Echo North Page 11

  “Echo, why are you asking me so many questions?”

  Above us, the dwarves had finished painting the sky, and their white ships were drifting slowly away into the night. “I’m trying to help a friend.”

  “And you think your friend might be enchanted?”

  The wolf’s words spun round in my head: I do not belong to your world, or your time. I am just another piece of … her … collection.

  “I do.”

  Mokosh stretched out, leaning backward on the palms of her hands. Her forehead creased in concentration. “Every enchantment is as unique as a snowflake—but none are impenetrable. I’m sure there is a way to break it, if that is what you wish.”

  Break the enchantment, free the wolf, and then—what? Would I just stay with him in the house under the mountain forever?

  In the curved wall of the tower, a mirror shimmered into being—the library calling me back. I had no idea it had grown so late. I scrambled to my feet.

  Mokosh grinned at me. “What’s your rush? Now that you can dance, we’ve a party to get to.” She stood, too, and brushed the dust from her skirt.

  “I’m late for dinner,” I told her apologetically.

  “Can’t dinner wait?”

  I thought about the wolf, alone in the dining room, staring mournfully at a mountain of food he didn’t want to eat. “I’m afraid not. But I’ll be back again soon.”

  Mokosh smiled. “More partners for me, then. Goodbye, Echo!”

  She disappeared down the tower’s spiral stair, while I stretched my hand out to the glimmering mirror.

  Magic curled through me, and the dark tower melted away into the bright light of the library.

  I’m sure there is a way to break it, echoed Mokosh’s voice in my mind.

  I’m sure there is a way.

  But how was I supposed to find it?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I DO NOT BELONG TO YOUR world, or your time. I am just another piece of … her … collection.

  I’m sure there is a way to break it.

  I’m sure there is a way.

  I paced through the rain room, where rain grew like plants in various pots, some of the water-plants tiny and hanging from arches in the ceiling, some nearly as big as the living room in my father’s cottage. I stopped at each plant and poured out a little light from my bucket, which I’d collected earlier in the sunroom. The rain plants didn’t make any logical sense, but they were beautiful, and I always looked forward to my visits each morning.

  I paused at my favorite plant, a huge vine-y thing that twisted and moved in some invisible wind. Blossoms grew all along the vine; they were made of dewdrops and chimed like tiny cymbals when I fed them their light.

  I touched one of the flowers; it was damp and cool against my finger.

  I am just another piece of … her … collection.

  But what was he? What had the wolf been before the mysterious force in the wood had brought him here, bound him here? I tapped my finger absently against the compass-watch, hanging as always about my neck, ticking down the seconds.

  The first time I’d met Mokosh, she’d told me that readers project their preferred versions of themselves in the world of the books, whether they were aware of it or not. I wondered what version of himself the wolf would project, and if it would give me any hint of his secrets.

  I wondered if that was why he didn’t want to come reading with me.

  I left the rain room, a plan unfolding in my mind that would keep me from having to return to the room behind the black door.

  I FOUND THE WOLF CURLED up and sleeping soundly on one of the garden steps, the grass pressed down beneath him and a few bright flower petals clinging to his white fur. Bees buzzed in the blossoms behind him, roses and asters and twists of orange honeysuckle. The air smelled sweet.

  I almost hated to wake him. “Wolf?”

  He opened one amber eye. “Do you need assistance with the house?” He’d left me on my own more often than not, lately.

  I shook my head. “Not exactly. I found a room I’ve never seen before—I want to show it to you.”

  He got slowly to his feet, like he ached all the way down to his bones, then stretched, yawned. “Lead the way.”

  I turned from the garden, jittery with anticipation. I hoped the house remembered my instructions. “House,” I said as we stepped inside, “bring us to the new room.” The air trembled around us and I thought I heard a far-off breath of laughter—the house was amused.

