“At Chijal Ev?” Magpie felt the bloom of possibility wilting. The gent had said Vesper possessed ancestral records unearthed from the crypts of Chijal Ev, but Magpie and her parents and grandmother had discovered and excavated those crypts themselves! If there had been even a hint or a runestone that mentioned Bellatrix, they would have found it. There had been nothing of the sort.

“And when did you leave there, lady?” Magpie asked with a frown.

“I arrived in Dreamdark last moon, at long last.”

Magpie squinted at her. “So recently? Strange we didn’t meet in Ismoroth in the snows, then. We performed there for the Stormlash clan at the winter festival and stayed some weeks.”

“Ah, the winter festival, how lovely,” said Vesper, but something cold and hard flickered in her gaze. “Lords Winterkill and Brambling,” she said without turning to the gents, “won’t you go and find us a seat for the play?”

“Aye, my jewel,” said one.

“Your wish, my sweet,” said the other.

They left, and Vesper turned to Magpie. “So, you’ve traveled to Ismoroth, have you? That’s far for a little lass to go, is it not? Across oceans? Who are you, sprout?”

“Magpie Windwitch, Lady. But who are you . . . really?”

“I am exactly who I wish,” Vesper said gently, “and irkmeat little lasses would do well to show proper respect while they’re in my wood.”

“Irkmeat!” hooted Pup, slapping Pigeon with his wing. “Irkmeat! I like that!”

“Your wood?” said Magpie, incredulous. “Dreamdark?”

“Mags! Birds!” cried Bertram from the backstage door. “Get yer feathers over here, now!”

“Calm yer pepper, irkmeat!” Pup called back. “We’re coming!” But Magpie didn’t move. “Come on, Mags,” he started to say, but Pigeon hushed him, seeing the look that blazed between the lady and the lass.

Vesper said in her honeyed voice, “You heard the bird, little one. Go on, take your phony crown and your preposterous skirt—”

“Eh!” protested Pup, and Magpie’s hands flew to her feathers.

“Go and play at Bellatrix,” Vesper went on. “But remember as you speak her lines who wears her real crown, and practice your curtsies, lass. If we meet again I shall expect to see the very best you can muster.”

“I’ll never curtsy for you,” Magpie said in a low, seething voice.

“And no one will be surprised, will they, if a savage doesn’t curtsy for the queen?”

“Savage?” growled Maniac.

“Aye, a little savage who doesn’t know herself from a crow and wears their stink as proudly as her own. Really, you reek of cigarillos!” She wrinkled her nose and pretended to fan away a bad smell. “Surely that’s just one hazard of slumming with low creatures.” Her gaze fell with disdain on Maniac, Pup, and Pigeon, and Magpie felt a sudden flash of fury.

It tingled like a chill down her arms and she saw curls of light unwind from her fingertips. They spun with lazy grace toward Vesper and wreathed round her head. Alarmed, Magpie clasped her fingers into fists and shoved them behind her back. The lights faded away, and Vesper seemed not to have noticed them.