“How do I leave?”
“Wearing this,” Heinrich said, and swept off the cape. He offered it to Oliver, who put his hands behind his back. “Climb down the ivy outside the window,” Heinrich instructed, “go to the back of the gardens. Over the wall and you’re free. Your men will meet you outside of Bruch, on the road to the forest.”
“How will you get out of here?” Oliver still hadn’t taken the cape.
“I’ll climb down to the window below yours. It’s Rose and Galen’s sitting room, no one will notice.”
“Very clever,” Oliver grudgingly admitted. “How does this work?” He finally reached out a hand for the cape.
“Put it on and fasten it, and not even your shadow can be seen,” Heinrich told him.
“Where did Prince Galen get such a thing?” Oliver wondered aloud as he put on the cape and clipped the little chain. His body disappeared, giving him a strangely disconnected feeling.
“From an old woman he met on the road,” Heinrich said as though such things happened every day. “We are all very careful to be kind to every traveler we meet.”
Oliver grinned, then he realized that the prince was not joking. Oliver made a mental note to also be kind to unknown travelers.
“All right,” he said. “Out I go.” He threw his leg over the windowsill.
“I promise you,” Heinrich said sincerely, “once we get a few family matters squared away, Galen and I will work on getting amnesty for you and your men.”
Oliver hesitated. “These family matters … do you mean the shadows? In the garden at my—at the grand duchess’s estate?”
Heinrich whirled around, reaching out with one hand until he connected with Oliver’s shoulder. Oliver pulled his leg in and undid the cape so that Heinrich could see him. The prince’s face was intense, and Oliver saw that there were fine lines around his eyes.
“You saw them?” Heinrich’s voice was tight. “What did you see?”
“It— They looked like shadows, people made of shadow,” Oliver stammered. “They were running across the lawn toward the manor. I followed them; they climbed the ivy to Petunia’s window. I don’t think that any of them got inside, though.”
“They can’t come inside; that’s the one consolation we have,” Heinrich said, looking even grimmer.
“One of them saw me,” Oliver went on. “It put its hand in my chest.”
“Did he speak to you? What did he say?” Heinrich asked urgently.
“His hand went into my chest and was squeezing my heart.” He put a hand there, the memory causing a pang of remembered pain. “Then he said that she wasn’t for me.”
Oliver grimaced, suddenly embarrassed that Petunia’s brother-in-law might think he was trying to woo her himself. Of course, Heinrich had been born a commoner, but at least he wasn’t a wanted criminal.
“It was probably Kestilan, then,” Heinrich said, his face twisted. “What else?”
“They just, they turned and went away,” Oliver said. Who was this Kestilan? One of the King Under Stone’s sons? “Back to the hothouse.”
“What hothouse?”
Heinrich’s gaze sharpened on Oliver again.
“The … shadow people … or whatever they were. They came out of the hothouse, the one that isn’t used anymore. I mean, they store old pots and tools in it, but no plants. They came out of there.”
Oliver realized that he was babbling. His greatest fear in coming to Bruch was that he would risk his life and the lives of his men, and the court would laugh at him. Shadows in the garden threatening the princess? It sounded ludicrous. But Heinrich was not laughing. The more Oliver told him, the more intense the prince’s expression became.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes,” Oliver said. “I was in the hothouse, sleeping.” He felt himself turning red. “I was hiding from Prince Grigori,” he added, so that Heinrich would not think he was living in the hothouse like a vagrant. “I dozed, and when I woke, the creatures were coming out of the floor. I followed them through the gardens to the manor.”
“Excellent,” Heinrich said. He clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Thank you. Now get out of here.”
Oliver put his foot on the windowsill again but stopped before he fastened the cloak.
“How will I know … how will you find me if you, if the king …” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Heinrich, whose thoughts had clearly been miles away, focused sharply on Oliver again. “Do you remember where the royal coach crashed? That bank, where the road curves?”
“Yes,” Oliver said, wondering if he would ever not remember the place where he had watched, sick, to see whether Petunia had been hurt. And where, just through the trees, he had kidnapped her.
“We’ll leave a message there.” Heinrich’s smile turned into a grimace again. “It would help if you did not rob any more coaches.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Oliver said, thinking about what stores they had and how much they had taken on their last raid. “But I have people who need to eat.”
“I understand,” Heinrich said. “We’ll work as quickly as we can to help you.”
“Thank you,” Oliver said. He fastened the cloak, then he stopped again. “But first … make sure Petunia and her sisters are safe.”
“Don’t worry,” Heinrich said. “We will.”
Oliver climbed down the ivy to freedom.
Youngest
Petunia embarrassed herself by bursting into tears when her sisters arrived.
Rose swept Petunia into her arms and held her tightly, and the others crowded in to hug or pat what part of her they could reach, even Poppy. When Rose set Petunia back on her feet and offered her a handkerchief, Petunia looked at Lily’s pale, haggard face, and burst into tears all over again.
“Lilykins, what will we do?” Petunia sobbed. “It’s happening all over again!”
Lily nodded soberly, opening her mouth to speak, but was interrupted.
“Now, now, my beautiful princesses,” cried the grand duchess. “Into the parlor with you! You are tired from your journey, and dear Petunia has not had the rest that she needs, she has pined so for you. So first a nice cold supper in the parlor, and then early to bed, or there will only be more tears tomorrow!”
The grand dame spread her lace-gowned arms wide and ushered them all into the parlor while anxious maids tried to get the last of the cloaks, gloves, and muffs from the princesses before they entered. Petunia let the crowd of familiar faces and gowns carry her into the parlor and took the place of honor on the sofa between Rose and Lily without a murmur.
She had not returned to the Kingdom Under Stone in her sleep for three nights, not since Rionin had declared his intention to marry Lily. But now her sleep was even more restless, plagued with nightmares not sent by the King Under Stone, but by her own mind: nightmares of being trapped in the sunless kingdom forever, of fox-faced men laughing and taunting her, of marrying Kestilan in some arcane ceremony.
When the courier had arrived the next day, to announce that all the princesses would be coming to visit their sister, Petunia had nearly collapsed with relief. She had been begging the grand duchess to let her go home, but the older woman was convinced that Petunia’s nighttime hysteria was a symptom of impending illness and would not let her travel.
But the sisters needed to talk. Rionin was proving to be as great a threat as his father had been, and it would only be a matter of time until a new gateway was created and they were pulled once more into the Kingdom Under Stone.
As the footmen laid out trays of tiny sandwiches, hothouse fruits, cheeses, and pastries on the side tables, Petunia looked around at her sisters. They were all uniformly pale and tired, much as they had been when they had actually danced at the Midnight Balls. Jonquil looked especially ill. Petunia had thought (rather uncharitably) that Jonquil would have perked up when she found that Rionin didn’t want her anymore, but that did not seem to be the case. Her hands shook as she accepted a cup of tea from a young footman, who seemed concerned that Jonquil would spill it down the skirts of her fine golden wool carriage dress.