“Does your cat normally do that?” Raze sounds queasy.

“Not a cat,” Isolde asserts again in a mumble, watching intently as the prickling sensation of faerie magic tingles in the air.

Even though my heart is pounding against my ribs, I’m not nearly as terrified as I should be. Instead, I can’t help cheering Birch on silently, like a spectator at a tournament.

The noise Birch makes isn’t animal or human. It’s like chunks of ice melting in a stream, like the anger of a swarm of wasps, like the crunch of a snapping branch. I clap my hands over my ears, but there’s no need. All his fury is turned on the three men trying to steal the Destiny.

Everyone else is clearing away from them, fear rippling through the square. I’m almost glad for the thieves, because they’re making such a scene that the chances of anyone spotting us are getting slimmer by the second. Their eyes go wide, and the first one makes a choking sound. He bends at the waist in an awkward bow.

For a terrible second, I think Birch is going to kill him.

And then the man starts to dance.

His arms wave wildly, still fighting the enchantment, even as his knees jerk up and down merrily to a nonexistent beat. He’s incredibly light on his feet, even as he shouts and curses and goes red. His friends join in, ankles twisting this way and that, carrying them all in a smooth jig down the platform’s stairs. People clear out of their path, pointing and snickering as they make their merry way to the center of the square.

Birch’s eyes go back to their normal degree of unsettling. He drops from the air and pads back inside the wagon, tail twitching indignantly behind him.

“There they are!” a distant voice calls.

The crowd’s mockery is getting louder and more open now, and no one notices the fast approach of several very dangerous-looking people dressed in blue, now sprinting in our direction from down one of the narrow streets.

“I think that’s our cue,” Isolde says, flashing a brilliant grin. “Come on!”

chapter seventeen

I bound into the wagon ahead of everyone else, running my hand appreciatively over the sleek green varnish as I slip inside.

Olani sighs, eyes flicking between us briefly before giving in with an unhappy sound of resignation. “Seelie, get us out of here, fast as you can. Come on, Raze.” She practically has to drag him up the steps.

Without protest, I settle into the driver’s seat, checking every lever and wheel with automatic, practiced swiftness. Isolde swings in last, slamming the door behind her.

The second the door shuts, I throw back the lever and send the wheels spinning. We screech through the crowd, narrowly missing a few people, and tear down the street.

My sister peers nervously out the window, but our pursuers didn’t bring their horses or wagons when they followed us. They’re already choking on our dust.