The Tasters Guild (31 page)

And then, all at once, the birds grew silent.

After a time, the sound of wingbeats filled the air—at first from some distance, and then in a full roar. A wind blew Ivy’s golden hair. Atop the highest branch a final bird alighted—black as coal. He settled in, crowning the tree with his outstretched wings, a few stray woolen strings dangling from his tail. The old crow let forth a caw. It was hoarse and dry, but utterly familiar.

The tree erupted in welcome—drowning out Ivy’s cry.

“Shoo!”

In the din, Rowan looked around. If Shoo was here—where was the beautiful woman in white the crow had perched upon? Shouldn’t she have been released from her woolen prison, too? Yet there was no sign of the sister from the tapestry shop. Just Ivy and Clothilde.

He looked again, carefully. Wait—there was something.

A pool of dark water congealed by the archway—he had somehow overlooked it. Soggy, wet footprints led away, into the thicket of Underwood.

Sorrel Flux eyed the airless underground cavern with disdain as he emerged from the thorn door. He was drenched and dripping, water sloshing from his silk stockings and fine boots. He cared not in the least. This was no place for him—all this noise and birdsong. No, he had an errand of utmost importance.

Flux slipped away behind a cloud of jasmine. He had ink to find.