.”
Maria giggled, and the girlish sound contrasted her severe posture and attire. She motioned to the papers stacked on her desk. “I understand that feeling very much. Sometimes I think I will drown in all these documents.”
“I feel the same about laundry.”
She laughed again, leaned forward, and tented her fingers under her chin as she arranged her expression into something more solemn. “Your friend, Nathalie, has written back and said she would ask the San Marena scribe to send letters to the other parishes around the Continent, and a few in the far east and north, as well. I also have taken the initiative to write letters to my contacts in several parishes. So far, I have received no further word. If anyone has responded to your inquiry, the news of it has not yet made it here.”
I exhaled and rubbed my face. Tears of frustration burned in my eyes, but I held them back.
Maria must have sensed my disappointment. She clucked her tongue again and leaned closer. “Evie, I am sorry. I wish I had better news for you. But the Fantazikes are a remarkable people. Their presence is noted wherever they roam. It is unlikely they would go unnoticed for long. I am certain we will find them, given enough time.”
“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.”
