“There’s nothing for it,” she said. She pulled the cloak even tighter around her. “This velvet was once a gown worn at the Midnight Ball. The silver was given to me by Bishop Schelker for my nameday. It’s all I’ve got, and it had better be enough.”
Petunia rose up on her toes, took two quick steps, and then leaped through the flames.
The fire did not touch her. She landed within the arch of the gate and dropped to her knees beside Rose.
There was no movement from Oliver or Rose, save for the blood that continued to ooze from Rose’s side. Petunia tore off a strip of her skirt and pressed it against the wound.
The powerful voice of the ancient queen rose to a crescendo, and Petunia swayed on her knees. And then there was a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Petunia wasn’t even sure she had heard it with her ears; it might have come from inside her body for all she could tell.
The darkness overhead glowed green, and within the green Petunia thought she saw a face of ineffable beauty smiling down at her. From the ground at the outer edge of the burning forest, a band of silver light stretched upward and became a massive wall without a door or gate as far as she could see in either direction.
It was done.
Tears slipped down Petunia’s cheeks, and she keeled forward over Rose for a moment in sheer relief. Her ears felt like they were full of cotton, and she wondered if the spell had damaged her hearing for good. She freed her sister from Oliver’s grip and began to drag Rose up the stairs. Halfway to safety her burden was lifted by a pair of large, rough hands, and there was the giant bandit Karl, grinning at her.
Petunia hurried back for Oliver, but when she reached him someone stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The older bandit, Johan, had followed her and was saying something, but she could hear only her own heartbeat. Seeing that she didn’t understand, he just smiled and leaned down to hoist Oliver across his shoulders. Then he began slowly climbing the stair.
Petunia stood shaking at the bottom for a moment, wondering if Karl or Johan would carry her up. For the first time, she understood: they were safe. It was over. And they would always be safe from the King Under Stone.
The new king, whoever he was, could not leave his shining prison. If the fire did not destroy them all …
Her knees buckled.
“Come on, Pet,” Galen said as her ears finally cleared. “I don’t think I can carry you under my arm this time.”
Epilogue
The twins’ wedding was such a grand affair that two days later there was a small party in the gardens, just for the royal family. Spring was always unpredictable in Westfalin, but that day the sun shone and it was warm enough to be pleasant, though still cool enough for cloaks and muffs.
“I shall buy you a new red cloak,” Oliver promised Petunia as they sat on a small bench to one side of the lawns.
Christian was attempting to put a rosy glow in everyone’s cheeks by teaching them a game featuring several wooden balls and a child’s hoop he’d found somewhere. Petunia was fairly certain that he was making it up as he went along, but Poppy didn’t seem to mind even though she was losing badly. Hyacinth was fairing rather better, though her husband kept breaking her concentration by trying to kiss her.
“I like my old one,” Petunia said.
“It has a bullet hole in it,” Oliver said, “and I understand that it still smells of smoke.”
“Any cloak that can save you from a fire so hot it can melt silver is worth mending,” Petunia said primly.
“That is true,” Oliver agreed, his gaze on a sofa near the mouth of the hedge maze.
On the sofa, covered in a beautifully knitted throw blanket, Rose reclined like an exotic queen. Her side no longer pained her, but Dr. Kelling had insisted that she rest after the rigors of the wedding, hence the sofa in the gardens. It worried Petunia that Rose hadn’t objected to this, but it soothed some of her worry to know how much worse things had almost been.
Galen sat on the end of the sofa by Rose’s feet, knitting something that Petunia had thought was a hat but now seemed to be much too large. White frosted his hair on the sides, and there were new lines around his eyes, but otherwise he seemed well enough. They were all mourning the loss of Bishop Schelker, Walter Vogel, and the good frau, but every time she looked at Galen, Petunia wanted to cheer. With her last ounce of power, the good frau—Queen Ethelia, Petunia had to remind herself—had pushed Galen out of the silver prison wall.
Jonquil went by with a full plate of food, and Petunia reached out and tried to snag a small cream puff from it. Jonquil lifted it over Petunia’s head before she could, and clucked her tongue.
“These are for Lily,” she said.
“Oh, really?” Petunia gave her a look.
“And possibly some are for that Analousian duke Jacques invited,” Jonquil said with a sparkle in her eyes. “But none are for you.”
Then she flipped one to Oliver.
“You can have one, my lord earl,” she said, and twirled away.
“These are excellent,” Oliver said, eating half of it in one bite. He fed Petunia the other half so that she wouldn’t get cream on her knitting. Oliver was just leaning in to steal a kiss—
“I hope this means you’re planning on marrying her, boy,” barked King Gregor.
Oliver leaped to his feet. “Sire! Yes! I mean … I … sire!”
“I didn’t pardon you and restore your earldom so that you could loll around in my gardens flirting with my daughters,” King Gregor said. Then he bent down and gave Petunia a kiss on the cheek. “I like him,” he whispered loudly in her ear.
“Me too,” she whispered back, blushing.
“What are you knitting? Something for Lily’s baby?” King Gregor beamed down at the white wool in Petunia’s hands.
“Er, actually, it’s a muff,” Petunia said. “For me, but …”
“I can see your point,” Dr. Kelling said, while Oliver continued to stand awkwardly next to the bench, turning red and white in turns. “The weather continues to be cool.” The doctor gave Oliver a sympathetic look from beneath his bushy brows.
“Go over and speak to Galen, would you?” King Gregor pleaded. “He and Rose are being coy about something and I don’t like it.”
“Sire,” Oliver said as he helped Petunia to her feet, “I’d like to marry Petunia.”
“Of course you would,” retorted King Gregor. “But not right now! We just got those two taken care of.” He pointed to the twins who were still trying to play Christian’s odd game. “And weddings are expensive!”
He and Dr. Kelling walked off, leaving Oliver standing, stunned, beside Petunia.
“You’ll have to get used to Papa,” she told him, dropping her knitting on the bench and taking his arm.
“Indeed I will,” he said faintly as they crossed the lawn.
“Does this mean I can finally go see how Lady Emily has redecorated the manor?” Petunia asked.
“I suppose so,” Oliver said.
“Perhaps we can go when my sisters aren’t around … just the two of us?”
“Yes, we should,” Oliver said with more enthusiasm this time.
“You should what?” Rose looked up at them from the dish of hothouse strawberries she was eating.
“Ask Galen what he’s knitting,” Petunia said.
“It’s a baby blanket,” Rose said.
“It’s round.” Petunia squinted at the thing her brother-in-law was holding. “It looks like a mushroom.”
“Wait and see,” Galen said.
“Is it for Lily’s baby?” Petunia asked.
“No,” Rose said, looking up from her strawberries with a broad smile. “It’s for mine.”