Nothing about Voryn was what I’d expected.
Where was the magic? Where were the riches? The power that could hold back the curse, that could create the crown itself?
Where was the Lady of the Wilds?
And, more worryingly, where was the crown?
I hoped Vala was okay. I hoped even harder that, wherever she was, she had the crown. I didn’t want to think about whether we’d lost it in the wood, or if Seren had gotten it—or something even worse. If Vala was out there in the wood with it, I knew she would keep it safe until we could find her again.
“The Grandmaster wants to see her alone,” said one of the guards, a woman with bright blond hair and pale skin. I didn’t like the sound of a Grandmaster. Was he some sort of leader? A king?
The Lady herself?
“Alone?” one of the guards who had me by the shoulder asked. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“It’s her wishes.”
Inside the fortress at the apex of Voryn, the half dozen guards led me up a large stone stairwell to a large set of ornate doors, carvings of bears and cougars and ravens across them, and pushed one open.
The guards jerked me to a stop just inside the door.
“. . . It cannot be that she was able to cure the woodcurse once it takes hold, and yet she did,” said a soft, sure voice. It belonged to a young woman, her back turned to me as she faced the older woman sitting behind what I could only describe as the fanciest desk I’d ever seen—bronze gilding and animals carved into the wood. Stacks of papers were piled high atop the desk and almost blocked the older woman completely. I recognized her—she was the same one who led me to the prisons. The woman who I’d thought was a seneschal.
Could she be the Grandmaster? Behind her was another set of closed doors, framed by maps of what must be the wood and other information about the city.
The young woman went on, “Think of all the people we could save if we could force her to—”
“We have no idea where she came from,” the older woman replied. “She could be woodcursed herself. She could be part of the wood’s plan to take us unawares. No, this is a nonstarter, Petra. Oh—you’re here,” she added when she noticed me.
The young woman—Petra—glanced over her shoulder toward me. Now that I was closer, I was surprised to see how tall she was. Her dark hair was short, barely brushing her ears, and her skin was the color of bark wood, her eyes a warm brown, eyelashes long. I couldn’t help but blush, because she was very beautiful. She turned to me with the grace of a dancer. Her lower left leg was wooden, gleaming with metal bits that strapped it to her thigh. She wore leather armor emblazoned with the raven’s sigil, like the guards.
The crest of Voryn.
“So you are the one who cured that young man,” said Petra, narrowing her brown eyes. “How did you do it?”
I gave a start. “Oh, um—”
“Was it a poultice? Magic? Are you a witch? A god?”
“No,” I quickly replied, shaking my head. “You see, I don’t really understand it—”
The woman went on, cutting my babbling short. “Then some sort of talisman? An array? A—”
“Petra,” the older woman interrupted. “Leave us.”
The young woman looked like she wanted to say something more, but then she bit her tongue and turned to leave. As she passed me, she gave me a glance that sent a chill down my spine. The door swung closed behind her with a deep and sullen thump.
“Forgive my apprentice. She’s very curious.”
“It’s, um, all right.” If that was curiosity, I didn’t want to know what it would be like to be interrogated by her.
“The question she should have been asking,” the older woman said, and reached behind one of the stacks of paper, “is why you have the crown of Aloriya.”
She set the golden crown on her desk.
Oh.
I stared at the crown. I’d tell her, but . . . “Where’s Vala?”
“Who?”
“A bear—about this tall and sort of a sooty gray color . . .”
“Ah, that beast,” the Grandmaster said. “She was very protective of the crown. We had to subdue her. But she’s fine,” she added quickly when I made to yell at her. “You see, I’m in quite the predicament. You seem to be able to cure the woodcurse, and on top of that you have the crown of Aloriya. You can just imagine what I might be thinking of you.”
I clenched my hands again. “What might that be?”
“That you’re from the wood,” she said. “That you’re a magic user of dark intent who has stolen the crown from Aloriya for a purpose I cannot yet guess.”
“That . . . is definitely not true.”
“Then how did you cure your companion? I’m no fool—you knew he was cursed, and you walked into that prison with a plan.” She stood abruptly. The legs of her chair screeched loudly against the stone floor. “Now tell me why I shouldn’t lock you up or put you to death—if not for being woodcursed, then for the safety of my city.”
