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“The Golden Yarn,” he said. “What can I say? Even Fairies are powerless against it.”
Fox had never loved him like she loved him in this moment.
But Orlando looked past her. Jacob was striding toward them.
“Where is it?” There was something in his voice, and it had nothing to do with jealousy. “Where’s the carpet?”
“Up in the air, I assume,” Orlando replied. “I’m afraid Isambard Brunel thought his own safety was more important than ours. At first I thought he’d taken the horses as well, but I found two over there behind the skulls. They seemed very frightened. Maybe he chased them away, though I can’t really make much sense of it.”
She’d never seen Jacob paler, not even when Hentzau had shot him through the heart.
Orlando, of course, had no idea how monumental a betrayal he’d just witnessed. Orlando knew nothing of fathers who betrayed their sons. He talked about his own father the way one spoke about parents whose love one never had to doubt.
Fox felt Jacob’s rage as clearly as if it were her own. Pain, rage, fury, against himself, because he hadn’t foreseen what his father would do.
As a child, she’d always believed there could be nothing more painful than losing your father to death. Jacob had taught her otherwise. Fox wished John Reckless into the deepest caverns his fears could imagine.
“Did you see him?” Jacob asked.
“Would I still be here if I had?” Orlando plucked a feather from his sleeve. “I would’ve flown after him. Damn fool. It’s going to be on my head if he doesn’t make it to Albion in one piece. How’s he going to find the way?”
“Albion? I don’t think he’s going back there,” Jacob replied.
“Where, then?”
“Some place that won’t hand him to either the Walrus or the Goyl, somewhere that can afford to build his inventions.” Jacob didn’t sound like he was speaking of his own father.
Orlando looked south, to where the mountains of Kazakh were rising in the distance. “Fine. So I won’t be returning Brunel to Albion. I’d better start looking for a new employer. The Shah of Bukhara is looking for spies.”
Bukhara, Kazakh, Mongol... Fox knew little of the countries beyond Varangia. She wasn’t even sure whether they’d already crossed any of those borders.
“I’d be grateful if you let me have one of the horses,” Orlando said. “The people around here would rather sell their children than their horses, and the next town is at least a hundred miles away. I could fly, but I fear the gander is no match for the double-headed eagles.”
“Sure,” said Jacob, though he probably hadn’t even heard Orlando’s request.
Fox lowered her eyes as Orlando looked at her. Was she going to see him again?
Probably best not, his eyes seemed to say.
Orlando picked a splintered bone from the ground. Like birds, Dragons had hollow bones. The resinous material on the inside was a very effective explosive.
“Will you still look for the Fairy?” he asked. “Or are you done with that?”
“The carpet’s gone,” Jacob replied. “I guess that makes us done with that, right?”
“That depends. Maybe I know another way.”
Orlando looked at Fox. Don’t hate me for not saying anything earlier, his eyes pleaded. You know why.
Hate? She was grateful, even if Jacob would never understand that. The days in Moskva had been hers, hers alone. Not Jacob’s or Will’s. Hers. And those days had let her find again what she thought she’d lost forever in the Bluebeard’s castle.
Maybe Jacob did understand. He didn’t ask Orlando why he was only mentioning this now.
He just said, “And? What do you know? Did you tell Fox?”
“How stupid do you think I am? What she knows, you know.” Orlando tucked the bone into his bag. “I assume she told you who the Dark One is probably looking for?”
“La Tisseuse?” Jacob shook his head. “The Weaver? The Golden Yarn? You’re talking about the Dark Fairy, not some village girl dreaming of true love. If the Dark One’s looking for the Weaver, then it’s to convince her to cut Kami’en’s life thread.”
