Guards came for Esor midway up the xilcadis spire. He wasn’t prepared for it. He had stepped into a beam of sunlight and become transfixed by fluttering ribbons strung overhead. The strips of silk and glittergrass caught the fading Light. Reflected sparkles danced over the twisted-wood road. Some village choir sang to honor Biltane, voices undulating in time with the rippling ribbons. The moment was so perfect Esor’s heart forgot to beat.

  The ribbons were the last thing Esor saw before a knife hilt struck him unconscious. He crumpled to the guard’s feet as if boneless. The light swirled and music played uninterrupted.

  ~

  MANORS AND SHOPS LINED the road climbing ?elasdur’s tor. High on the tor itself, between street levels, rooms were carved directly into the petrified trunk of the world-tree. Agile àlvar guards scaled them using a series of ropes and handholds. Even the archer who carried Esor moved weightlessly.

  Esor’s body fell to the floor in a beam from the arrow slit. The stone was cold enough that he stirred, lifting a hand to his aching skull.

  “What...? Where am I?”

  “This is an Osurmit,” said a voice coming from a buck Esor could not see. “From here, any àlvar may sing to the next, conducting matters of war without utilizing Heralds.”

  Esor struggled to focus upon the àlvare surrounding him. These guards did not wear the pale tones of House írsa. They wore lightweight leather armor trimmed in red and carried arrows fletched with roc feathers. Lady Ilare’s keroterase were similarly appointed. They were Kovenor.

  “Why am I here?” asked Esor.

  “Matters of war.” Lord Mayor Corvin emerged from the rear of the room. He was draped in black, antlers adorned by delicate golden chains. In one hand, he held a whip. Its tail dragged on the ground beside him so its teeth scraped lines into the dust. With the other hand, he held the silver lock box Tasero had given her son. “I’m holding you on suspicion of Dwarrow sympathy.”

  Esor began stuttering. “I don’t understand. There’s some mistake.”

  “Ravens and wolves hunt together.” The Lord Mayor’s voice dropped to a rich baritone that radiated emotion, all sharps and flats. “Ravens will find weak prey and alert the wolves with a cry. When the wolves come, they perform the kill. They rend the flesh and ravens devour the offal.” He lifted the box. “What is this?”

  “A gift from my mother.”

  “You mean to tell me that your mother, Tasero an Amen, the lauded seamstress, gifted you a Dwarrow Heartbox?” The Lord Mayor’s voice was as beautiful as it was terrible. A dozen musicians could have served as his backing orchestra without overwhelming the raw disbelief he projected.

  Esor could barely speak to utter the word, “Dwarrow?”

  For a moment, he feared Corvin had found his way into Esor’s dreams, observing those visions of their enemy. It felt more forbidden than ever that Esor’s sleeping mind should be filled with Dwarrow while he kneeled in a guardroom, skewered by the Lord Mayor’s gaze.

  Corvin strolled around Esor, the long hem of his robes slithering in his wake. Beadwork hissed on stone. “Heartboxes are precious to Dwarrow Clans. A family keepsake passed between generations. They’re only gifted to another soul when a Dwarrow seeks marriage. A tender, sentimental keepsake between lovers.”

  Esor shook his head, slowly at first, and more frantic when a step brought Corvin’s radius tighter around him. “There’s some mistake. My mother knows no Dwarrow!”

  Corvin stopped before Esor. The Heartbox trapped the Lord Mayor’s fingers caught the sunlight, reflecting on Esor’s eye so he flinched away.

  “I must look like weak prey, retreating from Set to ?elasdur,” said Corvin. “You look to me like a raven about to cry for Dwarrow wolves to shred my throat. So I will ask once more. Where did this Heartbox come from?”

  The air hummed when the Lord Mayor held the Heartbox between them. Esor could not pull away when Corvin let the silver metal swing against his cheek. They were connected by chain and box for a heartbeat. The wind shifted. It smelled like mines deep within Neu? Mak Nam?, where her brilliant eye never shined, and a young adventurer could vanish after taking two steps beyond the wrong gate.

  Esor’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. He fainted.

  Nightmares chased Esor’s briefest moments of unconsciousness, drawing blinks into months. He was the skewered bloodtoad. His dreams extended into infinity.

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  The Heartbox.

  A different puzzle box swung before him like a pendulum in darkness, the only source of light. It was as lumpy as if hands had molded it while white-hot. The cord was clutched in the strong fist of an indistinct figure, stocky and broad but faceless. A Dwarrow.

  Hands slapped Esor’s cheeks.

  “Wake up.”

  Esor stirred to find himself held in one of the Lord Mayor’s arms, cheek stinging from a slap he hadn’t felt.

  When Corvin saw open eyes, he briefly smiled. “Good,” said the Lord Mayor. To the guards he said, “Strip the creature for interrogation.”

  They took Esor’s vest and coat, leaving a flimsy cotton shirt underneath. It would be no protection from Corvin’s whip. The finest àlvar weapons could penetrate leather armor, and Esor was far softer than leather.

  “Why did you faint? Is your constitution typically so weak that you swoon with fear?” asked Corvin.

  Esor did not respond. He sweated, and the dampness made him shiver.

