Echo North(13)

Magic teemed around me—I didn’t know how to process it all. Part of me still wondered if I was freezing to death and delusional in the wood, but it was all too real. I paced through a white marble hallway and brushed my fingers along a vein of gold running through the walls; it pulsed warm, humming with life. Donia would hate this place. My father would be awed. Rodya would try to make sense of it all, reduce it to cogs and gears. I could do little more than try and accept it, shifting my understanding of the universe to include something that, in this house, was as natural as breathing.

And then I found myself opening a tall door and stepping into a high-ceilinged chamber hung with glistening chandeliers and furnished only with a long table, draped in a linen cloth. The wolf was perched awkwardly on a chair at one end of it.

“My lady,” he said with a regal dip of his white head. “Come. Eat.”

A second chair was pulled up to the right of the wolf’s. I caught the aroma of braised meat, and realized how hungry I was, my stomach growling. I went and sat down. The table overflowed with food: platters of venison and bowls of fruit, soup tureens and a mountain of sugary square cakes layered with jam. An elegant place setting lay before me: a china plate intricately painted with blue and red birds, silverware wrought to look like tree branches on a lace napkin, and a crystal-studded glass of shimmering pink liquid.

I cast an eye at the wolf. There was no place laid out for him. “Is the food poisoned?”

“Poisoned? Certainly not. I have not the table manners to entertain a lady of your worth—I had my dinner elsewhere.”

I noticed suddenly that his back and tail and ears were flecked with blood. I shifted uneasily.

He dipped his muzzle at the waiting feast. “You are hungry. Eat.”

Tentatively, I obeyed him, my hunger outweighing my suspicion. I sampled little bits of everything: the meat was tender, the fruit summer-sweet, the soup hot and rich with flavor. The glass of pink liquid tasted lightly of honey and berries, and fizzed pleasingly on my tongue.

The wolf watched me eat. His stare was disconcerting—he rarely blinked—and I couldn’t stop looking at the blood in his fur. I laid my fork down before I was quite full. From some distant room came the sound of a woman’s bright laugh, but the next moment it was gone.

I thought of the long, long way from my bedroom to the dining hall, the infinite doors, the horror of the gatekeeper. The blood in the wolf’s fur. “Is the house … safe?” That wasn’t quite my whole question.

“It is like any wild thing that has been tamed, my lady. It is sometimes safe, and sometimes not. But that isn’t the point.”

“What is the point?”

“To remember that it is wild, and to be on your guard.”

I knew he was referring to more than the house, just as I had been. “Was that you in the wood, last spring? Why didn’t you speak to me then?”

He shifted in his chair, his fur brushing against the tablecloth and leaving little flecks of red on the linen. “There are times when I have been too long away from this house. I forget reason and speech. I become truly … wild. But when I saw you I remembered, a little. Enough to return to the house, where I remembered everything.”

“What did you remember?”

“That I needed you, my lady.”

His amber gaze pierced through me, and I found I could no longer meet it. Silence slipped between us. The flames in the candelabras danced; the light hurt my eyes. I felt like I was falling.

“My lady, you’re crying.”

I touched the scars on the left side of my face and my fingers came away damp. “I miss my father. You took me away from him.” But that wasn’t why I was crying. I didn’t know why.

One last shrewd glance and he leapt down from his chair, stumbling a bit. “Come, my lady. The night grows short, and the house becomes … less tame the nearer we get to midnight.” He paced toward the door, limping.

I wiped my eyes and followed, the sounds of shattering crystal and frenetic laughter clamoring in my ears. “What happens at midnight?”

“The magic ceases to function, and the house is unbound.” He nudged the door open with his nose. “You had better hold on to me, my lady. To be safe.”

Tentatively, I wound my right hand in the scruff of his neck, and we went out into the corridor together.

It was almost wholly dark, a single lantern flickering partway down the hall. Somewhere in the distance there came a high, keening wail.

“Stay close,” said the wolf. “Nothing can harm you.”

He was warm against my knee, a stark contrast to the frigid air around us. I couldn’t help but wonder: When the house was unbound at midnight, would the wolf also become wholly wild? I took a deep breath and tried not to think about the blood in his fur.

The darkness narrowed in as we walked. It seemed to stare at us, it seemed to listen. The floor creaked beneath our feet. Somewhere close by, doors sighed opened and snicked shut again. Keys rattled, voices laughed. Bells jangled loudly and chains dragged over stone. I caught the scent of a winter forest, damp wood and cold so sharp it burned.

And always the wolf, solid and strong beside me, padding quietly and confidently on. “What is your name?” he asked after awhile.

I fixed my eyes on the single lamp burning ahead of us that we never seemed to reach. “Echo. For the echo of my mother’s heartbeat.”