traitorous, misshapen, sorry excuse for a hand.
Lukasz didn’t tell the truth: That he knew he couldn’t do it. That he was as good as retired, and if he went back to Miasto and lived like a king, he’d be dead of boredom by the end of the year.
“What if one day, I can’t do this anymore?” he asked instead. “What happens then?”
Jakub chuckled. He pushed a few messy blond strands behind his ear.
“Lukasz,” he said gently. “I think you’ll be hunting dragons for a long time.”
Lukasz didn’t respond. For a moment, he desperately—irrationally—wanted to tell Jakub the truth. That he’d made a deal with the queen that he could not keep. That he’d lied to find his brother, and he had no intention of sticking around or going after the Golden Dragon. He’d shaken hands and promised no games, and he’d been lying through his teeth.
“I’m worried,” said Jakub after a moment.
Lukasz realized he’d been scratching at his shoulder again. Jakub seemed to search for the right words before he said, very uncertainly, “Lukasz, I’m . . . I’m worried she may be the princess.”
Lukasz choked.
“Who?”
“Ren,” said Jakub.
Lukasz couldn’t help it. He laughed.
It took him a moment to realize that the Unnaturalist was being perfectly serious. The forest was black and still around them. And in the darkness, Lukasz remembered the sight of that white castle, looming over the trees. Perfectly preserved, except for its single, charred spire.
“Jakub, the princess died in the tower fire,” he said.
The Dragon had devoured the queen, torched the tower, and burned the baby to death in her own crib. Everyone knew that.
But what if . . .
“She died in the fire,” he repeated, less certainly.
“Think about it,” murmured Jakub. “How old is she? Seventeen? Eighteen? She came from the castle, Lukasz. She can change into a lynx—the official symbol of the Kamieńa crown. I was not sure, at first, but . . . but her name is Ren.”
Lukasz felt his brow furrow.
“So?”
Jakub shook his head.
“The queen’s name is Ren. The princess—the one who died—her name was Irena.”
Lukasz was stunned.
“No,” he said shakily. “No way. It’s impossible. I don’t—”
The baptism. Only a queen . . .
“She looks like her mother, Lukasz,” continued Jakub. “When I saw her in the village that night, I knew it was her. It couldn’t be anyone else. And now you . . . you have kidnapped her. Why do you think I followed you into this forest? I was trying to stop you. Whether you knew it or not, you’d committed treason.”
Lukasz held up both hands.
“Wait a second. I tried to help her. Kosz hit her—”
“You didn’t stop him.”
“So?” demanded Lukasz. “The villagers would have killed her. You saw them. If anything, we did her a favor.”
He didn’t believe it even as he said it. And from the expression on what was left of Jakub’s face, Jakub could tell.
“The queen would have torn that village apart, long before they did her any real harm.”
“Fine. So we saved the village. Or what’s left of it. And why the hell would you care?”
Jakub closed his one eye for a moment, as if searching for words. Then he said, very carefully: “I set my traps, Lukasz. I went calling the wolves from this forest, and I have paid for it.”
Something very cold and very painful rose in Lukasz’s throat. He knew that warning well, had heard that warning so many times.
Those words. He thought of the notebook, even now, folded against his heart. He should have learned. . . .
A new possibility seized him. One that could derail their entire venture.
“Well—you’re not going to tell her, are you?” He could hear the edge in his voice. “I mean, you don’t even know for sure.”
Overhead, Jakub’s pale eagle settled in the branches. The one-eyed Unnaturalist looked upward, then back at Lukasz. Then he said in a stiff voice, “I am not in the business of emptying another man’s snare.”
Relief loosened Lukasz’s chest. He rolled back his once-wounded shoulder. It still itched like hell.
“All right,” he said, before adding, “Thank you.”
Jakub shrugged.
“It is not for you. I have no desire to be attacked again.”
There was a rustle behind them. Both Jakub and Lukasz whipped around at the same time, rifles primed. A tall, slim figure stood in the darkness. Green eyes flickered in the light from the camp lantern. The moths kept singing, and for some wild, irrational reason, Lukasz wondered if they were singing to her.
Jakub’s face split into a smile. Lukasz was less