  “You’d best remember how to speak. I have many questions and little patience.” The whip twitched at Corvin’s side as a feline’s tail might. “I have no patience for the Era-spanning political games other L?sàlvar play. I react to threats swiftly. In this way, I survive.”

  “My liege—”

  “You’ve spent forty years distant from the Republic’s war with the Mountainhomes. It would take a powerful force to turn a Thicket àlvar toward Dwarrow sympathies, but passion compels many traitors. Passion for country...passion for a female. A Heartbox would seem to point a finger.”

  “My liege, please—”

  “It will take time for Tasero an Amen to tell me where the Heartbox came from.” ?What will I do with you until then?? Corvin seemed to have an answer in mind. To an archer, he said, “Take the lad’s undershirt.”

  The cloth ripped free over his head. Esor whimpered. The Eternal Cross swung free from his neck.

  “I know there to be traitors in ?elasdur,” said Corvin. “Twice have assassins moved against me here. My secrets are sold to enemies. This began before you arrived, so if your mother can satisfy questions about the Heartbox, I may let you live. If she won’t respond...”

  Corvin stopped circling Esor. The teacher hunched on the floor, exposing the arch of his spine. Esor’s back was tanned except for slashes of white scar.

  “When were you whipped?” asked Corvin.

  Esor’s teeth chattered when he talked. “I was punished for stealing expensive medicine from an apothecary.”

  “Were you guilty of the accused crime?”

  “Yes, my liege,” he said, hair hanging over his face to hide his shame.

  Esor gasped when a gloved fingertip touched his back. He swayed at a fresh surge of dizziness.

  Corvin traced the lines and counted silently. “Twenty lashes, I see. It must have been a valuable medicine to so vigorously stripe the skin of a tender-fleshed, unbonded Dokàlvar.”

  “My father encouraged the apothecary’s punishment. He didn’t want me to make that mistake again.” Esor swallowed so hard it rocked his body.

  “Would you do it again?”

  Even quieter, his muscles tightening, Esor said, “The child of a weaver fell ill. She couldn’t get the medicine in the sin?os. They won’t release it without an examination by a xilcadis healer, and by the time we saved enough for a pass, she was too sick.”

  “Your father had you whipped for the transgression,” said Corvin.

  “The child died regardless. I endangered myself in vain. My father knows that pain can teach lessons to the deafest ears. If he had not taught me that lesson, someone else may have, with direr results. I’m grateful.” His gaze tracked up Corvin’s embroidered robes, to his belt, his collar, his antlers. “I wouldn’t betray my father, the Empire, or a son of Tosvodos such as yourself.”

  The Lord Mayor tucked his whip into his belt decisively. “Get dressed, Master Esor.”

  ~

  ESOR WAS STILL RUMPLED when they descended to the waiting carriage. Corvin entered first. The footman Dak held the door open with his right hand, the webbing of which was tattooed by an oathsworn mark. He slammed the door shut behind Esor.

  “You should realize by now that you’ve been watched closely. My people will watch you closer still after this,” said Corvin. They sat on opposite benches facing one another. The sprawl of Corvin’s robes occupied more than half the roomy carriage, its velvet roof lifted to give his antlers space.

  Esor occupied a corner of one cushion, though he no longer cowered. He rearranged his jacket, ran his fingers through his hair, and took slow breaths. “I welcome the scrutiny.”

  Corvin registered surprise without words. ?Why?? A chime in the High Tongue that shivered through the glass pendants swaying on the valances.

  “I’m loyal and commit no wrongs, so the guards will serve to protect me from allegation.” Esor’s eyes flicked toward the antlers, then back to his hands. “My Lord, I beg you to allow me to keep the gift from my mother. The—the Heartbox. She has requested I keep it—open it—and I will notify you when that time comes to pass, if you feel it is of security concern to the Republic.”

  “You cannot infiltrate the lock on such a Heartbox,” said Corvin. “To meet your mother’s supposed challenge, you can only find someone with the key.”

  “Then I will find them,” said Esor.

  “They say the box will only open when those who hold lock and key are truly in love.”

  “Then I will find them,” he said again with hardly a pause. When the carriage halted at the steps of the palace, fleeting Light illuminated a flush atop Esor’s cheeks. He couldn’t hide his smile. “So long the seed must slumber before the springtime thaw, as they say.”

  The Lord Mayor said, “Does the humming of the bees call you?” At Esor’s startled expression, he said, “All lordlings learn Kaledor.”

  “What do the Dwarrow say is within a Heartbox?” asked Esor.

  “Neither bee nor seed, nor anything else you might expect to lie behind a lock that size. The contents of a Heartbox are a closely held secret.”

  “But if there are more in the Mountainhomes, then someone has surely told the secret by now,” said Esor. “People must know what is inside them.”

  “The Dwarrow defy rationality in so many ways.” Corvin held out the Heartbox, offering it with graceful fingers tipped by groomed nails. Esor took it back. “I look forward to seeing this Heartbox open.”

  Esor stepped out of the carriage to find himself taken in hand by guards. His eyes grew round. “I thought...”

  “You would simply leave after bringing a Dwarrow treasure into this palace?” Corvin’s size was overwhelming when he slid from the carriage. “It’s time I become more acquainted with the young buck teaching my sister.”