Fritz stayed where he was, pinned in place with uncertainty. He lowered his voice. “About the fish—after this last wish, he seemed tired. Very tired. I think this one took more out of him than usual. I don’t know how much more he’ll be able to do.”
“It’smagic,” Hans snapped. “A magic fish doesn’t justrun out of magic.It was probably tricking you to keep you from making more wishes. Can’t you even see through a ruse as simple as that?”
I can’t see through much of anything, Fritz thought, hating himself. What had he done?What had he done?
Plate and food recovered, Wenzel stood and returned to Hans’s side. But Hans was visibly upset now, and Wenzel’s approach only redirected his anger. Hans twisted in his seat, grabbed the plate, and threw it down the middle aisle between the long tables. Then, standing, he rounded on Wenzel and slapped him so hard the sound made the musicians grind to a halt and all conversation in the hall cease. “Pig!” Hans yelled. “Useless grub! Now you’ve thrown food all over the room. Did it make you feel better? Do you feel like you have taught me somelesson?” Another slap, this one to the other cheek. Wenzel kept his eyes down, his face expressionless. His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. “Ulrich! Godric! Come take him to the post. I think it’s been too long.”
The carpenter and the blacksmith lumbered to the dais to collect Wenzel, who shrugged off their light holds and stared, unblinking, at Hans as he stepped down to the floor. He held his head high as they passed between the tables and out of the hall.
Hans turned back to Fritz, grinning. “This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me! I know the magic only just changed things, and yet I also remember always being king, I remember what I did as king yesterday and the day before. No one else hasany ideathat this is all new! Can you think of anything better?”
Fritz glanced at the tables, the villagers carefully bent over their bowls, their conversations quiet. It would be better if they didn’t all look like beaten animals. It would be better if the musicians weren’t sweating into their instruments, eyes haunted, like a wrong note might get them killed. If they had no memory of how things were before Fritz made the wish, then whatdidthey remember?
“Come on, let’s not keep Grub waiting too long.” Hans hopped up from his seat, snatching his crown as it slid off hisslick hair, and wheeled Fritz toward a door behind the throne. Beyond it was a stone hallway that led to a staircase that led them up and up, four or even five floors, Fritz wasn’t sure. Hans seemed to know where he was going. Did he know what kind of king he was? Did he know what he’d done to the villagers to make them act like that in his presence?
At the top of the staircase they passed down another, narrower hallway and came to an iron-banded door, standing open. Ulrich and Godric stood on either side, their faces impassive. Hans and Fritz walked between them and into the bedroom beyond, and the two large men looked down on them with coldness. Hans turned and said, “You may go now.” He waited until both men had disappeared down the hallway to close the door.
The bedroom was huge and ornate. There was a fireplace, lit, next to a plush sitting area where tea steamed in porcelain cups on a silver tray. There was a four-poster bed draped with dark silks, the sheets still rumpled. A stained-glass window looked out on the snowy night. Across the room, the bones of small animals were displayed in large shadowboxes on the wall, arranged so that they might form full skeletons. In the center of the room was a thick wooden beam running from floor to ceiling, and facing it, his hands bound just above his head, was Wenzel.
Fritz’s blood ran cold. He had never seen a whipping—there was no physical punishment for crimes in Greymist Fair—but he knew what the setup would look like. Wenzel’s forehead was pressed to the wooden post, the firelight glinting off the dark wave of his hair. He was still clothed, thankfully; maybe that meant the whipping wouldn’t be as bad as Fritz feared.
“Don’t look so dour,” Hans said. Fritz jumped, unaccustomed to Hans reading his expressions, but Hans wasn’t speaking to him. Or Wenzel.
Between two large shadowboxes, on a thin-legged chair, sat Heike.
Five
Heike was pale, her hands fisted in her skirts, gold eyes glowing with hatred. She had been so still and so quiet Fritz hadn’t seen her. Why was she here? Why had Hansknownshe was here?
Hans went to the bed and took down a short leather whip. A thin blade gleamed on its end. He stroked its length, smiling, and cracked it experimentally in the air. Wenzel’s hands tightened on his metal cuffs, the muscles in his forearms bulging.
“You’re going to have to get yourself a new shirt after this, Grub,” Hans said. “Didn’t Heike make that one for you? That’s too bad. She only works for me now.”
Fritz opened his mouth to protest at the same time Hans snapped his arm out. The whip flashed. Wenzel cried out in surprise and staggered against the post as a slash opened in the back of his shirt and crimson stained the white linen. Heike jolted to her feet but moved no further, her lips pressed white, her eyes wide with fury. Hans giggled.Giggled.
“It’s not a deep cut, but how effective!” he said, marveling at the whip. “How many lashes before there isn’t any skin left to cut? The line is so thin—surely it would be hundreds?”
“Whatfor?” Fritz’s voice was high. “Hans, what is this for? What did he do? You can’t just—j-justwhippeople!”
Hans’s glee curdled into petulance. “Of course I can. I’m the king. Or did you think we were somewhere else?”
In some world that doesn’t exist anymore?
“Yes, b-but you hurt him, look at his back!”
“You hurt him,”Hans mocked. “You want to be next? I’ll tie you to that pole instead if you want to take his place. Shut up and let me have my fun. Grub has annoyed me for long enough. Why shouldhebe happy? He has nothing. Heisnothing. Hear that, Grub?” He flicked the whip lightly at the back of Wenzel’s legs, making Wenzel tense. Then Hans leaned to look around Wenzel at Heike. “Same goes for you. I’ll whip a friend of the old witch, don’t think I won’t. My magic is stronger than anything the witch ever had.”
Fritz, frozen in an unreality he couldn’t fathom, almost missed it when Hans lifted the whip a second time.
“Stop!” Fritz caught Hans’s arm and grabbed the whip. They struggled for possession, dragging each other across the floor. Hans smashed Fritz against the footboard of the bed, but Fritzkept his hold, and they both toppled over onto the sheets. Hans shoved his knees into Fritz’s stomach, crushing the air out of him, and released the whip with one hand to pound his fist into Fritz’s eye. Stunned, Fritz lost his grip. Hans reared back, whip raised, with a triumphant,“HA!”
The bed warmer, filled with hot coals from the fire, slammed into the side of Hans’s head. The force threw him over the edge of the bed. He thudded to the floor and began screaming.
Heike dropped the bed warmer with a clang and spun to Wenzel. She tore the red ribbon out of her hair, releasing her braid, and wound it through the manacle on Wenzel’s wrist. She started sawing back and forth.
“That’s a r-ribbon,” Fritz yelled, scrambling to his feet. “It’s useless.”
“Shut up,” Heike spat. “I’m not very good at this yet and it can be hard to make it work. This isn’t what you think, Fritz. I don’t know how, but Hans got into some magic and made himself king—”