I clenched my teeth. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I have some sort of . . . power in my blood. I don’t know how it works, but I somehow knew that it would either kill Fox or . . .”
“Or cure him.”
“Yes. I hoped it would be latter, obviously.”
The Grandmaster narrowed her eyes, but then she swooped up her robes and sat back down. She waved to one of the other chairs in front of the desk. “Sit. Tell me who you are, why you are here, and what you’re doing with this crown. And I warn you, do not lie to me.”
Behind me, the guard who had been posted on the outside of the room stepped in, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. I knew that stance—I had seen enough guards at the Sundermount take it in the village when people at the tavern got too rowdy, or a villager’s voice rose too high in the great hall. It wasn’t casual; it was threatening.
“I didn’t come all this way to lie, milady,” I said. “My name is Cerys Levina. I’m the daughter of the royal gardener of Aloriya.” My hands were shaking with fear and frustration, but I made myself stay calm and sat down in the chair she had motioned to. I told her about the assault on the castle during Anwen’s coronation, and how I didn’t know where else to go but to Voryn. I told her of how we were chased through the wood by the bone-eaters—by Anwen herself—and of the wood-animated corpse of Seren Penderghast that haunted our trail, and how Fox fought off the bone-eaters and got cursed.
The Grandmaster listened as I spoke, nodding, and when I was done, she shifted in her chair. The crown shimmered in the low lamplight between us. Finally, the woman said, “You still haven’t told me why your blood is magic.”
“Because I don’t really know,” I replied, somewhat truthfully. “Folks in Aloriya thought it was a gift from the crown—a gardener’s daughter to make the late king’s endover lilies bloom year-round,” I added, not as truthfully, because I knew where my magic had come from. I knew it had come from the wood.
“And do you expect me to believe that?”
“Anwen has magic, so why can’t I? Didn’t you once have magic, too? Or was that a lie in all the stories I was told?”
The Grandmaster gave me a look I could only describe as pitying. “Once upon a time, we did, but no longer.” She stood again then, and I had picked up enough from Wen’s etiquette training to know to stand with her. “You’ll find your companion has been evaluated by our healers and deemed cured, miraculously. He’s been taken to a room in the infirmary for the night. You may go to him, and you both may recover and restock your supplies before you leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes.”
I gave a start. “But I came all the way here—”
“And for what? For help you thought we would give?” She took a step forward, and I shrank back. “We have fought against the Wildwood for three centuries without your help. Powerless. Isolated. Trapped. While you and the other thieves in Aloriya prospered. We have no idea what this crown is capable of, or if there’s even anyone here who would be able to wield its power. What are two Aloriyans and their cursed crown to us? Nothing but trouble.”
“But you must be able to do something!” I pleaded, and then I remembered. “How about the Lady?”
“The Lady?”
“The Lady of the Wilds! Can’t she do something? Where is she?”
The Grandmaster’s face hardened. “Where? Where indeed. She isn’t here.”
“But—but she—”
“She’s gone. She’s been gone for three hundred years, and we have lived generations in this wood without the help of that crown or the Lady or Aloriya, and I will not let some little girl destroy that. You may stay a week and no more—”
“The wood will come for you eventually,” I interrupted. “It’ll come for you just like it came for Aloriya!”
“I’m sure you think it will,” she said, “but I see no threat. Our city is safe behind the fog and behind our walls, and I won’t risk my people for you.” She sat down again. “Now, you may stay until your and your companion’s wounds are healed, but then I expect you to be gone from my city—”
“And if I can bring you proof?” I challenged. My voice shook.
She inclined her head. “Of this threat of yours?”
“Yes.”
“I make no promises about helping Aloriya.” When I made to protest, she held up a hand. “. . . But I will listen.”
My shoulders unwound a little. It was better than nothing. “Okay. I’ll find you your proof.” When I went to grab for the crown, she was quick, drawing a dagger from the inside of her robes. She slammed it through the middle of the crown. I jerked my hand back.
“I keep the crown,” she said. “I do not know its power—it’s as much an object of legend to us as our city must be to you. And I do not trust you with it in my city walls.”