Children.. . Violante still saw them running out of the castle gate in Ombra and into their mothers’ arms. If the Bluejay died for them, were they really worth it?

"I don’t like looking at Grandfather anymore!" Jacopo shuddered and put his hands over his eyes. "If he dies I’ll be king, won’t I?" The chill in his clear voice both impressed and alarmed Violante.

"No, you won’t. Not after your father attacked him. His own son will be king. King in the Castle of Night and in Ombra."

"But he’s only a baby."

"So his mother will reign for him. And the Milksop." What’s more, Violante added in her thoughts, your grandfather is still immortal, and no one seems able to do anything about it. Not for all eternity.

Jacopo pushed his plate aside and strolled over to Brianna. She was embroidering a picture of a horseman who looked suspiciously like Cosimo, although Brianna said he was the hero of an old fairy tale. It did Violante good to have Brianna with her again, although the girl had been even more silent than usual since the Night-Mare had killed her father. Perhaps she had loved him after all. Most daughters loved their fathers.

"Brianna!" Jacopo thrust a hand into her beautiful hair. "Read to me. Go on. I’m bored."

"You can read for yourself. In fact, you can read very well." Brianna removed his fingers from her hair and went on with her embroidery.

"I’ll fetch the Night-Mare!" Jacopo’s voice rose shrilly, as it always did when he didn’t get his own way. "I’ll fetch it to eat you like your father. Oh no, I forgot, it didn’t eat him. He’s lying dead out in the courtyard, with ravens pecking around him."

Brianna didn’t even raise her head, but Violante saw her hands trembling so violently that she pricked her finger.

"Jacopo!"

Her son turned to her, and for a moment Violante thought his eyes were begging her to say more. Shake me! Hit me! Punish me! said those eyes. Or take me in your arms.

I’m scared. I hate this castle. I want to go away.

She hadn’t wanted children. She didn’t know how to deal with them. But Cosimo’s father had begged for a grandson. How was she supposed to deal with a child? She could hardly manage to keep her own painful heart together. If only it had at least been a girl. The Bluejay had a daughter. Everyone said he loved her very much.

Perhaps he’d give in after all for the daughter’s sake and bind her father a second book. If the Milksop really did catch the girl. And then? She didn’t want to think about his wife. Perhaps she was dying anyway. The Milksop liked treating those he hunted cruelly.

"Read! Read to me!" Jacopo was still standing in front of Brianna. He snatched the embroidery from her lap, so roughly that she pricked her hand again.

"That looks like my father."

"No it doesn’t!" Brianna cast a quick glance at Violante.

"Yes, it does. Why don’t you ask the Bluejay to bring him back from the dead? The way he brought your father back?"

Once Brianna would have slapped him, but Cosimo’s death had broken something in her. She was soft now, like the inside of a shellfish, soft and full of pain. All the same, her company was better than none, and Violante slept much more easily when Brianna sang for her in the evenings.

Outside, someone pushed back the bolt.

What did that mean? Were they coming to tell her that the Piper had killed the Bluejay after all? That Thumbling had broken him like so many men before? And if so, she asked herself what difference does it make? Your heart is broken into pieces anyway. But it was Four-Eyes who came in. Orpheus, or Moonface, as the Piper derisively called him. Violante still couldn’t understand how he had insinuated himself into her father’s good graces so swiftly. Perhaps it was his voice. It was almost as beautiful as the Bluejay’s, but something in it made Violante shudder.

"Your Highness!" Her visitor bowed so low that the bow verged on mockery.

"Has the Bluejay given my father the right answer after all?"

"No, I’m afraid not. But he is still alive, if that’s what you wanted to know." His eyes looked so innocent through those round glasses — glasses that she had copied from him, except that, unlike Four-Eyes, Violante didn’t always wear hers. Sometimes she preferred to see the world through a blur.

"Where is he?"

"Ah, so you’ve seen the empty cage. Well, I suggested to the Adderhead different accommodation for the Bluejay. You presumably know about the dungeons where your grandfather used to throw his prisoners. Once in there, I’m sure our noble robber will very soon give up the idea of resisting your father’s wishes. But let’s come to the reason for my visit."

His smile was sweet as syrup. What did he want from her?

"Your Highness." His voice stroked Violante’s skin like the hare’s foot that Balbulus used to smooth parchment. "Like you, I am a great lover of books. Sad to say, I hear that the library of this castle is in a terrible condition, but it has also come to my ears that you still have a few books with you. Would it be possible for me to borrow one, or maybe even two? Of course I would show my appreciation of the loan in every possible way.

"What about my book?" Jacopo pushed in front of Violante, his arms folded in the pose his grandfather used to adopt before his swollen arms had made even that gesture painful. "You haven’t given it back to me yet. You owe me"— he counted on his short fingers "you owe me twelve silver coins.

The look Orpheus gave Jacopo was neither warm nor sweet, but his voice was still both. "Why, of course! What a good thing you’ve reminded me of it, Prince. Come to my room and I’ll give you the coins and your book back. But now let me speak to your mother, will you?" With an apologetic smile, he turned back to Violante.

"Well, what do you say?" he asked, lowering his voice to a confidential tone. "Would you lend me one, Your Highness? I’ve heard wonderful things about your books, and believe me, I will treat them with the utmost care.

"She only has two with her." Jacopo pointed to the chest beside the bed. "And they’re both about the Blue—"

Violante clapped her hand over his mouth, but Orpheus was already making for the chest.

"I’m sorry," she said, barring his way. "I am too much attached to these books to let them out of my hands. And as I’m sure you have heard, my father has seen to it that Balbulus can’t illuminate any more books for me.

Orpheus hardly seemed to be listening. He was staring spellbound at the chest. "May I at least take a look at them?"

"Don’t let him have them!"

Clearly, Orpheus hadn’t even noticed Brianna. His face froze when he heard her voice behind him, and his plump fingers clenched into fists.

Brianna stood up and returned his hostile glance with composure. "He does strange things with books," she said. "Books and the words in them. And he hates the Bluejay. My father said he tried selling him to Death."

"Poor confused creature!" stammered Orpheus, but he was visibly nervous as he adjusted his glasses. "She was my maid, as presumably you know, and I caught her stealing. No doubt that’s why she says such things about me."

Brianna turned as red as if he had thrown hot water in her face, but Violante moved to her side to defend her. "Brianna would never steal," she said. "Now go away, please. I can’t give you the books."