Foxheart by Claire Legrand Page A

he?” Quicksilver cried, trying to pry Anastazia’s fingers off her face. “Did he open his eyes? Is he blind? Is he hurt?”
    â€œI’m more than all right, in fact—”
    â€œHe’s fine,” Anastazia said loudly. “Just keep your eyes closed while I see about getting us a room. Oh, where is that horrible inn?” Anastazia grasped Quicksilver’s wrist and dragged her along. Quicksilver held tight to Sly Boots’s hand and pulled him along with them.
    The sun was hot on her skin. Sounds of a bustling market met her ears, but they weren’t anything like the sounds of Willow-on-the-River’s market. She heard hissing and croaking sounds, as if strange beasts were speaking to one another, and jiglike music played on discordant, reedy instruments. She smelled dough being fried and smoke that carried the scent of burning flowers. She heard the rattle of coins, the shouts of bartering, and a roaring sound that could have been a bear or a particularly ferocious man.
    But none of these things were as interesting to Quicksilver asthe question of who had said, “I’m more than all right, in fact.”
    The voice had been a man’s voice, and before Anastazia had interrupted him, he had sounded both strange and dear to Quicksilver’s ears, as if he had been someone she had always known but had never spoken to before.
    She stayed quiet and considered this while Anastazia guided them up a set of steps and into a building. A door closed behind them, and the air was cooler. There was a bustle of chatter and dishes, the smell of food.
    â€œWelcome to the Monster’s Den,” came a cheerful voice. “Would you like a room or simply lunch?” And then, much more bewildered, “Why are your children walking around with their eyes closed?”
    â€œIt’s a surprise!” said Anastazia. “For their birthdays.”
    Quicksilver waited while Anastazia spoke to the bewildered someone, discussing prices and room sizes. Quicksilver put out a hand, feeling for Fox, but couldn’t find him.
    Anastazia turned Quicksilver around and sat her on a bench. “All right,” she said, “you can open your eyes now. It should be safe. This little pinchbrain’s giving me a hard time about our room. Just sit there and don’t move.”
    When Quicksilver opened her eyes, she saw that they wereinside some sort of inn. Across the hallway was a high-raftered room where people ate and drank. The shades were pulled shut, but even so, the light streaming through the windows was near to blinding, making Quicksilver squint. Everything glowed—the windows, the glassware on every table, the aggrieved-looking man carrying stacks of plates. He had bright blue hair, done up in spikes, like a bird that had fluffed itself up to look larger.
    Anastazia crouched in front of Quicksilver, inspecting her. Her violet eyes glowed like jewels, and her hair flamed red and silver—but a more vivid red and a more brilliant silver than Quicksilver had ever seen. “How do you feel? Is it too bright? Your eyes should adjust soon.”
    â€œWhere are we?” Quicksilver cringed at how trembly her voice sounded. “Why does everything look so strange? And where’s Fox?”
    â€œSame place—Willow-on-the-River, in the kingdom of Lalunet, in the Star Lands—but a different time. Long ago, before the hunt began. And everything looks strange because, being before the hunt, the world is full of witches, and therefore full of magic. And Fox is right there.”
    Quicksilver turned. She would not have recognized the dog sitting before her, regal and poised, had it not been for the tornleft ear and the big brown eyes. Whereas Fox had always had an air of perpetual hunger about him, this dog looked solid and healthy and altogether completely satisfied with himself, as if he had just enjoyed a gourmet feast.
    â€œFox?” Quicksilver whispered.