Chapter 30
XXX.
Master Key
With the spelled ring tucked safely inside my dress, I arrived at Renaud’s chambers, surprised to find him with his cloak on, already preparing to leave. “You’ve only just returned,” I cried.
He ignored me.
“Where are you going?” I asked, unable to stop myself, though I knew he would not answer.
“The business of Death,” he said. His tone was short and remote, but he glanced at me after his answer, as if waiting for me to pursue him, to plead with him.
“I have been waiting for your return. For your time. I have questions about curses,” I said instead, pulling out my work and pretending that I did not see this crack into his humanity, this insecurity that repulsed me.
“Curses?” he asked.
“I noticed some marks on the stones in the chateau hall that look very much like curse marks. You said this house was older than you. Was it always built for Death?”
He was silent for a moment, as if pondering how to respond to me.
“This house is very old indeed. It was built in the heart of this forest, which is quite ancient. It has magic that can be tricky—the old kind always is. But cursed?” He seemed thoughtful, considering.
“No, I don’t think so. But you could bring me a copy of the etching, and I shall look over it for you. ”
I nodded, relieved for his help. “I shall do that.”
He seemed mollified by my asking and kissed me once before leaving.
But his earned favor did not feel quite the same as it had before—maybe it was only that my thoughts were already springing ahead, and only moments after the sound of his stallion had been swallowed by the forest, I was slipping out of my garden gate once again.
I walked for a long time, keeping the thought of the bandits and the hollow carefully in the forefront of my mind.
Today the forest remained silent—uncaring.
In some ways, this unsettled me more than its outright aggression the previous day.
The sun crept higher, and doubt wormed its way under my skin.
If the forest did not care, would my attention matter?
I began to touch the trees as I went, asking for their help without thinking deeply on it. I kept going, following the pull of the golden thread of knowing. Eventually, it led me to the edge of the narrow hollow, and I whispered my thanks.
Each time I found it, I was reminded again of the cleverness of the bandits, and the way the blanket of leaves had been woven over the forest to hide an entire camp from view.
I picked my way down the slope and didn’t fight when the watchman grabbed me and hauled me forward, arrows drawn behind.
“Tell Tobin the witch Perchta has a message for him.” As I said it, I felt the currents of magic all around me, a current that flowed past me, to Perchta in her hut, to Hecate in places I did not yet know the name of.
Tobin appeared, Jon trotting behind him. “Perchta,” he said with a short, respectful bow. “You have answered my call. What message do you bear for me?”
He’d called? I tried not to look surprised and betray my ignorance. “What did you need from me?”
“We have been faithful to the god’s command, searching for the women who have gone missing. We believe we know who has taken them.”
My heart raced, my own mission immediately forgotten. “Who? What have you found?”
“We believe, my lady, that the Baron himself is taking them.”
“The Baron?” I wondered, my mind whirring. I tried to think of him—but in my head all that I could see was a white stallion and Maxime, his bloodlust-driven captain. “Oh,” I said, rather unlike a goddess or a witch.
“What does the witch know?” Tobin asked easily.
It took me a moment to catch my breath. “Nothing. Lord Death holds the names of the dead sacred. I only know the ones left behind continue to live in terror,” I said. “Why do you believe it is the Baron? For what purpose would he …”
“There have been no bodies. No graves. We’ve combed the surrounding villages, and they have also reported missing women, and even children. They cannot have disappeared into thin air. They must be held somewhere.”
“Children?” I breathed, dizzy. My thoughts stuttered, unable to continue.
“Young girls, mostly. We want to search the Baron’s estate. I think the bodies—whether they live or not—must be there. We need your magic to shroud our search.”
“I don’t …” But I snapped my jaw shut. My mind could not immediately lay hold of a work that would enable their search, but I would not say that.
I would find a way. I would find the spell.
Anything to put this to an end. I nodded.
“But after, you must deliver me to the edge of the village and bring Dacia to me.”
Tobin nodded his agreement. “You have my word.”
