And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues strong
It's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it Out—Florence + the Machine
It's dark by the time they make it to the robbers' camp, the ravine lit only with sparse torches and starlight. Julianne doesn't need any of that in order to spot her sister, pushing her way past the gathering crowd to draw Meggie into her arms. Sweet Meggie, brave Meggie, growing like a weed and nearly taller than Julianne now.
"Are you both okay," she's asking, voice breathless with her worry. "What happened? How'd you get out?" Julianne just laughs and she finds herself hoping the sound will hide the fear still creeping through her veins like poison.
"I'll tell you all about it after I've had something to drink, Meggs," she promises. "I'm just glad you're safe." She brushes her fingers through Meggie's golden hair, remembering summer afternoons when Meggie was still little and plump, demanding to be called Rapunzel. She's too old for such things now, or she thinks she is. "Why don't you go see Mo?"
"Oh, Mo!" Julianne lets her sister go reluctantly, then flings herself into Resa's arms and aches for those early days when all she had to worry about was staying out of Auntie Elinor's way. Resa doesn't smell of floral perfume anymore, but her hug is still filled with comfort and unconditional love.
"It's alright," Resa shushes, rocking them back and forth gently. "Oh, my sweet girl." Julianne's missed this all these years, the solid band of Resa's arms, the strong pulse and sweet voice. Julianne loves Mo's voice, but Resa's is filled with nostalgia and good things.
"Leave him alone, will you," the Prince calls out, shooing the growing crowd. "I'm sure you'll hear the story soon enough! Make yourselves useful and double the guards." The crowd disperses with a grumble, some of them drifting over to a dying fire while others disappeared into the dark. Prince moves toward the fire as well, warming his hands over the dimming embers.
"Come here, you two," Mo calls to them softly. "I've got a present." Resa and Julianne move over to Mo and Meggie, watching as he pulls two books out of his saddlebag. Resa takes hers slowly, but Meggie snatches the book out of Mo's hand so fast that it blurs in the dim starlight. "It's been a long time since we've had a book in our hands." He winks when Meggie looks up at him. "Go on and open it. I promise that you've never seen a more beautiful book."
"Call me biased, but I still love your bindings, Mo," Julianne murmurs. Her own book is still tucked away in Mo's bag, safely out of sight of any prying eyes.
"Fenoglio said that illuminator was the bait for you," Resa says tonelessly. "He told us they arrested you and our daughter in his workshop." There's no accusation in her eyes, but that's somehow so much worse than any anger Resa could have mustered.
"It wasn't exactly as it seemed," Mo says. "And as you can see, no harm came of it. Juli and I are alright." Mo sits down on the short grass, drawing Meggie down to sit with him. "Farid? Can you make some light for us?" Farid glances away from Battista, then comes over to them.
He kneels down beside Meggie, making fire dance across his fingertips. It's not much, not enough to give their position away should soldiers come looking, but it's perfect for showing the pages of the book. The bright golds and sepia browns gleam in the light, red-flecked scales on dragons, cerulean skies. It's all beautiful, but Julianne's eyes hurt and she wants to sleep for a thousand years.
Where's a spindel when you need one?
"Did you ever see anything so beautiful, Meggie?"
"Is that Her Ugliness," Meggie asks, tracing one of the drawings. Mo nods, running his hand reverently over the page the way a devoted Catholic might caress their rosary.
"Yes. Look how Balbulus made sure she'll be recognized many hundreds of years from now." Julianne had seen the picture earlier, the silhouette with a pale birthmark on its cheek and Violante's name written in dark blue ink just above the picture. "I met her today and I don't think she deserves that nickname. She seems the type to hold a grudge for a long time, but she fears nothing."
"That's an understatement," Julianne mutters, glancing away. She spots ginger hair, a smear of red against the dark sky, and heads that way without a word. Firefox looks up at her approach, not rising from the log he's sitting on. Julianne sits on the ground near him and leans her head against his knee. "I thought you'd be at the farm."
