Huck and I talked over each other, threading together the story of when he first encountered Sarkany in Tokat. The banknote. The robed goons. And it was only when we told Lovena about the murder scene at Natasha Anca’s home that she became livid. “He used my dog—mydog—to kill?” A string of curses in Romanian followed.
I didn’t know what to say. Huck, either. We just sat there, feeling awkward while Lovena paced around the room, dragging one bad leg behind her, visibly upset.
“You may be right,” she mumbled. “Perhaps this Sarkany is Rothwild’s rival. But that makes both of them more dangerous, because men who compete for power often succumb to violence to reach their goal.”
After a long silence she shuffled to a table filled with bottles, herbs, and small copper bowls. She picked out a small green pouch, opened it, and brought it to me, dropping its contents onto my palm.
A tiny bit of wood carved into a rudimentary female figure. It was about the size of a chess piece and smelled herbal. “Put this in your pocket and keep it close to you. Under your pillow when you sleep.”
“What is it?” Huck asked, wide-eyed.
“A simple talisman anointed with comfrey root oil—for safe travel. A little goddess to guard the little empress, yes?” She gave me a soft smile and closed my fingers around the wooden talisman, patting my hand. “It seems your fates are now tied to mine. I do not know who this Sarkany is, but I will ask my crows. It may take some time, but I will see the truth. He cannot hide from me.”
I did not doubt it.
It felt as if she was ready for us to leave, so I stood up and slipped the talisman into my coat pocket. “I’m sorry about your dog. We didn’t know. I just want to find my father, that’s all.”
She looked me in the eye. “If you find him, little empress, please convince him to break from Rothwild. I said you shouldn’t fear me, but youshouldfear those who would abuse blood magic and twist it—people who do not care about hurting people, animals, or the land to get what they want. These men who covet the ring? Sarkany, and whatever group he belongs to... Rothwild and his Order of the Dragon? They are all what I would call evil men.”
That seemed a fair assessment.
She switched to Romanian and said in a low voice, “I fear that you are being pulled into their affairs by the hands of fate. Be wary. Do not allow bad men to take what doesn’t belong to them.”
“I don’t understand,” I whispered back.
“You will.”
Hmph.Now she sounded like my father, doling out information as if it too much of it would rot my teeth. “Did you mean what you said earlier?” I asked in Romanian. “Can I really talk to my mother?”
A slow smile lifted her lips. “What do you think?”
Well, let’s see. We were standing in the house of a self-proclaimed crow witch who was able to suss out my heritage by listening to my blood and gave me a magic talisman for protection. And the man following us was possibly mixed up in some sort of cult—or a rival cult, which could be worse. He was a dog thief, likely a sorcerer, and most definitely a murderer. So... what did I think? I thought we were up to our necks in all of this, and it would be nice if for once in my life someone told me the truth.
But Lovena was done dispensing esoteric secrets. Switching back to English, she quickly told us how to find her sister as she herded us back through the house and onto the porch. There was a train station in town, she told us, and our taxi was still waiting out front.
I didn’t want to leave. She hadn’t told me enough, and it felt as if we were walking out of a safe space and into the unknown. The witch’s somber face told me I wasn’t wrong. Maybe there was nothing more she could do.
After we thanked her, she watched us leaving and shouted out to us when Huck was opening the door to the cab.
“If the Frenchman’s health does not improve, tell them to send me a telegram in care of the local Snagov post office. I will try to help. And if you see my dog again, you tell her to come home.”
JOURNAL OF RICHARD FOX
July 6, 1937
Sibiu, Transylvania, Kingdom of România
Jean-Bernard and I made the mistake of hiring a car in Sibiu to take us to Sighi?oara, and that’s why we’re currently sitting by the side of the road as the driver tries to repair a steaming engine. At least it’s warm, and J.B. had the good sense to bring along a bottle of wine.
Since there’s nothing to do but waste time, here is a partial list names I’ve pieced together from all my archival research in Sibiu and Bucharest—possible members of the Order of the Dragon by date:
Original Order, 1408:
Sigismund von Luxemburg, King of Hungary and Bohemia
Barbara von Cilli, Queen of Hungary and rumored alchemist
Albrecht Dürer, renaissance artist (dragons hidden in his work)
