his clothes transforming piece by piece into his thick coat of fur.
The question was on the tip of his tongue.
Where is my brother? No, he should be more specific: Where is Franciszek? No. It would have to be perfect, with a tricky little creature like this. No loopholes.
How can I bring Franciszek safely back to Miasto?
There. That was perfect.
Lukasz leaned forward and caught a glimpse of Ren’s face. Her eyes shone with tears of frustration.
“How—” he started, and then hating himself, changed tack. “How do we kill the Golden Dragon?”
Silence fell on the table. Lukasz could hardly believe himself. One flash of green eyes, and he’d wasted his question.
The Leszy’s gaze glittered. It was almost as if he knew what Lukasz had meant to ask. Then his voice seemed to tear itself, as if against his will, from his throat.
“There is a glass sword in Hala Smoków,” he whispered at last. His eyes were bloodshot, swirling. “The Dragon can only be killed by a sword made of glass. The sword must be carried up the Glass Mountain, where the Dragon has made its lair. It must be killed on the Mountain itself.”
Then the absurd creature shot forward and yanked the cross so hard that Lukasz nearly slammed into the table. Briefly, the volatile little face was very close to his own. Then the Leszy tossed the cross away. He settled back in his chair, cackling obscenely.
“A myth,” said Lukasz, sitting back. He could hear his own accent growing thicker. “A thousand years of Wolf-Lords have searched for the Glass Mountain. It does not exist.”
“How typical of a human,” sighed the Leszy. He mimicked Lukasz’s accent to perfection. “I cannot find it, therefore it does not exist. Of course it exists,” he continued sharply. “The Glass Mountain is the perfect lair. The walls are too smooth to climb, but perfect for tumbling down. The Dragon breathes fire, and the knights fall down.” He began to sing. “Fire! Fire! The knights fall down. Fire! Fire! The knights fall—”
He leaned backward until his neck bent at an unnatural angle, and he spat a stream of flame into the air. Then he turned back to them, grinning. His voice fell to a whisper. “—down.”
He likes it, thought Lukasz. He likes to see humans fail and die and disappear.
Lukasz could not bring himself to look at Ren. He couldn’t believe what he’d done. His chance—his one foolproof chance to find Franciszek—and he’d blown it away on a pair of pretty eyes and a couple of tears.
“You’ve made me tell secrets,” said the Leszy. He turned the cross over in his knobbly fingers, catching it on his cracked nails. “Like spilling secrets, do you? You know,” he added with an evil glint, “I can spill secrets, too.”
Then the wretched little thing turned to Ren.
“Did either of these pretty boys tell you their secret, Ren?” he asked.
Lukasz stood up so fast that he knocked his chair over.
“Don’t you dare—” he started.
The Leszy smiled sweetly. He looped the cross around his chest, running his vile fingers back and forth over the metal.
“Or should I call you Irena?” asked the Leszy. His eyes flashed, and Lukasz, with a jolt, noticed that they had turned back to green.
“Perhaps even . . . Princess Irena?”
23
REN COULD NOT MOVE. SHE could hear herself breathing. She could hear her heart beating. She couldn’t hear them talking. They were talking, all at once.
He wasn’t. He was quiet.
He was looking at her. But he was quiet.
No, she thought, feeling dazed. No, her lynxes were her parents. It had just taken her longer to act like one—to look like one—it had just taken until she’d been twelve, and no one had ever thought it strange that she could change between the two. So maybe she’d always had just a little bit more magic than Rys—the forest did strange things, the magic was unpredictable . . . no one had ever thought—she had never thought—it was because . . .
A human?
A weak, pathetic, helpless human? Like them?
No. Her eyes darted around the table. Not like them.
They were villagers. They were soldiers. They were Wolf-Lords. And she was not a queen at all . . . she was . . .
A princess?
Ren’s stomach dropped through the earth.
She was a princess?
Her mind was a blur. Disappointment welled up in her. And even then, even frozen at the Leszy’s table, she wasn’t quite sure if she was disappointed in her own origin, or in the fact that he had lied.