"Well, I figured I'd come help the robbers move camp rather than tending to Roxane's plants." She smiles, letting her eyes slip closed. "What happened? Why were you arrested in Jacopo's castle?"
"It was all a ruse Violante created. She wanted a word with Mo and I told the guards I'd tell Jacopo what they'd done. They tied my wrists together and marched Mo and I straight to the Princess." Firefox hums, used to the subterfuge of this story's royalty. It all makes Julianne's head spin if she focuses on it for too long. "Tell me how you learned to play with fire."
"Again?"
"It's soothing." Firefox works his fingers through Julianne's dark hair, gently combing out all the snarls and knots. She relaxes into the touch like a cat getting its back scratched.
"I was eight," he says, voice going gentle around the edges. "I always loved watching the fire-eaters in the marketplace of Ombra and one of them thought I might have a talent for it. He took me in, showed me how to work with torches, where to find honey so I could speak to the flames.
"When I was ten, Capricorn found me and offered me a stable home. He was just getting started back then, still an overconfident young man that needed to prove himself as something more than a blacksmith's bastard son. I rose through the ranks quickly, starting fires and teaching some of the other boys the tricks. I never told them about the honey, they were too destructive and would have burned the entire forest down around our ears.
"Basta joined us when he was twelve, he was an unruly brat even back then." Firefox scoffs, fingers stilling for a moment before starting back up again. "We were both teenagers when he disobeyed orders. Capricorn wanted to teach him a lesson, so he had Basta and I set a man's house on fire. I sent some of the fire at Basta, burned his arms clear up to his shoulders."
"I've seen the scars," she says, voice whisper-soft. "One night in the village he got wine dumped on him by one of the other Black Jackets. He had to take it off to give it to one of the maids for washing. The shirt he wore beneath it had short sleeves and the scars were bright pink. I remember thinking he deserved them."
"He didn't back then, but he's certainly earned them by now." She huffs out a tired laugh, ready to keep talking when her mother's voice rings out sharply.
"This isn't our story," Resa's shouting, voice echoing off the steep walls of the ravine. "It's draining our hearts with all its magic! I want to go home and forget all these horrors until I'm back on Elinor's sofa!" Julianne glances over at the couple, along with most of the rest of the camp, watching as Mo says something too quiet to make out.
"What do you suppose that's about?"
"Fenoglio will try to write us back if you asked, Mo. He owes it to you. There can't be a happy ending here!" Mo says something again, then walks over to the fire as Farid leaves on his donkey and Resa turns to Meggie. Julianne doesn't have to be psychic to know what Resa's asking.
"She wants to go home," Julianne says, finally answering Firefox's question.
"Would you go with her?" She doesn't even have to think about the answer, already knowing it. It springs up on her tongue and into the air without permission, laced with guilt and grief.
"I'm already home."
It's five days after breaking out of the castle that Julianne finds herself standing in front of Orpheus' house, a grand place with stone gargoyles above the gate and burnt-out torches near the door. She doesn't bother with the servant's entrance, pushing the front door open and making her way upstairs to the study.
"He's busy," says the mammoth. She doesn't know the man's name, doesn't care to. He's a loyal bodyguard as long as Orpheus is supplying coin and he's big as a house. She should probably be scared of the way he towers over her, but she's never had much in the way of common sense.
"So was I." She slips past the guard and flings the study door open, sneering at the sight waiting for her. Brianna is kneeling on the floor, picking up bits of torn paper and ignoring the way her new master is leering at her. "Keep ogling that girl and I'll stab you in the thigh with your quill." Orpheus' gaze snaps up to her and his moist lips twist into an ugly frown.
"Julianne," he greets in a tone dripping with disdain. "Always a pleasure to see you." She grunts, dropping down in one of the lush chairs across from him. They're made of sturdy wood and cushioned with velvet, meant for his rich patrons that call on him from the castle. "Thank you for meeting with me."
