When all of this is over, he thought to himself again, then stopped, because it wasn’t over. And if Ferla did, somehow, manage to frame Benni for all that had happened, Lovisa would never be safe.
Should he? Shouldn’t he?
But should he or shouldn’t he what?
What could a fox do?
* * *
—
Ferla was up all night. The fox plumbed her grasping mind, listening to her plans, trying to assess how realistic they were.
Ferla would claim that Benni had kidnapped the queen of his own volition, that Benni had killed Pari Parnin. That Ferla had objected, begged, pleaded against both crimes, but Benni had overpowered her. That he’d threatened her and the children should she ever expose him. Ferla was tiny. Benni was big. She would say it had always been that way in their relationship; she was afraid of him.
She would make the same claims if any of their other crimes were uncovered. She would say that Benni had done all of it without her knowledge. The business at the house in Torla’s Neck, the scuttling of the Seashell, Katu. Especially Katu. Surely no one would believe Ferla would harm her own brother?
The terrifying thing about all these claims was that for the most part, they were true. Benni had done everything, every single thing, without her assent, and usually without her knowledge. He’d gone rogue with their careful plans, starting too soon, making dangerous decisions. He’d murdered the two Monseans without consulting her. He’d struck the blow to Pari’s head while she’d tried to stop him. Katu. Katu! Ferla had known none of it—none of it!—until the day Benni had scooped the queen out of the sea, then told her all—with no regrets! As if he was proud of himself! As if he expected her to admire his initiative!
And Ferla had argued with Benni, berated him, pleaded for him to stop creating new problems. Had he bullied or intimidated her? No, never. She was the bully. Had she ever hesitated to help conceal his crimes? Never once, not even with Katu. She had the brains. Would she be happy to benefit from the crimes, if they could only be sure of getting away with them? Of course. However, Benni couldn’t prove any of that.
But what was the Magistry likely to believe? Ferla had a problem: She radiated power and strength. Everyone who worked with her knew this. Benni was the likable one. Ferla was the one who scared people. Could Ferla convince the Magistry that she’d been anyone’s pawn?
In the drawing room of the Devrets’ guest apartments, the fox watched Ferla sitting, standing, moving around, talking to herself, practicing looking believably bullied and scared. It was fascinating, because at first, she was terrible at it. She only knew how to open her eyes wide and throw her hands in the air; she couldn’t cry, or show any subtle signs of fear. But she seemed to have enough self-awareness to realize that she was terrible at it, and she kept trying and trying.
She tried for two hours. Then she struck upon the notion of her own children. That made her sit back and consider. She stood and lifted the big mirror from the wall.
Things got eerie after that, for Ferla spent another hour imitating the expressions of her own bullied and frightened children in the mirror. And, quite naturally, she resembled her children; in particular, she had the facial features of her daughter. There was a certain combination of anger, hatred, fear, and sick resignation that came together in Lovisa’s face sometimes. It was a complicated and believable expression and Ferla remembered it. Of course she did; she caused it. It was one of the trials of being the mother to such a girl.
Ferla searched her own face in the mirror, until she found it.
* * *
—
In very early morning, the fox scampered through the heat ducts up to the grate he’d converted in the Devrets’ attic. He hadn’t had much time in this house to convert grates yet. This was his one and only swinging grate, and his only access point to the paths inside the walls.
The fox stepped out onto the attic floor, trying to decide what it meant to be honorable and helpful and true.
Surely it didn’t mean the plan he was about to execute?
The fox pattered down from the attic, past the room where Ferla lay sleeping beside Benni, then made his way to the guest apartment stairs. An unlit lamp sat on a table at the top of the steps, for the use of the Cavendas at nighttime. The fox, who had excellent night vision, jumped lightly onto the table and inspected the lamp. It had, as he’d hoped, a wick, a glass globe, and, most importantly, a deep, open well of oil.
Before he could second-guess himself, because really this was a terrible, threadbare, hopeless plan, the fox shoved the lamp off the table in the direction of the staircase. It soared through the air and landed with a thud about two steps down, then, with a tinkle of glass and a series of smaller thuds, bumped on down the steps. He could see the oil, slick and shiny, illuminating much of the top half of the staircase.
The fox reached out quickly to touch every mind in the sleeping house. No one had woken from the noise, but one of the guards who stood outside the front door thought he might’ve heard something. He was trying to decide whether to come inside and investigate. The fox knew his time was short.
Quickly, he leaped under the table and pressed himself against the wall. Ferla Cavenda! he cried, shouting into her sleeping mind. Ferla Cavenda! Wake up! It’s me! WAKE UP!
Ferla started up in bed. Through her sleepy blur, she was astounded. Fox? she said. Fox?
It’s me! yelled the fox. Wake up!
I’m awake! What’s happening?
I’m alive!
Her mind was already spinning to determine what she could seize, if she had her fox at hand. That’s amazing! she said. That’s wonderful! I tried to save you, Fox!
I remember, he said. I’m injured. I’m dying! I know important things about Lovisa and the queen! I know where they are and what they’re planning to do!
Ferla was electrified with excitement and alarm. Where are you?
I’m outside the front door! he said. But it’s cold, Ferla! I’m dying!
Ferla pushed out of her bedroom and moved toward the stairs. She was still recovering from her head injury. He felt her dizziness. Hurry! he cried. I’m fading!
Ferla staggered through darkness. The fox waited in a panic, screaming at himself not to jump out too soon, for that would ruin everything. Then, as she neared the top step, he sprang into her path. Ferla’s sharp foot stabbed into his side and he yelped, scrambled for purchase, pushed against her, trying to unbalance her. Ferla tripped and went flying. She hit the oil and slipped again. She tried to grab on to the banister and it wobbled, slipped out of her hands.
Crashing down the steps, she landed in a heap at the bottom.
The fox clambered down after Ferla, gasping at the pain in his side, realizing that now she knew what he’d done. If Ferla survived this, he would have to grovel, come up with excuses, pretend his mind had been injured in the fire, go through every kind of contortion to keep her from believing his disloyalty. For if he didn’t, she would guess that foxes lied. And maybe there were some humans who could safely know the secrets of foxkind, but Ferla wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t be able to leave her. He would have to stay, penitent and devoted, until he was sure she trusted him again. He would be hers.