The Autumn Castle (51 page)

Hexebart reaches for the carving knife. Suddenly she is hungry again.

Jude held Mayfridh while she sobbed.

“I’m so tired and thirsty,” she said.

His hands were warm in her hair and she tried to sink into him, to disappear into him, but something black and iron and cold
was in the way . . .

Mayfridh woke, her neck uncomfortably crooked, her arm pinned under her on the filthy bed of straw. The sick disappointment
of being brought back to her reality, of warm Jude disappearing from her arms, stole her breath from her lungs.

Still in the dungeon.

“Eisengrimm?”

He didn’t answer, and she began to accept that he might be dead. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, her knees
under her chin, and let her tears fall. When long minutes had passed with only the sound of her own crying, she rose and went
to the door. If Eisengrimm were already dead, she would be foolish to stay locked in here. She pushed the door hard. No, it
was as she thought. Mandy had locked her in. That meant he had the enchanted keys and was the only person who could set her
free.

She stood at the barred window for a few minutes, watching the still figure of the crow in the cage, silhouetted in the firelight.
She felt her face contort into a sob, but no sound emerged and no tears moistened her eyes. A huge guttural scream was trapped
between her throat and her face.

“Good-bye, friend,” she managed to whisper, and returned to the pile of straw.

She closed her eyes and thought about Eisengrimm. Liesebet and Jasper had brought her to Ewigkreis just before the change
of season. Those first bewildering days of deep winter, when the sun never shone and Mayfridh was confused and screaming for
her parents all the time, soon passed into the warm colors of the Spring Palace. There, the sense of always-belonging had
first embraced her, and Liesebet had begun to introduce her as Princess Mayfridh, heir to the throne.

It was at the Spring Palace that she had first met Eisengrimm. He had seemed very forbidding and serious, with his yellow
wolf eyes and solemn demeanor. Truth be told, she was afraid of him for a long time. But then Queen Liesebet’s favorite bracelet
had gone missing, and Eisengrimm had transformed to Fox to search all the nooks and crannies of the palace. Mayfridh had been
enchanted with him in this form; small enough to pick up and cuddle, like a pet who could teach her and converse with her.
By the time summer came, she wanted him with her all the time. The friendship had been good for both of them. While he had
helped her prepare for the duties that would all too soon be thrust upon her, she had helped him become more light of heart,
not so serious and somber.

And now he had gone beyond death’s incomprehensible barrier, and become as deaf and unknowing as a stone. Mayfridh opened
her eyes and sat up, clutching the straw in her hands and knowing it could not save her from falling into death. Mandy would
return, he would kill her, and the moment of horrified realization was so hot and bright upon her that she yelped. But it
was only a moment, and then death became ordinary again, something that happened to everyone. Yes, she was afraid of dying,
wondered if it would be painful or filled with frightful noises and sensations, but death, once it came, was resolution. Acceptance.
She slumped back into her bed of straw and closed her eyes again. If only she had died in that moment with Jude, lying in
his arms after making love, feeling whole and warm and embodied, feeling as though she had found the one place where care
and woe were not permitted to enter. With a sigh she re-created the scene in her mind, replacing the cold darkness with a
pair of warm arms; the still body of her dear friend with the live presence of her one love, her only lover. If Fate intervened
and she saw Jude again, she would not let him go. Friendship, royal duty, his history of lies—nothing could persuade her to
give him up again.

She would still marry Jude. Once Christine had decided that, she felt an enormous sense of relief. Yes, he had fallen in love
with someone else, but Mayfridh belonged to another world, another race of beings. Despite the anxiety Christine felt for
her now, Mayfridh would soon disappear, never to think of Jude again. Christine should concern herself about Jude having feelings
for Mayfridh no more than she should about him developing a crush on a movie star. Mayfridh was unattainable and forever distant.

Perhaps, from time to time in their lives, Christine would catch him with a faraway look in his eye and know he was thinking
of Mayfridh. But she was used to him seeming far away, and once they had settled into comfortable affluence and had children,
he would stay and he would be happy with her. Of course he would. If eighty percent of his heart was all he could give, she
would take it. She loved him too deeply, too desperately and too wholly, to demand more or to choose nothing.

But for now, whatever feelings he had for Mayfridh were exploitable. Christine had to convince him to hit her by pushing every
guilt and fear button she could find.

She descended to Gerda’s flat. Inside, Gerda sat tight-lipped on the sofa while Pete sketched furiously in his notepad.

“Hi,” Christine said, brushing hair from Gerda’s eyes. “How are you?”

She shrugged. A bump and a croak came from the bucket on her lap. Christine peered in to see a frog, two lizards, a locust,
and a handful of worms. “It’s still happening then?”

Gerda nodded. Pete looked up from his notebook. “That’s my fault. She was determined not to say anything, but then I started
drawing her.” He turned the sketch around. Gerda’s face in thick pencil lines, perfect bewilderment on her brow, a locust
leaping from her lips.

