“Treachery,” I hissed and Wittentree laughed.
“Of course. Dear Coppertomb does not bear rivals well. It was only a matter of time before he set his Hounds on us — literal and figurative. I find it only shocking that he acted before we could witness the final glory of his Coronation Ball. I predict it will be poorly attended.”
“He betrayed you. He broke the rules of the game.” I felt breathless as I stated the obvious. Behind me, Frost and Yarrow were very thoroughly ensuring that Klopfen was completely dead.
“It’s nice to know I was worth a betrayal in the end. But I have matters to set right so listen now to me, mortal girl, before they come for us. A bargain I would make with you for that hand you hold in yours.”
“I don’t want it back,” I said firmly.
“I think you do,” she countered. “And I require a boon from you.”
“What do you want?” I asked, but Yarrow and Frost were carefully sliding down the back of the Hound and circling toward us and I could feel them closing in.
“Rouranmoore,” she gasped, reaching out her other hand and opening it so I could see her token pressed within her palm. “Take the token.”
I took it and stashed it in my belt pouch. I did not have enough hands, not even — ha, ha — now that my living hand was returned to me. I put it in the belt pouch, too.
“I have given my heart to that place in a way I did not think possible for an immortal Wittenbrand. Almost, I understand your specter husband and his fool plan of marrying himself to the land. Almost.”
I made a humming sound that I hoped would tell her to get to the point. Yarrow whispered in Frost’s ear and they both grinned wickedly at us, as if savoring the moment before they struck. Did Wittentree know she had the power to stop them because she possessed my old hand? Or, at least, I thought she did. I must indeed bargain with her for the hand and fast.
“All the nations crumble — all but Pensmoore now, and I have considered why that may be and made some inquiries.”
“All that in mere hours?” I asked dryly.
She waved a hand, “It’s been longer in that mayfly world. I have come to know that you are one with the land of Pensmoore. Now, take on Rouranmoore, too, that she may thrive when I am past.”
I cleared my throat. “You love Rouranmoore so well?”
“Make the bargain with me. Your original hand back in exchange for a tie between you and the mortal land of Rouranmoore. What you do for Pensmoore you do for Rouranmoore. How you anchor one, you anchor the other.”
“The hand I’ll take, and I will give you as you wish, but you must give me one thing more,” I said in a hurry as the circling pair drew in closer to us. Frost shook the blood from his blade as if preparing to take more and Yarrow tossed his lance aside and drew out two daggers. I must be quick. “I must know how to find the place from which the Sovereign’s rib was mined.”
“A fairy story. A tale for mortals.” She coughed and blood bubbled up, red and bright, almost pink as it foamed at the corner of her lips.
“Give it to me anyway,” I demanded. “I must find the place at once.”
She gasped, barely able to get her words out. “A bargain is struck.”
“A bargain is struck,” I agreed and then I tapped my living hand in the belt pouch, about to use it to dismiss Frost and Yarrow but before my mouth had opened to order them back, something beside me shifted.
I glanced down to see that Wittentree had used her silver key to open a door to somewhere else — the mortal world? — and with a power I didn’t expect, she grabbed my coat, yanked me forward, and threw me — from a flat back and using only her arms! — through the doorway. I barely held on to the lantern pole, grateful that Bluebeard was clutching me with his own strength as I tumbled through the door.
Her words were nearly swallowed up as madness struck me, bowling me over, and sweeping me away, but I caught the edges of them as I reached for the hand of my husband and clung to the pole that carried my two bodiless friends.
“Look to Death.”
And then she was gone from my mind, shattered into fragments as I fought against the tug of madness and a harsh gibbering in my mind. My eyes rolled back in my head, sounds faded into hysterical shrieks, and I struggled against the tide of insanity to keep a grip on myself.
I am Izolda, I reminded myself. I am not insane. I am merely traveling between worlds.
And then I caught a glimpse of something, maybe something my mind conjured in the throes of madness, or maybe something real. It was hard to tell and either way, I did not like it, because the image I saw was of Wittentree dying, ripped to pieces by the teeth of Frost and Yarrow.
CHAPTERTEN
“No!”I gasped as my mind emerged from the madness of the gate between worlds. “No, no, no!”
Had Wittentree thrown me into the mortal world? After years spent in that place, I felt as though I should be able to identify it at a glance, but I was indoors, which made it hard to tell. Or at least, I thought I was indoors. The high vault of the ceiling was dark, the walls carved in precise lines and angles. There were no furnishings in the room we were in except for a single dark-wood chair such as you might find in a banqueting hall. Though lamps had been lit on great stands around the room, they flickered slowly as if afraid of dancing too wildly, and made it difficult for my eyes to adjust enough to see what lined the walls. Something trickled in a divot along the center of the rocky floor. A drain, perhaps?
