Bitterblue studied Quona for a moment, taking a few bites of cake, creamy and rich.

“The truth is that I don’t entirely trust you,” Bitterblue admitted. “But I’d like to have a correspondence with you, once I go. As you say, I have zilfium, and I believe that you know a lot about what having zilfium means. I need help understanding not just the political repercussions, but the environmental ones. I need recommendations for scientists and engineers. People to help me find a safe path, if one exists.”

“I’d like a correspondence too, Lady Queen,” said Quona flatly. “Your future decisions are liable to have an enormous impact on the things I treasure most.”

“I’m wary of your methods,” said Bitterblue. “But in fact, I think we’re on the same side. Why would I want to develop a resource if doing so poisons the earth?”

Now Quona was the one studying Bitterblue, with pursed lips. “We have stories in Winterkeep that come from the silbercows,” she said. “About a gigantic sea monster called the Keeper, who protects the planet for us. They’re funny, scary stories.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” said Bitterblue. “I’ve wondered if anyone believes they’re really true.”

“I don’t believe there’s a character in a story who’s going to take care of us,” said Quona, with sudden, real scorn. “But I believe we should try to be the keepers of each other. If you mean what you say, Lady Queen, then I think you believe that too. I would want such a person to be the guardian of the world’s biggest store of zilfium. I’m disposed to be honest with you.”

“Thank you,” said Bitterblue. “It would be a great help.”

As they sat watching the ocean, Bitterblue looked for flashes of purple on its surface, remembering her time in that water almost as if it were a dream. A new cat, a little gray one with a sideways gait, entered the room, then came to rest against her foot. Giddon had told her about the little gray cat who loved feet. She reached down to touch it, to thank it for comforting Giddon.

“Tell me,” she said, suddenly remembering. “Do you know what happened to that fox who was bonded to Ferla Cavenda?”

“According to Ferla,” said Quona, “he died in the fire.”

Bitterblue fought back the shock she felt, because by no means should she seem devastated that Ferla’s fox was dead. But she was.

She left soon after, before it became too much to hide.

—

Outside, it was snowing, a gentle but steady fall of big, thick flakes. Bitterblue had the sense that it had been snowing for months; it seemed impossible that it was still October. Poor fox, she thought. It’s hard to think we only knew each other for a couple weeks.