“Pete, will you go up to Mandy’s and relieve Jude? Tell him I need to speak to him.”

Pete put the sketchbook aside and rose. “Sure, but if I see that witch, I’m going to run screaming. I have a hard enough time
socially without spitting reptiles when I speak.”

He closed the door behind him. Christine sat on the sofa next to Gerda and slid an arm around her. “I’m so sorry, Gerda.”

Gerda nodded, her lips pressed together hard, tears welling in her eyes.

“I will do my best to fix it. I’m going after Mayfridh.”

Gerda turned questioning eyes on her.

“The first time I went across was when I knocked myself out. I’ve got to convince Jude to hit me in the back.”

Gerda reached for Christine’s hand and squeezed it softly. “You’ll be hurt,” she whispered, and a lizard pattered into the
bucket.

“She may be killed. You may be stuck like this for life. It’s the only way.” Christine took the bucket to the window and emptied
its contents down into the street. “Gerda,” she said, “if Jude won’t do it, will you?”

Gerda nodded.

“I’d rather Jude did it, because he knows the exact spot. But if I tell him you’re willing it might convince him.”

She nodded again, reaching for the bucket and cradling it against her.

Christine sank onto the sofa. “I think he’s in love with her, Gerda.”

Gerda didn’t answer; her expression was unreadable.

“Now you shut up?” Christine said good-naturedly. “Just when I need you to talk?”

Gerda smiled.

“Okay, let’s get Fabiyan out of Mandy’s apartment and lock it up. The poor guy is scared to death anyway. I’ll go to Ewigkreis
without Hexebart’s help.”

The door opened and Jude entered. “Christine? Is everything okay?”

Christine rose from the sofa. “Come on, Jude. We need to talk.” She led him upstairs to their apartment, Jude with a puzzled
look on his face.

When the door was closed behind them, she handed him the sculptor’s mallet.

“Oh, no way, Christine,” he said, “not this idea again.”

“It’s the only hope we have.”

“Christine, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Gerda said she’d do it.”

“No, I won’t let that happen either.”

“Every moment you do nothing, he could be killing her.”

Silence.

“He could be killing her right now,” she said.

“He could kill you too.”

“I’ll be careful. He doesn’t know I’m coming. I’ll take a knife, that big one from the kitchen.”

Jude’s face was flushed with anger. “I can’t believe you’re even asking me this.”

“You’re the only person who can do it. You know exactly the spot to hit. I won’t feel a thing once I get to Ewigkreis, and
when I come back . . . so, I’m laid up on painkillers for a couple of weeks.”

“I could cause permanent damage. More pain, for the rest of your life.”

“But she may die. Dead is forever.”

“Okay, I’ll hit myself. I’ll knock myself out and go.”

“It’s got nothing to do with you. I ended up over there because Mayfridh and I made that stupid blood-sisters pact when we
were kids. You’d just end up unconscious.”

Again he fell silent.

“Jude,” she said softly, “only you can save her.”

Jude scowled. “Don’t say that.”

“You are the only person who can save her. Every moment you hesitate is a moment he can kill her. It only takes a moment to
die.”

“I—”

“Now, Jude. I’ll get the knife.” She went to the kitchen, opened the cutlery drawer with shaking hands. Tried to force down
some air. All her nerves were screaming. He was going to do it, he was really going to do it. She tucked the knife into her
waistband and returned to Jude. “Are you ready?”

“I can’t do this, Christine,” he said, and his bottom lip was trembling.

“You can, you will.” She turned her back to him. “Go on, you know the spot.”

“Christine . . .”

“I’m waiting.”

A long silence drew out behind her. She heard him hitch his breath on a repressed sob.

“Okay,” he said on a long shaky breath.

Christine closed her eyes and forced her body to go limp. “Don’t tell me when, don’t count down, don’t—”

The blow was sharp and swift and excruciatingly precise. In an instant, she was falling between worlds.

So pure and cold the wind breathes.

It pares the flesh from the bones of the land—

finds at last the essential shape.

“Autumn,”
Kate Humphrey

“Hee, hee, hee! Circle of fire, circle of fire!

Spin, spin, circle of fire! Merrily, merrily!

Puppet, ha, pretty puppet, spin, spin!”

“The Sandman,”
E. T. A. Hoffmann

C
hristine sat up slowly, dread clutching at her heart. The sky was leaden, the branches all but bare, the light dim and low
on the horizon. The air was very still, and gravity, rather than movement, sent leaves plummeting to the ground. Winter seemed
poised to rush upon her in any instant.

And yet, she hadn’t forgotten anything about the Real World—not Jude, not Mandy’s diary, not the awesome promise of pain that
waited for her to return—which meant the worlds hadn’t moved yet. She needed to see the giant birch. Instinct told her it
was unwise to call for Eisengrimm—Mandy didn’t know she was here. She checked that the knife was still tucked into her waistband,
and almost laughed at herself; she was no action hero.