“They’re preparing for Yule,” Wenzel went on. “It will be a very happy celebration. The happiest in years, since you won’t be there. Even Fritz has a new friend. And no one is thinking of you.”
The knife lifted from Wenzel’s throat. Hans blinked. The tipof his nose was beginning to turn black.
“You had everything,” Wenzel said. “You had wealth, good looks, and you were smart. And still they cared more about me than about you. They’re waiting for me now. They don’t even remember you.”
One of the wargs let out a high, keening note, somewhere between hysterical laughter and great sorrow. Hans’s head whipped up. He seemed to notice the wargs for the first time. The knife fell into the snow and disappeared.
“But—” he began, and the wargs lunged.
Hans was knocked from Wenzel’s chest and enveloped in a savage whirlwind of shadows. Wenzel clawed through the snow to get back to his feet, saw the gift sack against the roots of a tree, and grabbed it. The laces of Heike’s boots dug into his neck. Hans shrieked behind him. Wenzel hefted the sack over his shoulder and felt his back sing with pain. The stitches had broken.
Hans’s screams were overtaken by the laughter of the wargs.
Wenzel forced his legs to move and began to lope awkwardly through the forest. Heike’s boots banged against his chest and his jaw. He didn’t know what direction he was going, or how far they’d strayed from the road. All he knew was that he hadto keep moving, because the wargs were going to come for him next.
He thought to drop the sack, but didn’t. The whole nightmare would be worth nothing if he dropped the gifts. If he didn’t at least try.
What made him happy? What made him forget Death?
His inn. It washisnow, and he took care of it, and he loved having gatherings in the common room and visitors in the rooms. He liked providing for the people there. He liked being someone who the village relied on. He would not give that up for all the faraway adventures in the world.
The wargs caught up to him, flashing from tree to tree.
Heike. She was his first true friend, his best friend, and she had always made the world less scary. When they were together, he felt purely himself, as if she was able to see into the very core of his being. When she laughed, he forgot what was troubling him, if only for a moment. She looked out for him, and he looked out for her, and he loved her. Being with her, even if they went no farther than the fireplace, was an adventure of its own.
The forest burned with blue fire. Its tongues licked at Wenzel’s heels.
And his name. His namenow, not the one that had been yelled at him as a child. His parents had given him options, andhe had picked out Wenzel himself. He liked his name. He liked himself. He liked his village. He liked his life. He likedbeing alive.He wanted to stay that way.
Run straight ahead and think of home.
Back screaming in pain, shoulders aching, sweat freezing on his brow, Wenzel thought of Greymist Fair and ran. His legs straightened, his stride grew longer. Trees bent out of his way. Snow burst from his path before his feet hit the ground.
The wargs began to lag behind. They were all around him, then they were only to the sides, then they were behind. Then they were gone, and the trees opened before him. He emerged by the hill on which Heike’s cottage sat. There was the inn, the windows lit against the dusk. The village sprawled beyond it, deserted, but also not swarming with wargs.
Heike threw open the inn’s back door before he reached it and caught him as he barreled inside. A cushion of other bodies and arms and hands caught them before they could fall to the floor. Someone kicked the door shut. Many voices spoke at once, and Heike was holding his face and asking if he was okay, and all Wenzel could think to do was drop the gift sack and kiss her. Surprised, she kissed him back. The cacophony of questions and arguments was replaced by a stunned cheer and a round of laughter.
“I think I got the new shirt bloody,” Wenzel muttered into Heike’s hair as the two of them were shuttled into the common area.
“I’ll make you another one,” she replied quietly, sounding like she might never be upset again.
Five
The inn’s kitchens were put to work roasting cuts of boar and turkey, warming pies that had miraculously survived the run back to the village. The evergreen in the corner was decorated with bells, cranberries, and wooden carvings of the moon, sun, and stars. The musicians who had brought their instruments from the now-vanished castle began playing near the fire. Stuffed dolls and wooden toys were distributed amongst the children.
There were wargs outside, and Death, but thoughts of them had been banished for the evening. Every candle in the inn was lit, every corner of the common room occupied. Ada Bosch corralled the children to the area around the tree. Gottfried told hunting stories to a gaggle of young men and women, with The Duke stretched out between his legs. Elma Klein and her husband, Norbert, carried mead and wine up from the cellar, and Oswald and Gabi helped distribute it. Dagny and Johannapulled Godric into the kitchen to help the many cooks reach high shelves, open sealed jars of preserves, and carry the heavy cast-iron kettles. Fritz and Altan could be spied standing unobtrusively in a corner, both looking for some way to help that wouldn’t make them more of a burden, keeping each other company.
Wenzel thought that was quite a noble job. No one should be without a friend during Yule. He sat in one of the tall armchairs beside the fire, Heike beside him. His back had been restitched and bandaged, and then Gabi had forced the two of them to relax and not move again for the rest of the night. Wenzel had no problem following that order. He had mead in one hand and Heike’s hand in the other, and he was listening to Gottfried’s stories with the blissful passivity of the exhausted and tipsy. Heike was already asleep, despite the clamor.
They both woke to eat. Nothing had tasted half so good in his life as what he ate that night, and he had two helpings before sleep took him. He woke again to raucous singing and Fritz and Altan dancing atop one of the tables, their faces red and their movements less than graceful. They had found their way to be helpful; entertainment was as good as anything else.
Wenzel looked over and found Heike smiling at him. He smiled back. She closed her eyes. He did, too.
When he opened them again, it was the early hours of the morning. Some had migrated upstairs to sleep or find quieter rooms; others had passed out right on the common room floor. Many of the children were asleep around the tree with toys still in their hands. Fritz and Altan were picking at a shared plate of food, talking quietly together, red-faced and flirtatious. Gottfried, Ulrich, and Elma were smoking pipes by the fire.
Heike was standing by the window, looking out. With not a small amount of effort, Wenzel levered himself out of the chair and went to stand beside her.
She pointed. “There. Do you see it? Next to the well. Wait for the clouds to pass again.”
