Sort of. Benni was too bereft and bewildered by his new understanding of Ferla to make much of a plan, and anyway, planning a route through chaos had never been his strong suit. As far as the fox could tell, every time Ferla had ever blamed their dilemmas on Benni’s decisions, Ferla had been right.

So Benni, under the pretense of planning, moped. He wished for his airship. If he only he had it, he could fly up north and make sure the house was free of incriminating evidence.

He climbed the stairs to the guest apartments, gripping the banister, not noticing that it was starting to come loose. He walked to his bedroom and stood numbly at the window, looking down onto the Devrets’ dark, tree-filled grounds. He tried to figure out if this window faced the ruins of his own home, but couldn’t remember, which made him feel stupid and impotent. Benni was usually good at things like directions.

Then Ferla came bursting into the room. He turned and watched her. She stared back, wound up with something Benni couldn’t read. Then she crossed to him and began touching him roughly, kissing him. Her touches reached through his fog of grief and he grasped her, held her, cried against her, brought her to the bed and gave her the pleasure she wanted that made her even sharper and colder. Then Benni fell asleep. Ferla got up and dressed while the fox observed from the grate, trembling, wishing he’d never bonded to someone so manipulative and confusing.

When all of this is over, he thought to himself, I want such a different life. And he thought of Lovisa, hidden somewhere, bravely delivering messages; and the queen, the only being in the world to whom he’d ever told the truth.

When all of this is over, he thought to himself again, then stopped, because it wasn’t over. And if Ferla did, somehow, manage to frame Benni for all that had happened, Lovisa would never be safe.

Should he? Shouldn’t he?

But should he or shouldn’t he what?

What could a fox do?

—

Ferla was up all night. The fox plumbed her grasping mind, listening to her plans, trying to assess how realistic they were.

Ferla would claim that Benni had kidnapped the queen of his own volition, that Benni had killed Pari Parnin. That Ferla had objected, begged, pleaded against both crimes, but Benni had overpowered her. That he’d threatened her and the children should she ever expose him. Ferla was tiny. Benni was big. She would say it had always been that way in their relationship; she was afraid of him.