.33.

BOUND TO BOUGH

Fox hovered above her, a tiny golden wren, flitting back and forth.

“Good, you’re awake,” he said. “On your feet. We need to find a way out of here.”

Woozy, Quicksilver sat up. Her arms and hands still stung from snakebites, but Sly Boots depended on her. She couldn’t sit and cry about it. She shook her head to right her tilting vision.

“Are you all right?” she asked Fox.

“As all right as you are. Don’t worry about me.”

“Where are we?”

“Under the Lady’s tree.”

Quicksilver looked up at the web of twisting black roots overhead. Long strands of silver moss hung from them. Through spaces between the roots, she could just see the green world above.

But here, below, was a world of darkness and shadows. The tree’s tremendous roots formed knotted walls and arched passageways—a web of long and narrow tree caves. Water trickled past her in shimmering streams. Phosphorescent slugs and bats clung to the underside of the roots. Gigantic sunset-colored flowers bloomed in thick clusters, their petals gaping open like mouths and lined with tiny quivering lights.

“Well . . . this is new,” said Quicksilver, hugging herself. The air sat thick and damp against her skin.

Do you hear that, master? It’s that song again.

Quicksilver listened. The song about the Lady in White was much clearer than it had been above. Quicksilver felt tears return to her eyes and impatiently swiped them away.

Shall we follow it, Fox?

It seems like a terrible idea, but I can’t think of a better one at the moment.

Find my heart. That’s what the Lady said. Then she’ll give us the bones—and Boots.

Do you think she was telling the truth?

Even if she was lying, we have to try. I’m not leaving Boots, and if I don’t get that skeleton, these two will tear me to pieces.

Fox put his front paw on her leg. I’ll wear it and give you a rest.

Are you sure? You’re hurt, too.

Fox licked her hand. Let me help.

Quicksilver arranged the hissing pack on Fox’s back, tying the straps around his belly. Snakebites, raw and red, dotted his coat. A hot lump formed in her throat.

Fox—

And don’t you think it hurts me to see you bleeding, too? Fox bumped her arm with his cold nose. Let’s get through this and back to our friends. We’ll heal later.

Quicksilver planted a kiss between his ears.

“Settle down back there,” Fox called to the skeletons. “How about we all sing for a while?”

Fox started singing the Lady’s song, too. The sound of his chipper voice made everything seem a bit less sinister as they set out past knots of mossy roots and columns of stone, following the song. They learned quickly to avoid the sunset-colored flowers, each of which unfurled a second set of petals at their approach—these lined with tiny black teeth.

“But this goes on forever!” Quicksilver cried, after pushing her way through a stubborn cluster of thick vines the width of her arm. The world below the tree seemed to stretch in every direction, as far as they could see.

Fox stopped singing. Wait a moment. What is that?

Quicksilver turned and saw, in a glade lit with a wash of green sunlight, a creature she had never seen before. But she knew at once what it was. The Scrolls said they had lived in the Star Lands long before humans or witches, and that brief mention had been enough to captivate all of the girls at the convent, even Quicksilver.

“A unicorn,” she breathed.

The Lady had been lovely, but the unicorn was so glorious the sight of it made Quicksilver’s dizziness fade. Its eyes were large and dark, its tail a banner of ethereal cloud. The thin, spiraled horn on its forehead gave off soft silver light.

There was another—no, three of them. They circled a tiny white tree, its net of delicate branches like fine lace. A dim beam of sunlight shone down through the tangled roots overhead, turning the tree and the unicorns a luminous white.

Quicksilver felt she ought not to stare at the unicorns but couldn’t help herself. They tossed their heads and let out soft whuffs like sleepy laughter. She felt their hoofbeats on the mossy ground like the pulse of her own heart.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

But that wasn’t her heart.

Quicksilver’s head shot up. Fox, the Lady’s heart. It’s in that white tree! The heart is the thing that’s singing! Listen!

Fox pointed at the tree, sniffing. Do you think we can just . . . ask them to let us pass?

Quicksilver approached the unicorns, keeping her gaze lowered. She had never been the bashful sort, and yet she could not stand up straight before these creatures. The weight of their beauty sat heavy upon her. She felt low and small, easily squashed.

“Pardon me,” she mumbled, “but could we . . . that is, my friend and I . . . could we please, if it isn’t too much trouble . . . pass by you?”

The unicorns froze and turned to stare at her. Their horns glinted in the sunlight.

Quicksilver’s mouth went dry.

Say something nice! Fox suggested.

“You are . . .” Quicksilver swallowed. “You are more beautiful than . . . than sunsets, than dreams, than . . . anything. Thank you.”

Thank you? Fox stamped his paw. For what? They haven’t let us by yet!

Quicksilver stepped forward hesitantly. “It will only take a few moments, I promise you. Then we’ll leave you in peace.”

One of the unicorns flicked its tail abruptly.

Quicksilver took another step. Two.

As one, the unicorns bolted toward her—and once out of the sunlight, they . . . changed.

Their bright white coats darkened to coats of shadow black and rot brown and bruise green. Their elegant bones turned sharp and jutting, their muscles bulging and monstrous. Clumps of moss and weeds for manes, ropy black vines for tails. They let out horrible, shrieking cries that revealed long, gleaming fangs.

They lowered their heads and charged at Quicksilver, three gleaming obsidian horns aimed at her heart.

She swerved, ducked, and rolled, narrowly avoiding their stomping black hooves.

To me! Quicksilver thought, and with Fox at her side, they ran for the tree.

But the three unicorns were not alone. Others tore out of the shadows, screaming like wildcats. Still others crawled out of the roots, like the tree itself was creating them, spitting out one after another after another.

Quicksilver whirled around, trying to count all of them. They were a swarm, and their horns shone like black swords.

