“Move away, girl!” yelled the moon-eyed man, raising a spear.

“No!” Rae cried, clinging tighter to the wolf, her fingers deep in his fur.

“He’s vicious! He’ll kill you!” The spear hesitated. “Move away!”

Rae, shutting her eyes, buried her face in the wolf’s neck. “No!” she cried again.

The guard took aim, the spear hovering.

“No!” shouted the boy-man, a safe distance apart. “She must not be harmed.”

“But the wolf—” protested the guard.

“She must not be harmed by your spear!”

The guard stepped away.

For a moment, all was quiet. Rae, encircled by guards, kept her arms tight around the tawny beast. Beneath her, he panted and shuddered.

“Bring the girl inside,” the boy-man said at last.

“She won’t let go of the creature.”

“Then bring them both inside.”

“B—” The guard hesitated. “Bring the wolf inside the palace, my king?”

If more was said as Rae and the wolf were guided inside, Rae did not hear, so startled was she by the words palace and king.

XLVI

DORMICE, FLAMINGOES, HONEYCAKE, PLUMS

Alba awoke to a prodding.

She had been dreaming of the oracle, had been dreaming of climbing the hillside with her, the old woman’s arm in her own… but in her dream, the oracle was younger, stronger, her hair wreathed with light, and the hillside was now dotted with bright yellow blooms—

My daughter, the dream oracle was saying, may I call you so? Do not regret what has passed… and do not be afraid of what is to come. Know you were loved. Every bough has borne the only fruit it was meant to bear. Every stream has followed the only path it could across the land. Yours, mine as well. But, daughter… Bending, the dream oracle picked a cluster of yellow blossoms, then tucked them gently behind Alba’s ear. Do you remember? she asked. The fragile cowslip you once wished to water? She gestured to the hillside. See what might have been. She stroked Alba’s hair, laid her palm on her cheek. You’ve shown me something I could not always see from the dark of our cave… you’ve taught me mirrors, too, may be instruments of—

—and so, when the poking at her shoulder began, she had been desperate to return to sleep. But the nettle-faced guard would not let her.

“Get up,” he said, voice prickling. “Up. You are called by the king.”

Trying to stay with the oracle, trying to keep hold of her dream—Mirrors may also be instruments of what, Oracle?—she was nudged out of her chamber and up the long, sloping halls. “This way.” The guard pushed. “This way.”

How many months had it been since she had been out of the dark of her cell? Oracle, tell me, instruments of what? She blinked and blinked. After a turn and a turn and another long corridor—and now finally almost awake—Alba found herself inside the king’s hall.

He was not reclined on his cushions. He was standing, face slick with milky terror, staring at a cluster of guards. Backs to the king, they stood in a circle, spears raised at something they had in their midst.