“This is worse than frogs,” I said as I watched one of the Hounds rush into sight beneath us. I wished I could cling to the ravens holding us up and beg them to keep us in the air. If we fell now, we would be torn to pieces.
“Aren’t you supposed to have inherited Marshyellow?” Grosbeak asked. “Could you not command them?”
“How would I go about that?” I asked. It would be convenient to have someone, anyone, to command right now.
Instead, I clung to my husband as beneath us, the Hound fell upon one of the hunting parties, savaging its members and flinging them in every direction to break on the rocks and trees, as a dog savages its favorite fetching stick. My belly churned with horror and I barely managed to swallow down my bile.
Grosbeak seemed utterly unaffected by the screams and wails below as he launched into a lecture.“Traditionally to claim a place as prince in the Wittenhame, there’s a seven-day trial of combat and wit followed by five days of feasting. Or, if you are named directly by your predecessor, then just the feasting. At the end of the five days, if the feast was enjoyed, your people come and bow before you, you eat a handful of earth, and it’s done. You’re sealed to the land and the land to you.”
“I don’t have five days.”
“Then I suppose you don’t have Marshyellow.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have the hand anymore. Marshyellow was tied to the hand, not to me.”
There was certainly no time for things like that right now. I was far more occupied with trying not to be ill as I watched immortal beings torn asunder beneath us. That could have been me if Coppertomb had not neatly severed the three heads of the one he’d destroyed.
“We mortals think you are immortal,” I breathed, “and yet never have I seen such death as in the Wittenhame.”
“We enjoy ourselves more,” Grosbeak agreed. “Not everyone can handle our level of passion and pleasure.”
“I don’t think it’s that.”
“Perhaps it’s the jokes then. I think they go over your head.”
“Should I be trying to make the ravens take us somewhere?” I asked, searching for any distraction from the horror below.
“Make them!” Grosbeak hooted. “The arrogance of the mortal wife to think she can harness the birds. They came for their lord, the Arrow. They’ll not leave until he dismisses them.”
I swallowed. That might be a while. Or it might be immediately. Bluebeard was drifting and fading too much to be conscious of where he was and what he was doing.
“If we only have two days then we must be clever in our next move. I am done with being tossed about on waves made by others. No more fleeing from Heaven’s Hounds or angry Lords and Ladies of the Wittenhame,” I said firmly. “We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
“Yes, no more slow kisses when you think you can’t be seen behind the hourglass,” Sparrow agreed dryly.
Grosbeak laughed. “No more flirting with Coppertomb and getting geases placed on you.”
“You can hardly faultmefor the actions of a lunatic,” I said stiffly.
Grosbeak snickered. “Don’t play coy maiden with me, Izolda. You know how this land works.”
I swallowed. I did know. And that was why my heart was racing. Two days was not enough time. And our ravens were already fading in strength.
Can you ask your ravens to take us to Wittentree, beloved?I asked my husband with my mind.
In reply, he sent me a memory again. This time of him in a cloud of birds laughing and leaping with them. When he jumped, they jumped with him, carrying him down, borne on their wings. When he called, they came in a rush of song and then he sang with them and the sound of his singing shattered my heart.
I was still gasping when he sent me another image — but this was no memory. This time, he drew me with him, taking me by the hand and I was in the gown I wore when he married me and carrying my marriage sword and I looked twice as lovely and twice as terrible as I’d ever been in life.
I sighed as the image dissolved. If he’d caught my message, he was too delirious to respond. His mind, it seemed, strayed wide and far. I was touched that it seemed to swirl around me, drawing me into his dreams and memories as flawlessly as if I were really there. I wished I had the time to sit with him in these fancies, to see the world through his stained-glass view, to imagine with him what a future for us could look like if he were not mostly dead and I were not limited by mortal restraints.
“There’s another one,” Sparrow said tensely, and I ripped my attention back to what was happening below us.
A skirmish was unfolding across a bare, rocky hillside dotted with moss. Five Wittenbrand — mounted on what looked like over-sized mountain sheep — were circling a single Hound of Heaven, but though they charged with barb-tipped lances, they were no match for the Hound. As we watched, the Hound scooped up one attacker in his jaws— ignoring the lance that plunged into his eye and stuck there — and flung the screaming Wittenbrand over the side of the hill where he fell and fell, splashing into a lake below.
“Is he dead?” I whispered.
“Hard to tell,” Grosbeak said, invigorated by the display. “Look, Sparrow! It’s Klopfen the Bold! He’s circling for the flank. And is that Wittentree I see preparing a charge?”