“And I must be back before nightfall. You must understand how important it is. Can you guarantee that?”
“If those are the terms, we must leave at once.” Tobin stood and gave a piercing, strange whistle.
The camp suddenly erupted into motion. It seemed only the blink of an eye and the bandits had the fire stomped out, tents buttoned up, and horses ready, clad in the same leaf-litter tunics and hoods that covered their hollow.
Tobin rode up and gave me his arm. “Give us wings, witch.”
With a foreboding I couldn’t quite shake, I grabbed his arm and swung onto the horse behind him. We rode out of the hollow as a group, but quickly each rider fell off and disappeared into the woods.
The Baron.
It made sense, the answer right under our nose all this time. But what could I have done about it, if I had not had these long months of struggling? In that moment, every bit of pain and struggle seemed worth it. I gripped Tobin’s waist and steadied myself as we rode through the forest.
Aware of how little time I had, I searched my mind for all I’d learned from both Lord Death and Perchta for a working that would aid us—without any ingredients—and provide the kind of cover Tobin and his men would need.
Absorbed in my thoughts, the ride seemed much faster.
I was surprised when Tobin stopped the horse at a low stone wall that cut through the forest and slid to the ground.
He gestured for silence and motioned that we were to go on foot. I was running out of time.
The forest we moved through was thinner and not as old.
It did not have the ancient awareness that I was used to.
We crept through the underbrush, Tobin communicating with the others with a whistling that mimicked the birds.
I had to stay close, nearly touching him, for he was easy to lose, even little more than an arm’s reach in front of me.
I wished he had not been so resistant to the idea of his gifts, for that gleam of an other, inner nature seemed more evident to me than ever.
Soon, we came to the edge, stopping at the border between brush and bush, glade and grass. Here, Tobin turned to me, expectant.
“You may begin your spell, witch.”
I blanched, my gaze fixed on the gleaming white stone maison.
It stood in a large, rolling green valley with a gravel road that wound to an ordered courtyard.
The grass was clipped, and beyond the house the Baron’s fields were thick and golden with the last of the harvest. On the wind came the heavy sweet scent of sun-ripened grapes.
From this vantage, I would not be able to do anything; I’d have to cast a spell over the entire valley and I had no such power.
I shook my head. “This is too far. And I need to know where the Baron is.”
He put two fingers to his mouth, silencing me. Those piercing green eyes met mine and he leaned in close. “The Baron left last night, but we do not know when he might return. We must move quickly.”
“Where are you planning to search?”
He pulled from his tunic a tightly folded piece of parchment, grubby hands unfolding it to show me a crude map. “One of my men got the layout from a kitchen maid. We especially want to search the cellars.”
“I must be closer,” I said, taking the map. He started to pull it back. “I need it,” I whispered, and he let it go.
It felt so exposed, to jog down the hill toward the maison without any cover of trees.
My mind was racing as fast as my feet. I could not transform us, but I could maybe cover us in silence?
A worm of despair threaded through my stomach.
Spells took so much work, so much time, so much thought.
I was afraid of failing, but also of being captured.
Tobin kept glancing at me, worry in those green eyes.
I didn’t bother explaining, just waved my hand forward every time he stopped as though to ask, Is this far enough.
No, it wasn’t. No matter what working I chose, I would need to be as close to them as possible.
Finally, we came to the edge of the white gravel paths near the stables.
The spirit of an elderly farmhand hung over the gate, staring at me.
I looked away, swallowed, and pushed my hand to motion us onward again.
The barest thought of a spell began to build.
A kind of cloaking—pulled from bits and pieces of illusion spells I remembered and the memory of making myself a mouse on the first day I had spotted the bandits.
As we crept along, I grabbed a piece of white stone to use as chalk.
Tobin whistled—a common trill of a bird—and another one followed a few seconds later. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the stable.
“This has to be good enough,” he whispered, throwing me into an empty stall. He gave me a look, then disappeared as silently as he’d arrived.