  I climbed a stair made of bare dark wood, the wolf’s nails clicking behind me. Down a hall of whispering shadows and around a corner, then up another stair, this one made of snow, to a red-and-gold door I’d asked the house to invent for me.

  The wolf grunted and I glanced down at him. “Wolf?”

  “You are right, Echo. This is a new room. I thought I had seen them all.”

  I ignored a twinge of guilt and opened the door. There was no disguising the library now that we were inside, but I rushed to the nearest book-mirror anyway, my fingers wound tight in the wolf’s scruff.

  He realized what I was about, and tried to jerk away from me, growling, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  My hand was already brushing the surface of the glass.

  Magic rushed through me.

  I stood suddenly in an autumn meadow, the golden grass brittle and tall, seeds sticking to my sleeves. An ominous cloud loomed dark overhead, and the wind was sharp as needles.

  I took a breath, turned.

  The wolf stood there, unchanged. His back leg was crooked and scarred. There were bits of dried blood in his fur from his latest visit to the bauble room.

  I reached inquisitive fingers to the left side of my face, wondering if that particular book-mirror didn’t work like the others. But my skin was as smooth as the day I was born.

  I had changed.

  The wolf had not.

  We stared at each other, the wind whipping wild between us. His sorrow was so heavy I could nearly taste it.

  He didn’t say anything, just looked at me for a long, long moment, his amber eyes piercing down to the darkest parts of me.

  And then he turned, and vanished, and I was alone.

  I sank to my knees in the grass, guilt squeezing so sharp I could hardly breathe. I had been so sure he would be different in the books, so certain his true self would be revealed.

  Instead, I felt like I had betrayed him.

  Hoofbeats thudded across the ground, and I lifted my head to see a rider hurtling fast toward me. As the rider drew near, I recognized Mokosh, her silver hair and voluminous split riding skirt flapping madly in all that wind.

  “Echo!” she cried, pulling up in a cloud of dust and grass. “I’m so glad I found you—why do you look so miserable? There’s a princess who’s about to fight an evil sorceress using only the weather, and it’s sure to be loads of fun. Coming?” She leaned down in her saddle and offered me her hand.

  I couldn’t face the wolf after what I’d done. Not yet.

  So I took Mokosh’s hand, and let her sweep me away on an adventure. But the whole time, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look in the wolf’s eyes. The look that said he was ashamed of me.

  I DIDN’T SEE THE WOLF again until I climbed into bed that night and was about to turn down the lamp. The door creaked open and he padded in, but he didn’t look at me. There was more blood in his fur than I’d ever seen before. Guilt and hurt writhed inside of me, but I blew out the lamp without saying a word. Coward, I told myself.

  The bed sagged as the wolf climbed up; the linens rustled. I stared into darkness and listened to the beat of my heart.

  Finally I said, “I shouldn’t have tricked you like that. I shouldn’t have pulled you into the book-mirror against your will. I’m sorry.”

  His breathing sounded quick and shallow from the other side of the bed. “The fault is mine, Lady Echo.”

  I listened to the darkness, felt the immensity of the divide between us, though we we
re separated by mere inches. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

  “Because no one can. Stop trying. Stop pretending you care about what happens to me. Stop behaving as if we are friends.”

  His words stung like wasps. “Then what are we?”

  “I am the demon who tricked you,” he spat. “You are my prisoner.”

  I gnawed on my lip to keep from crying. Silence swallowed me whole.

  The minutes stretched on. Tears dampened my pillow. “You are my friend, you know. No matter what you say. You’ve been watching over me my whole life. I trust you.”

  The wolf made a sound halfway between a sob and a snarl. “My lady, you should not.”

  “But I do.”

  The darkness pressed in and in. We didn’t say anything more.

  Somehow, I slept.

  Deep in the night I woke to deep, muffled sobs that made the whole bed shake.

