Fortune scowls. “Every human dies. That’s no excuse to break our agreement.”
“She’s going to die in two weeks,” Death clarifies. “On the full moon. It was a matter of business, not family.”
Fortune relaxes a bit more than I like, given that we’re discussing my imminent demise. “Oh, I see. Well then. How did it happen? Your luck’s shifted around quite a bit tonight, but I didn’t realize it was this dire.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumble into my fur wrap. “I have it under control.”
Considering I now have two weeks to amass a fortune, escape one of the most powerful men in the Blessed Empire of Almandy, and evade the highly trained criminal hunter headed my way, all the while slowly turning into precious stones, I absolutely do not have it under control. But I’m not going to tell my godmothers that.
Besides, I have a bad feeling about what breaking the curse might entail. And if I have to make up for everything I’ve taken . . . well, timing is going to be key.
“She stole a token of Eiswald’s protection from a countess,” Death says flatly.
“Vanja,” Fortune chides, shaking her head. Her wreath of coins lets out a shimmery ring. “You should know better. It’s much safer to steal from the helpless.”
(If you have been wondering why I am the way I am, perhaps you are learning now. But I will give Fortune and Death their due: They treat the poor and the powerful with equal disregard.)
Death continues. “Eiswald has cursed Vanja in retaliation. If she doesn’t lift it by the full moon, Vanja dies.”
“A killing curse over a little token? Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Fortune folds her arms. “The nerve of some gods.”
There’s a muted croak from the empty corner of the coach, and then I remember it’s not empty after all. Ragne is huddled on the seat, feathers blending into the dark.
“Of course not, dear, I’m sure your mother has her reasons,” Fortune says quickly. Then she catches my bewildered look and adds, “I’m afraid Vanja can’t understand you like that.”
Ragne blinks a sleepy red eye at me and caws, then rolls over. Suddenly a black cat is hunching in the raven’s place. She shakes her head, then says in a strangled, guttural voice, “Better?”
“I hate it,” I say vehemently. “No. No talking animals.”
“The Vanja understands now. Better.” She curls up tight, tucking her nose into the end of her tail. “Good night.”
I bury my face in my hands. I am not going to spend what may be my last two weeks alive monitored by a talking feral shape-shifter.
Fortune’s voice carries through my fingers. “Will you be able to break the curse?”
“I said I have it handled.”
There’s an awkward silence. Then Fortune ventures, “Well, since we’re both here . . . there is a way to get out of it—”
“No.” I drop my hands to glare at her and Death. “I don’t need your help.”
“Eiswald would have no claim to you,” Fortune insists. “You’ll have to choose someday. It’s been what, two years? Seven?”
“Four,” says Death, for she always knows, “in two weeks.”
“I don’t need your help,” I practically spit, seething.
The fact is that I do. I desperately need both Death and Fortune on my side.
But I can’t ask for it, not from them.
It turns out all their help has a price.
After my mother gave me up, I lived with them in a cottage in their realm, and what little I recall, I recall fondly. I remember Death telling me bedtime stories of the kings she’d collected that day; I remember Fortune fussing over racks of houseplants that seemed to wilt out of sheer malice. I remember being warm and safe. I think I remember something like love.
When I was almost six, they could not keep a human child in their realm much longer, so they brought me instead to Castle Falbirg. Fortune meddled as she does, and suddenly I was the von Falbirgs’ new scullery maid. They left me there with their blessings: Unlike other humans, I could see Death and Fortune themselves at work in this mortal realm, and use that knowledge for my own ends.
When I was thirteen, they came to me again. I was of age, they said; I had been given to them, they said. And now it was time for me to serve.
Their gift to me was a choice. I was to decide whose trade I would take up: Death’s, or Fortune’s. I would follow and serve one of them to the end of my days.
My answer was what you would expect of a thirteen-year-old who was asked to choose between her parents: no.
My godmothers were flummoxed. They were angry. Fortune was the most vocal about it, but I could see the grass withering around Death’s feet, feel the hurt seeping from her shroud. I didn’t know how to tell them I didn’t want to choose which godmother I loved best.
I didn’t know how to say I wanted to be more than a servant.
I had no words at all to say I’d thought I was their daughter, not a debt to be collected.
They settled it between themselves, as they tend to do. One day, they agreed, I would call on one of them for aid. I would ask a favor, I would beg for intervention either by Death or by Fortune, and in that moment—I would make my choice.
And so it has been a long, hard four years since I last called on my godmothers.
Death could save me from Eiswald’s curse and simply refuse to take my life. Fortune could tilt the world in my favor, let all the answers spill into my lap so that the curse practically breaks itself. But I would rather leave Almandy, and all that I know, than spend the rest of my life serving anyone ever again.
“I won’t ask,” I say grimly. “I can figure this out on my own. If you’ve nothing else to say, leave me be.”
Death and Fortune trade looks. Then they vanish in a chorus of coins, bones, and whispering shrouds.
“Rude of you,” Ragne says from her corner of the seat, and flicks her tail.
I resist the urge to toss her out of the coach. If Eiswald cursed me for taking one lousy ring, she probably wouldn’t take kindly to me flinging her daughter into the road like the contents of a chamber pot. “I didn’t ask you either,” I snap instead, and yank the hood of my cloak over my face until all I see is fur.
Make up for what you have stolen. Low Gods love their riddles, but if Eiswald had meant only the jewels, she’d have said as much.
I stole this life from Gisele. And now, somehow, I have to give it back.
`
I doze off, but stir awake at the clang of the rising portcullis when we pass through the main gate of Castle Reigenbach. On a gloomy night like tonight, the castle is just columns of dreary stone, but by day it’s a vision, all lacy limestone towers and bright blue shingles clustered in the Yssar River’s terminal bend. The river makes a near-perfect natural moat around the castle walls before tumbling down a lovely waterfall and winding through the heart of Minkja below.
Ragne stretches and yawns on the seat next to me. I missed her curling up on a corner of my fur wrap while I was asleep.
“I can’t just bring a cat in,” I tell her. The hoofbeats on cobblestones cover my voice for the most part, but I still keep it low so the coachmen don’t think the future markgräfin is nattering away to herself.