Spare them not, she thought to Fox, flinging him toward the unicorns like an arrow from a bow. A bolt of pure, blazing gold energy, he zipped between them, leaving charred streaks on their coats. One, wounded, stumbled into the sunlight and collapsed, pure white once more save for the vicious wound on its heaving side.

Quicksilver paused, her heart seized by a sudden fierce pity. “So beautiful,” she whispered, stepping toward it.

No, master! Go!

At Fox’s voice, Quicksilver turned and ran. At the white tree, she skidded to a halt and placed her hand against the trunk. Its bark pulsed, warm and smooth to the touch—like skin. She leaned closer, put her ear against it.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

The heart was in the tree—but how to get it?

Behind her, a unicorn snarled and Fox let out a whimpering cry.

Fox?

I’m fine!

Quicksilver hurried around the tree, looking for a way into the smooth, hard bark—and then she saw it. A tiny knothole surrounded by scarred red wood, too small for even a squirrel to get through.

Fox, to me!

He flew to her, a streak of fiery golden light, and became a dog once more. She ripped the pack from his back.

Can you fit inside?

We’ll see, won’t we?

Fox shifted into his tiny mouse form, squeezed through the knothole, and disappeared.

Quicksilver turned to face the unicorns. Twelve of them—no, twenty—circled the tree.

Think, Quicksilver, she thought not to Fox, but to herself. Pretend you’re back at the convent. Sister Marketta found the beehive you left in the dining hall. She’s sent everyone after you, and you have to get to the roof before they lock you up for good.

She pictured Anastazia, alone in the woods—confused and possibly, by now, afraid. She thought of Sly Boots, still and blue in the Lady’s clutches.

She clenched her fists.

I am mighty.

I need no one.

I’ve got it! came Fox’s jubilant cry from inside the tree. It’s . . . wait, that can’t be right.

Quicksilver thought him to her—To me!—and he appeared in her palms, quivering. He had wrapped himself around a crimson jewel that hung from a heavy gold chain with a long, wicked clasp. His yellow fur was soaked red with blood.

“But now her heart is bound to bough,” sang the jewel, in a forlorn woman’s voice. “Only you can save her now.”

Quicksilver held Fox close, nearly gagging on the scent of blood. Dear Fox. Just hold on to me. I can handle this.

She ran—dodging the unicorns, sliding under their slashing hooves and horns, crying out when their fangs grazed her but not stopping, never stopping, never, never. The sunset flowers’ forked tongues lashed about her ankles; the unicorns’ cries pierced her aching skull.

Anastazia. Sly Boots.

Anastazia. Sly Boots.

Run. Run. Run.

Then she saw, dangling just ahead, a single white snake. Though it had no eyes, she knew it was looking at her.

“May I?” she shouted.

The snake seemed to nod, once. Quicksilver grabbed it with her free hand, which was slippery with the jewel’s blood. The snake coiled about her and drew her up, and when the unicorns nipped at her feet, Quicksilver almost lost her grip—but then she was above the roots, and there was the Lady.

Quicksilver fell to her knees. Breathless, she offered up the jewel—except now it was not a jewel, but a pulsing, fleshy heart.

The Lady snatched it, and Quicksilver fell back. She gently shifted Fox into a dog and cradled him against her chest.

Fox?

Here. He hid his face in her hair. I’m here.

The Lady pulled aside her dress to reveal a gaping maw in her chest, surrounded by bloody puncture marks. With a faint, fluttering laugh, she shoved her heart back into place.

The singing stopped. The Lady closed her eyes and breathed deep. She sighed, and tears rolled down her cheeks before disappearing in tiny ashen puffs. When she opened her eyes, they were empty sockets. One by one, the snakes shriveled up into tufts of brittle hair.

Sly Boots slid out of the Lady’s lap, and Quicksilver caught him before he could stumble and fall between the roots. As she watched, the Lady’s body jerked left, then right. Her chest collapsed, her back snapped. With one last shuddering breath, she whispered, “Give my heart to your love, witch girl.”

Then the Lady was gone. All she left behind were a tattered white dress, a red jewel on a chain—and a set of impossibly tiny bones that glowed gray like a storm-lit sky. Quicksilver watched in astonishment as the snakebites on her arms and hands disappeared. She checked Fox, and found his bites had vanished, too.

The skeletons in Quicksilver’s pack gave twin cries of excitement.

Sly Boots shook his head and blinked awake. “What happened?” He saw the Lady’s abandoned dress and recoiled. “Where’d she go? Where are we?”

The roots beneath them creaked and quaked. An angry, distant cry sounded from the world below.

Fox nudged her. We should go!

Quicksilver scooped up the glowing mouse bones and poured them carefully into the proper pouch in her pack.

Then she shoved the heart jewel at Sly Boots. She could not look at him; she would not look at him. It was unbearable to see him standing there, alive and healthy, when only moments ago he had been cold and blue on the Lady’s lap.

“That’s for you to keep, by the way,” she snapped. “The Lady said. I think she liked you, though I can’t imagine why. Don’t let anything happen to it, or I’ll pound your face in. Now come on, before the unicorns eat us.”

Sly Boots stared at her, slipping the heart jewel’s chain around his neck. “Unicorns?”

But Quicksilver had already turned away to climb down the mountain of roots. Tears stung her eyes, and she did not understand them.

He is not my love, Fox. That Lady didn’t know anything. Witches and thieves do not love. Not boys. Not older selves. Not even monsters, Fox. Not anyone.

I know. I expect you’re just tired, to feel this way.

“That’s right, I’m tired,” muttered Quicksilver, and she ignored Sly Boots completely as the unicorns’ furious screams chased them back into the friendlier part of the forest.