“Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to face me again, still asleep, his hands shifting against the sword’s hilt. His fingers twitched. “Are you safe?”

Who was he searching for, I wonder? I cleared my throat, then dared to step closer. “I am safe,” I replied, “although there is a great beast here, right across the river! Lend me your sword, so that I may fend him off.”

The smile wavered, and the ogre’s brows knotted. He hesitated, his grip still tight on the sword’s hilt. “It is very heavy. Will you be able to wield it?”

“I can,” I said, creeping closer. I stood right at the edge of the black drapes now, my hands poised near his. From here, I could see all the sword’s details, its red pommel stone and the fine curls of writing etched into its blade. “You will just need to throw it a bit farther.”

He murmured again, his voice too low for me to catch. Then, suddenly, his fingers loosened against the hilt.

Now. With a surge of strength borne of panic, I reached past the drapes and toward the hilt, my hands grasping it right as his hands started to close around it again.

“What is this?” he grumbled, his brows knotting deeper above his eyes.

I yanked the sword out of his loose grip before he could move again. The weight of it surprised me, and instead of pulling it to me, I stumbled and dropped the blade with a loud clatter on the floor.

The ogre startled, stiffened, and grew quiet. His eyes fluttered open.

I did not hesitate. I scrambled forward and hoisted the blade with both hands, then half ran, half stumbled toward the stairs. Behind me, I heard the bed groan as the ogre shot up and let out an angry snarl.

“What are you doing in my house?” he growled.

I didn’t look back. I rushed down the stairs, the blade bouncing heavily at my side, my arms already aching from carrying it. Heavy footsteps landed one after the other behind me. The door was wide-open now, blown askew by the wind, and I struggled to move faster.

A hand landed on my shoulder, yanking me backward. I cried out in terror.

“There you are, thief,” he said.

I shut my eyes tight and tried desperately to pull away.

A great wind surged underneath me then, and when I opened my eyes, I saw every window in the house blow open, the ogre falling backward as the west wind came to my aid. It carried me up into its embrace again, and then, as I clutched the sword closer to me, it lifted me out through the door and up into the sky.

A strangled cry of fury came from the ogre as he raced out into the clearing. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw him standing there, his figure growing steadily smaller, his face turned toward me in shock and rage, the woods and river and land around him turning back into blankets of darkness and silver ribbons. I trembled all over. The sword in my hands glinted in the night, reflecting starlight as the wind carried me up, up, back up to the clouds where Hyacinth waited.

His eyes brightened in delight when he saw me. “How brave you are, my Fräulein!” he said, taking me into his arms and kissing my hands. He marveled at the sword. “Very well done.”

I smiled, but the memory of the ogre’s dream lingered like a ghost in my mind, keeping me from feeling pleased. “Do you know anything about the ogre?” I asked Hyacinth as he ran a long finger down the sword’s blade.

“Oh?” Hyacinth said idly.

I told him about the ogre’s dream, the way he stirred and startled and called out in fear. “Who was he searching for, that he wanted to find so badly?” I said.

Hyacinth’s glowing eyes found mine, and for a moment, he straightened, touching my chin once. “The ogre hungers for flesh,” he explained in his wild, gentle voice. “He hunted the kingdom’s villagers, when they still lived here. All feared him. The ogre was surely dreaming of his hunt, and how to devour it.” He shook his head. “It’s a terrible thing to talk about. Let’s keep it between us, Fräulein.”

I thought about the way the ogre had tossed me his sword when I seemed in distress. It was not the response of a hunter to his prey. Still, I nodded and said nothing. Hyacinth was pleased, and I had fulfilled another part of my side of our bargain. Neither the grief of an ogre nor the crown emblazoned on his shield was something I was here to dwell on.

THE BOY IN FRANKFURT

When I slowly stirred out of my sleep the next morning, Woferl was already awake.

I turned against my pillow to see my brother’s eyes open, tentatively studying the ceiling. For a moment, I watched him. The sobs of the ogre still seemed to tremble in the air around me. I wondered whether Woferl could hear him, but he said nothing. In fact, he looked dazed, as if he had spent his night tossing and turning.

When he saw me looking at him, he reached out and squeezed my arm with his little hand. “Am I awake?” he said to me in an urgent whisper.

His question made me blink. I pushed his curls away from his forehead. His skin was not hot, but his eyes seemed fever-bright, as if he was still not entirely here. “Yes, Woferl, of course,” I reassured him, and put an arm around his shoulders. “Why are you trembling?”

He didn’t say. Instead, he scooted closer to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. There he stayed for a quiet moment, slowly coming out of whatever dream must have had him in its throes.

I wanted to ask him if he had dreamed of Hyacinth, and I wondered whether I should tell him about my dream. But he seemed so quiet this morning that I didn’t have the heart to frighten him with stories of an ogre. In the air, the sobs from another world still echoed, along with the whispers of a princeling.

Let’s keep it between us, Fräulein.

So I let the silence linger until Woferl finally straightened, recovered, and crawled out of bed.

“It is time for me to write,” he said as he went. His voice had shifted from one of frightened urgency to determined focus. His fingers were already in motion, as if resting against clavier keys. “I’ve thought of the perfect introduction for my sonata.”

I watched him go. Underneath my pillow, my pendant felt cold and unused. Something stirred in the base of my chest, a strange, ominous rhythm. I could not shake the feeling that there was something in all of this that I didn’t quite understand. That there was something Hyacinth was not telling me.

* * *

When summer arrived and Salzburg finally shook the cold from her fingertips, Woferl had recovered enough so that Papa could have us resume our tours. This time he had no plans for us to hurry back home after only a couple of months. We would head to Germany, then to France and England and perhaps more, if we were successful. It was a trip that could stretch for years.

When I asked Mama how long we would be gone, she only smiled reassuringly at me and patted my cheek. “You will have an excellent time on these adventures, Nannerl,” she said. “Aren’t you looking forward to it?”