“The Dire Crown is not a hat,” said Morwen. “It is a manifestation of his power and glory.”
“Do you know what I think?” I replied. “I think that now that he has the whole set, he doesn’t need you at all. It was the shield that really tied the ensemble together, don’t you think?”
Morwen sneered. “Your lies are pitiful. He doesn’t have the—” She caught herself.
“Doesn’t have the shield yet?” I finished for her. “No, I didn’t think so, but it’s nice to have that confirmed. I do appreciate your being so candid today.”
“You don’t even know what you don’t know,” she hissed. “I will kill you last, I think. You’d better tell all your little friends to sleep with one eye open.”
“Like ducks,” I said, casually.
Morwen faltered. “What?”
“Ducks sleep with one eye open. Douglas does, anyway, so I guess I don’t need to tell him to. Mr. Jackaby doesn’t tend to sleep much at all, and when he does it’s with his third eye open whether he likes it or not, so that’s him covered as well. Jenny—well, you know very well that you couldn’t harm Jenny even if she ever did sleep. Which reminds me,” I added conversationally, “do you remember the last time you threatened everyone? And then she hit you?”
Morwen glowered at me.
“With a bathtub?” I added, helpfully. “Through a wall?”
“It rings a bell,” Morwen growled icily.
“It certainly rang yours,” Jenny added.
“Get your kicks in while you can,” Morwen said. And then she did something thoroughly unnerving. She smiled. It was the absolute confidence of it. The only other person I had ever seen who could maintain such unflappable calm while chained up as a prisoner was Mr. Jackaby. On Morwen, the attitude was far more ominous. “I will be out of here by morning,” she added.
“You sound awfully sure of yourself for someone who’s been peeing in a hole in the dirt all week,” said Jenny.
“Aw. Don’t get all sentimental just because you’re going to miss me, Jennybean,” Morwen taunted. “I might just have to take a . . . souvenir to remember you all by. How about your new friend here? She’s cute, isn’t she?” Morwen’s strawberry blond curls rippled and darkened, and suddenly she was looking up at us with Alina’s face. “The council could make good use of you, little girl.”
Alina staggered back a step, shaken, and the apple rolled off the plate and into the corner.
“Or how about the other one.” The nixie turned her eyes on me. “That dog-boy who keeps trotting after you? What’s he called again?” She wavered, and suddenly Charlie was sitting before us. “Mees Roook,” she mocked. The face was spot on, but her voice talents were lacking something when it came to impersonating men. “Don’t let the beeg bad neexie take mee!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said evenly. “And you’re not taking anyone with you. Now, you’re going to tell us—”
The plate clattered suddenly on the ground, flaky pastry sliding to one side, and Alina rushed up the stairs and back out into the light.
“Alina, wait,” I called.
“Something I said?” Morwen grinned wickedly.
I glanced up at the doorway and back at Morwen. “We’ll finish this later.”
We found Alina in the garden, slumped at the foot of the weeping willow. The centaurs had edged away toward the side of the house, and the garden was peaceful and quiet.
Jenny hovered beside her. “Alina,” she said, soothingly. “You can’t let Morwen get to you. She likes to wriggle under your skin until you’re not yourself anymore.”
“Why?” Alina shook her head. “I don’t understand!”
“It’s just the way she is. She—”
“Not the nixie. I don’t care about the nixie. Why is my brother part of this?” She looked up at me, her eyes more angry than afraid. “She said it—Kazimir goes trotting after you. Why?”
“She was only being spiteful,” I said. “Charlie and I help each other. Nobody is trotting after anyone.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him. This is your fault, isn’t it?”
“My fault?”
“Why don’t you leave him be? Kazimir is not like you! He is not one of you! He deserves better than . . . than . . . than this!” She threw up her hands. “Our father was Suveran—do you even know what that means? It means Kazimir is heir to the House of Caine! He is born to rule our people, not to play lapdog to some human cur.”
I ground my teeth. “Charlie chose this! Charlie chose me. If you really love your brother, maybe you should stop hating the world that he has chosen to be a part of. What do you have against humans, anyway? You’re half human yourself!”
Alina shook her head in disgust. “You have no right to define me. I am Om Caini. You know nothing of our history and nothing of our heritage.”
“Is it your heritage to pick on human beings every chance you get? Because I’m beginning to know a little something about that.”
“How dare you! My people chose peace. Humans broke that peace. Do your children not learn about that in human school? No, I suppose they teach you all lies about noble human heroes defeating a race of lowly dogs instead, do they?”
“Erm, neither?” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone besides Charlie who has ever even heard of the Om Caini. Well, Jackaby. But he knows about everything. Most of New Fiddleham thinks your brother is a werewolf. They’ve heard of those.”
Alina wrinkled up her nose. “Of course they have. Idioti. Still, better a werewolf than a human. At least wolves open their eyes.”
“Then open mine,” I said, as gently as I could. “I’d like to know. Really. How did humans break the peace?”
She regarded me dubiously. “How much do you know about the days before the veil?”
“Until a few months ago,” I admitted, “I was not aware there was a veil at all, let alone that there was a time before it. Please tell me.”
She shook her head. She still looked cynical, but a little less disgusted, in spite of my ignorance. “This is basic history,” she said. “Pups in our tribe know it before we know how to read. Millennia ago, when the veil was new, all of the noble races divided. Those who lived by magic were given the Annwyn. Those who lived by toil and earnest work were given the earth. Those who walked the line were given a choice. And so it came to be that the world was split in two.”
“Does that mean the Annwyn used to be physically connected to the earth?” I asked. “Like, another continent?”
Alina rolled her eyes. “More than connected. They were . . . ugh, you are too simple to understand. Here, I will show you the way we show the littlest whelps. Cross your eyes. Like this. You see two of me? Yes? Two trees? Two everything? You see the world split into two worlds. That is how the Annwyn was divided from the earth.”
“Oh,” I said. “I think I understand. They’re really the same physical space, only one side got all the magic bits and the other kept all the mortal bits.”
“Yes . . . but also not the same at all. Remember, this is how we explain it to the simple children. The details are . . . beyond you.”