  I wondered how a wolf could cry like that, and sound so very human as he did so.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AFTER HALF A DOZEN LESSONS, MOKOSH informed me that my dancing was so much improved, we had better put it to good use and attend a ball. “Meet me in The Masque of Adella!” she said merrily as her book-mirror home wavered into existence. “Tomorrow afternoon! Bring something fancy to wear—I hear there will be princes in attendance!” And then she stepped through her mirror and vanished.

  I told myself I hadn’t firmly decided whether or not I would join her, and yet, the next afternoon, I went directly to the library and asked the house to provide me with a selection of gowns. Three giant wardrobes appeared in a semicircle around me, filled to the brim with rustling silks and satins, sequins and jewels and embroidery. I looked through all of them, running my hands along the delicate fabrics, pulling out the occasional gown to get a better view of it in the light.

  I hadn’t seen the wolf since I’d forced him into the book-mirror more than a week ago—he hadn’t come to give me my lesson, or appeared in the dining room. Every night he climbed into bed after I’d blown out the lamp, and every morning when I woke he was gone again. I had been tending the house on my own, wracked with guilt.

  One of the gowns made my breath catch, and I slipped it off the hanger. It was pale gold and embroidered with metal thread, and had a lower-cut neckline than I was used to. The sleeves looked like puffs of confectioner’s cream. It whispered tantalizingly against my arms.

  I turned to the book-mirror, touched the glass.

  I stepped directly into Lady Adella’s dressing room, where Mokosh sat waiting for me on a red velvet chaise longue.

  “Echo!” She leapt up and spun me about in a tight hug, then pulled away to examine the gold dress I’d brought. “Oh, it’s stunning. Just the thing. You’ll outshine Adella herself tonight!” She glanced sideways at the small army of Adella’s frowning maids, and stifled a giggle behind her hand.

  The maids set the three of us—Mokosh, myself, and Adella, who was a pale, dark-eyed beauty—side by side in front of a trio of large, ornate mirrors, and got to work. They slipped me into a silk chemise, which lay smooth and cool against my skin, and then a bone corset, cinching the laces just tight enough that I felt secure, like I was clothed in armor, but not so tight I couldn’t breathe. After that came the gown, and it settled around me like it had been sewn in my exact measurements—which, knowing the house, I supposed was quite likely.

  The maids braided my hair with gold thread and white ostrich feathers, and then hung a strand of flashing sapphires around my neck. Last of all came the masque, tied on with silk ribbons. I was resplendent in starlight, my dark hair contrasting starkly with the gold gown and white masque. I turned to Mokosh for approval.

  She wore a deep violet gown sewed with opalescent shells that shifted blue or green or silver, depending on how they hit the light. There were strands of pearls in her hair, and her masque shone with silver scales.

  “Beautiful!” we both exclaimed at the same time.

  Mokosh laughed and grasped my hands, and we looked to Adella, to see how her toilette compared. She was dressed in the dark regal colors and masque of a peacock, but she was crying behind all the feathers and sequins.

  “Her betrothal is tonight,” Mokosh whispered to me, “to a man she’s sworn she can never love. It’s all delightfully tragic.”

  But I was too excited to feel terribly sorry for Lady Adella.

  Mokosh and I strode down a grand hallway and then a wide, sweeping stair into the ballroom. The entire back wall was filled with huge, multipaned windows that looked out onto a snow-covered countryside. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles danced overhead in massive chandeliers, and from some hidden balcony music curled into the air, elegant and light as wildflowers in the summertime. The floor was marble inlaid with gold.

  Lady Adella stepped into the ballroom just behind us, and a tall, black-coated gentleman in a blue masque bowed smartly over her hand. She took it, stiffly, and he led her out onto the dance floor.

  “Over here, Echo.” Mokosh tugged me away to the edge of the room, where the people who weren’t yet dancing chatted and mingled, sipping wine in crystal glasses.

  The music and candlelight washed over me, and I wondered what it must be like to live in a palace, to be fawned over and courted for one’s beauty and riches. To not have to worry about villagers’ accusing stares. My fingertips twitched to the left side of my face, whispering across the masque and the smooth, unscarred skin that only existed here, in a world that wasn’t real.

