Shadowsong (Wintersong #2)(60)

A wolf boy.

The townspeople caught the child, who snapped and struggled and fought like the feral animal he was, and bore him to the church, where a bed had been laid for the wheelwright. But of the wheelwright himself there was no sign. No trace of hide nor hair, nothing left but one last grotesque figurine: a willowy youth with the wheelwright’s face and a goblin’s pointed grin.





THE OLD MONASTERY


“tell me about your brother,” the Countess said.

The day was mild for late winter, and the Countess and I were picnicking outside. It was the fourth day in a row my brother had not joined the rest of the household—such as it was—for a meal. Any meal. Breakfast, luncheon, tea, dinner, or supper, Josef was conspicuously absent from all gatherings. It was only the crumbs on his plate on the tray outside his door each morning that reassured me he was even eating at all.

“Josef?” I was surprised she had asked about him, then belatedly berated myself for such a selfish, self-absorbed thought. He was the other guest—prisoner—of the Procházkas.

The Countess nodded, slathering a roll with butter. “I’ve hardly seen him since we’ve arrived, although I have heard him playing his violin. Exquisite. Your brother has an extraordinary gift.”

I flinched. Our paths had not crossed since our argument that first night my brother and I had arrived at Snovin Hall, but I did occasionally see Josef on and about the grounds with his violin, lost in whatever private reveries that occupied his mind. His music was more of a presence than his physical self, for I often heard the high, sweet voice of his violin singing away in the abandoned hallways and corridors of the manor house.

“Yes,” I said in a neutral tone. “He does.”

My hostess looked askance at me. “And how is he? I know that this”—she gestured to Snovin, to the manor, to the Underground—“has all been rather overwhelming for the two of you.”

Sometimes I hated those green eyes of hers, which were by turns incisive and empathetic. I did not trust her still, but there were times when I wanted to. There were times I was so lonely for a friend, a confidante, a companion, that I was nearly willing to set aside my distrust to accept her into my life. I was so isolated and removed from everything and everyone I knew and I loved—Mother and Constanze, K?the and Fran?ois, and Josef, especially Josef—that I could not help but be tempted to lean into her emotional support the way she leaned on her cane.

“I . . . I don’t know,” I said. “Josef and I . . . we had a fight.”

I hated admitting this to her, but there was relief in it too.

“About your past as the Goblin Queen?” The Countess’s voice was soft.

I looked up in surprise. “How did you—”

She laughed. “Oh, child,” she said. “There will always be those envious of our gift. The touch of the Underground upon us. I adore Otto, but I cannot pretend he married me solely for love.”

I picked at my luncheon. Josef’s jealousy at my connection with the Goblin King was a festering sore between us, but it wasn’t the only injury slowly turning septic. My brother had more right than most to the Underground and its magic. He was of that magic, even if he did not know it. Even if I did not want him to know it. I was afraid of what that knowledge would do to him. To us.

“How—how do you deal with it?” I whispered.

The Countess paused mid-bite. “With what?”

“With the loneliness.” I dared not look at her.

It was a while before she answered. I could feel those eyes, sharp and searching, on my face, and I did not know whether to shun or welcome her sympathy.

“You have a destiny,” she said at last. “And I will not lie to you and say that it is an easy path to follow. There is no one in living memory who has done what you have done: walk away from the Underground and live. Not even I, the last descendant of the first Goblin Queen, know what that is like.”

I could not swallow for the lump in my throat. I was alone. I would always be alone.

“But if your brother truly loved you, he would understand,” the Countess said softly. “You are both touched by the Underground in your own ways.”

I stiffened, alarm running down my spine. The truth of my brother’s changeling nature was a secret I had shared with no one, not even with the one who deserved to hear it most. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head, an enigmatic smile on her face. “He has an extraordinary gift with music. It is said that art and genius are fruits of the Underground. We are Der Erlk?nig’s own, after all.”

My shoulders relaxed. “I see,” I said. I bit my lip. “But is it enough?”

“For you or for him?” Her eyes were shrewd.

“Both,” I replied. “Either. Jealousy can be poison.”

I should know. I had been jealous of my brother his entire life.

“Only you and he can say,” she said, her voice gentle. “For some, love can overcome jealousy. For others, jealousy will overcome love. Who you are and who he is is a matter only the two of you can resolve.”

I stared down at the half-eaten, torn-apart bread roll in my hands.

“Come,” the Countess said after a bit, brushing crumbs from her hands and skirts. “Let us go.”

“Go?” I looked up to see her putting away the dishes and napkins back into our picnic basket. “Go where?”