"I didn't have much of a choice." She got the distinct feeling that Farid would drag her here by her hair if it meant there was a chance of bringing Dustfinger back. She doesn't say this, of course. "Farid wasn't keen on sharing any specifics. What do you want?"
"I've recently heard rumors that the White Women tend to visit the people who've slipped from their grasp. Is that true?"
"How should I know? I've never died."
"But your father has been on Death's doorstep. Surely he's told you about the experience." Julianne looks away, eyes catching on a book bound in pale green linen that's grown worn and ragged over time. Her fingers itch to touch the cover, make sure it's actually real, make sure it's the same book Mo had held onto so desperately. Inkheart.
"My father wasn't lucid for much of that time. I'm not mentioning names, but someone sent him to Capricorn's old fortress and let the Magpie shoot him." Julianne's gaze moves over to the teenager, arching a brow in dry amusement. "Give you three guesses, but the first two don't count."
"How many times are all of you Folcharts going to remind me of that? Build a bridge and get over it."
"I'm more interested in burning bridges." She tilts her head to the side, meeting his stare head-on. "Well, bridges, marshmallows, certain creeps. Have you seen very many creeps around, Orpheus? Oh, who am I kidding? You see one in the morning every time you try to fix that mop you call hair." His lips press into a thin line, the pale pink turning white.
"You've been here longer than anyone in your family. What have you heard of the White Women?" He's leaning forward, jabbing a finger against his desk at every third word. His nails are short and ragged, chewed bloody. "For God's sake, you were there when Dustfinger died!"
"I wasn't in the cavern with him." Her anger has leached out of her, leaving only cold sadness in its wake. She feels hollow sometimes, fragile, like a pretty figurine on the very edge of a shelf. One wrong move and she'll topple to the ground and shatter. "I heard their whispering, saying his name like a prayer, and then there was nothing."
"What have you heard about Death? Man or woman?"
"Varies. I've heard Death changes their face depending on who they're talking to." She's heard plenty of hearsay, but nothing definite.
Orpheus' mouth is opened with another question, but it snaps shut when they hear the clattering of horses' hooves. The room's three occupants move to the window as one, spotting an entire crowd of soldiers racing through the square as if the devil's nipping at their heels. At their head, silver nose flashing in the sunlight, is Piper.
"Oh, fuck me." Julianne leaves without another word, hurrying out to the streets and nearly getting trampled for all her trouble. She jerks backwards against a fencepost, but the soldier rides on as though he didn't even notice her. Julianne aches to grab the man's sword and slaughter the whole lot of them, to save Piper for last and make him watch. She grinds her teeth and follows the men-at-arms to the marketplace. The Piper stops in the dead center, looking around him at the fatherless children and husbandless wives, all of them beginning to stave under the Milksop's rule.
"All children six and over will come forward," he says loudly, addressing the crowd. Mothers hold their children back, hiding them behind their skirts, but then Piper rests his hand on the hilt of his knife and the kids start to come forward for fear of losing the only parents they have left. Piper counts them all, nudging some of the children aside if they're over a certain height.
"Why are you counting our children," Julianne asks, making her way to the front of the crowd. Piper's cold eyes land on her, gloved fingers still playing along the leather grip of his knife.
"That's none of your concern, Songbird." He pauses and looks around, a thin smile curling his lips upwards. "And where's your son? Hidden away by moss-women and brownies like your dear father? No matter, I know another boy you've grown fond of. Perhaps I'll pay a visit tonight."
"Then you might want to keep that pretty knife close to you. You never know who could be waiting in the dark shadows." She turns and walks away from him, making her slow way past Orpheus' house and to the hard road that leads back to the farm.
She makes a note to tell the others that Piper's in Ombra and anothering note to tell Mo that he's counting children. She's not an idiot, she knows there's only one reason the Adderhead would be interested in little kids who aren't any taller than five feet. His own people have started to refuse the soldiers that come knocking, so the Silver Prince has turned his gaze to Ombra.
If he thinks for one second that he's putting my son in his silver mines, then he's truly gone insane.