  A sandy-haired gentleman wearing a dragon masque came up to Mokosh, and bowed low. “Dance with me, my lady?”

  Mokosh beamed at him, and took his hand. They spun away to join the other dancers, and I was left alone.

  I paced toward the windows, watching as the sun sank slowly westward, red-orange shadows spilling across the snow.

  “It’s very beautiful, to be sure,” came a voice at my ear, “but are you certain you want to dance and eat iced cakes on the eve of revolution?”

  I turned to see a tall stranger dressed in dark green, his masque the shape of a white bear’s face; the masque looked somehow sad, but his voice was familiar.

  “Hal?”

  He gave me an elegant-yet-exaggerated bow. “I thought I’d fool you for longer than that.” He loosed his masque and there was his face, smooth and laughing, his blue eyes flashing in the candlelight.

  “I’m very hard to fool,” I told him, smiling.

  “So I belatedly see.” He offered me his hand and I took it, startling a little when my fingers touched his skin—it was smooth and warm; neither of us were wearing gloves. His hand curled around mine and he led me out into the midst of the dancers.

  I didn’t know the steps to this particular dance, but Hal taught them to me, his other hand solid and strong on the small of my back.

  We danced, not quite in time with the music, and I could feel our pulses, beating together in our joined hands. Mokosh danced on the other side of the room; she’d already traded partners.

  “I remember my family,” said Hal then, quietly. “I wanted to tell you. I haven’t always been like this. Stepping from book to book.”

  I held his gaze; for some reason, it made my stomach lurch. “What do you remember about them?”

  His eyes turned thoughtful. “My mother is beautiful. My father is stern. I think I have brothers and sisters. But I haven’t seen them in a long, long while. I don’t even know their names.” His voice cracked.

  I studied his face and wondered, for the first time, what he looked like in real life. What lines and scars did the book worlds smooth away from him? “I’ll help you find them. If I can.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “I’m afraid I might have lost them a long time ago.”

  Mokosh whirled by in the tide of dancers, and waggled her eyebrows at how close Hal was holding me. I flushed, and was glad when the dance drew us apart again.

  “Did you say we’re on the brink of revolution?” I asked Hal. “I didn�
��t pay any attention to the description plate.”

  He grinned. “Oh yes. I’m afraid the festivities are cut short in a shockingly gory bloodbath. I read ahead.”

  I laughed. “Is it soon?”

  He held me a little closer, and some impulse caused me to lay my head against his chest. His arms were warm and strong. Secure.

  “Not until midnight,” he breathed into my hair. “We are quite safe until then.”

  I leaned into him, all the air in the room swallowed up in the sensation of his heart beating quiet against mine.

  We danced awhile longer, then retreated into a corner where pillows had been strewn over the floor. We sat together, sipping currant wine and nibbling the aforementioned iced cakes, which were delicious.

  “Do you remember where you come from?” I leaned back against one of the pillars, brushing cake crumbs from my skirt.

  He was sitting close to me, but not as close as when we were dancing.

  His forehead creased in concentration. “I think my father rules a duchy.”

  “You’re a duke, then.”

  “I suppose I am.”

  I laughed. “Am I to call you Lord Hal?”

  “You may call me whatever you like.” A lazy smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes. “What about you, Echo? What do you want to do when your year in the house under the mountain is over?”

  Across the ballroom, stars were appearing outside the windows, gleaming points of white fire. “I want to attend the university, if I can gather the entrance fee. I want to be a doctor.”

  Hal’s eyes fixed on mine, an intensity in his gaze that I didn’t understand. “I was not like you when I was young. I didn’t care for anything or anyone but myself.”

  His words struck a strange chord. “You can’t be much older than me.”

  He frowned, that line pressing into his forehead again. “I think … I think I might be very old indeed.”