Wedged like a shim between Laszlo’s orders and fear of losing the life I have left, I recall my father’s words, uttered when a board broke or a marionette’s delicate joint vexed him: “A maker will always prevail.”
That’s the only way to make it out of this alive. I tighten my fingers around the comforting weight of a hammer, the handle silky from years of use. Find a way through. The hammer falls into the trunk, ringing like a bell against its fellows.
Next, I will head to the wood to claim the right trees for Laszlo’s princess. I don’t know when I’ll return to Curio again, if ever. After I pack, Nan leaves me to walk briskly from room to room in our tiny home upstairs, hesitating at the doorway of my father’s bedroom where he took his final breaths. I run my fingers over the cracked and fading wallpaper, look through each window to savor the view of the village and the wood in the distance. I miss my father very much. I’d love nothing more than to tiptoe out and see him waiting in his chair by the kitchen fire, glad to see me. He was always glad to see me.
Bran finds me upstairs in the kitchen, after everyone else has said their goodbyes. Baldrik lurks below, stomping about grumpily. I turn my back to Bran, to get one last glimpse of the world outside this window.
“I did it save you, Piro! He said he would let you go if he had the truth. I thought pointing him toward your father would distract him, give him enough to keep him satisfied. I hoped it would set you free. Gep would have wanted it, would have been willing to do anything to save you. I had to! You didn’t say a word. We all know you’re innocent!”
“I couldn’t say anything!”
“I know. And I was a fool. I’m sorry.” His voice breaks. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head, still unable to meet his gaze.
“I asked for one thing when I told you about my past, Bran. One thing, in exchange for revealing the truth. And you couldn’t give me that one thing?” I let loose a sob. “I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought you understood. You knew what could happen! And you threw all the blame on my father, cast his reputation and good name out like it was slop for swine! I was protecting him!”
“You do, Piro,” he pleads, taking a few steps closer. “You mean everything to me! I went mad, couldn’t stand to see you bound like that, paraded in front of everyone. I said the only thing I could think of to spare you!”
My heart is a battleground, wanting him to come all the way over here, to hold me and slay the dread overtaking me.
“Please, forgive me.” Bran puts a tentative hand on my shoulder.
I stiffen and shrug it off. For now, I must draw the circle tighter around myself. Bran can’t be fully trusted.
I experience a sudden pang of shame, remembering Laszlo’s chilling examination of my hands and limbs, as if I was something he’d love to tear apart and understand, something to be studied for his own purposes. My scalp crawls. No one else understands what it’s like to be in my skin, and they never will.
“He only knows what he wants to know, Piro,” Bran insists, practically reading my mind. “Men like him only see what they want to see and shut their eyes to the rest.” He falls quiet a moment. “You must protect yourself. Let him think he knows who and what you are. Let him underestimate you.”
“And what am I?” I whisper sharply, needing to hear his answer.
“You, Pirouette Leiter, are beyond. Beyond brave, beyond good, beyond real. Your hands make magic with wood that mine can only hope to make with gears and winding wheels. You exist far beyond anything he can see. So let that ill-bred weakling see what he wants, but do what you must to save yourself.”
“He wants me to make someone like me,” I hiss. “He thinks I can bring another marionette to life by the light of the blue moon. How can I? I don’t have any magic of my own, despite what you might think.”
“You’ll have the blue moon, won’t you?” he offers hopefully. “Perhaps that will be magic enough. A girl like you and the blue moon. What can’t you do?”
Whirling around, I march past him, pocketing the extra key to Curio hidden on the kitchen mantel.
“Thanks to you, I’m about to find out.”
CHAPTER 21
WHERE TO BEGIN? I WONDER, LEANING BACK AGAINST THE long worktable in the gallery room adjoining the botanical conservatory. I was escorted back to this same room with my supplies as soon as I returned to Wolfspire Hall, and this time I was locked in. I’ve been given a closet at the far end of the gallery for myself, a tiny walk-in outfitted with a single bed, rickety old chair, and cracked washbasin.
I am informed by the disgruntled steward that he is leaving to go to Brylov with a regiment of men for surveillance, but that a guard will be posted outside at all hours. Laszlo himself will inspect my work daily until he is satisfied. “See to it that you obey the Margrave, little drudge. We can exchange your living quarters for something more simple in the Keep without any skin off our back. Your father’s cell is still empty and waiting.” He leers.
Until the blue moon’s rising, I will remain here, breathing the dust of a dream Laszlo has been long waiting to animate.
Morning light stretches itself through the windows facing the conservatory courtyard.
Though I
