Exile for Dreamers

by Kathleen Baldwin

  “True. About the strangling, I mean.” I glanced down at where the sheath was hidden beneath my dress. “But Miss Stranje made me remove my dagger.”

  “Mon Dieu.” She clucked her tongue. “Tessie without her blade.” She chuckled at this. “Do you think our Miss Stranje was afraid I might grab your leg and seize your trusty knife?” She shook her head, golden curls dancing. “Surely she knows you would best me in a fight. Especially because I am forced to wear these charming bracelets.” She held out her wrists, admiring the iron manacles as if they were encrusted with jewels. “No. I believe she confiscated it so you would not run me through when I irritated you sufficiently.”

  “You’ve already irritated me sufficiently. Do you want this food or not?”

  “That is a silly question. How could I possibly want that?” she sneered coldly at the meager offering on the tray, all the amusement gone. “But I suppose this swill is all she will give me.” She waved her hand and turned away. “Leave it. Set it down. Unless you plan to stay and feed me by hand.”

  “Hardly.” I plunked it on the floor beside her, spilling some of the weak gruel. “I rather thought I’d dump it over your head. But only if you said you wanted it.”

  “Tessie, Tessie.” She grinned and reached for the porridge. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” I gripped the key tight in my fist. “I’ve changed a great deal. I know better than to trust the likes of you.”

  Having been denied the luxury of a spoon, Daneska drank watery porridge and peered at me over the lip of the bowl. “Why must you always take things so personally? You had nothing to do with the decisions I made.”

  She didn’t look so haughty now with gruel smeared on her upper lip. “That’s just it,” I said. “You didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings when you made those decisions.”

  “C’est la vie.” She shrugged. “I did what was necessary. The Germans, they have a saying, In der Not frisst der Teufel Fliegen. In times of trouble, even the devil eats flies. One must do what one must do.”

  “Perfect. Then you should be very comfortable down here so close to hell. Although I’m not sure how many flies you’ll be able to catch with no windows.”

  It had always annoyed me that she mixed her languages so readily, but now it made sense. Daneska felt no allegiance to any particular country.

  “Touché. See, you haven’t changed.” She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I’ve missed you. We must catch up. Tell me, how are your dreams these days?”

  I grimaced and turned away so she wouldn’t see. “You have no right to ask about something so private.” Never mind that she already knew more about my dreams than most people did. I’d been a fool to trust her so easily back then.

  “Oh, but Tessika, I like talking about your dreams.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “I told him about you, you know.”

  “What?” I spun around.

  “You heard me. Yes, I told Emperor Napoleon himself about you—that you see the future in your dark dreams. He was most intrigued.”

  I shivered. “Why would you do that?”

  “Ah, well, you see, the emperor, he is quite fascinated with dreams. He showed me one of his prized possessions, his Oraculum. A most interesting little book that he found in the tombs of Egypt or somewhere or other. Red leather, about so big, with celestial symbols etched across the cover. He calls it his Book of Fates and told me it allows him to interpret dreams.”

  “How can a book do that?”

  With a casual lift of her shoulder, she feigned ignorance. “It contained a great many charts and numbers, and a list of symbols. Very complex and scientific. Naturallement, he would be able to explain it to you much better than I.”

  “Hmm. But since that will never happen—”

  “It could.” She sat up much straighter, like a snake rearing up because it sees a mouse within striking distance. “It could happen. He is most desirous of meeting you. And I have always known you were bound for greatness.”

  “Greatness?” I scoffed. “Madness, yes. Greatness, no.” Bound for hell, judging by the way my fingers itched to grab her neck. “Flattering me is pointless. You are just trying to get me to help you escape.”

  “I would not flatter you, mon amie. We know each other too well for that.” She tore off a piece of bread and held it up, contemplating it. “Me, I do not need visions to know the future. I have eyes and a mind. These dreams of yours, they come for a purpose. It must surely mean there is something of consequence you must do.”

  I had a purpose, all right. It was to stop her and Ghost. But I bit my tongue and aimed for sarcasm—always a safe place to hide one’s feelings. “And the great Emperor Napoleon, I suppose he told you to invite me to court.”

  “Brava. Brilliant guess.” Her chains clinked as she raised her hands in mock applause. “He did! He invited you to his palace.”

  “You jest.”

  “No. I am quite serious.” The mockery melted from her face. She was telling the truth.

  Still, I found it impossible to comprehend. “My dreams are filled with nothing but inscrutable horrors. Why would he have any interest in those?”

  “Ah, but that is the very reason you must come with me to Paris, so Napoleon can help you interpret them.”

  “I hate my dreams,” I muttered, shaking my head. She had to be lying.

  “Hush, you must not say this. Why would you despise such a gift? Napoleon says our dreams teach us that which we must know. It is for us to discover what the fates wish us to learn.”

  I crossed my arms, refusing to take secondhand instruction from a pompous despot like Napoleon. “If his fates serve him so well, why did he fail so miserably in Russia? How come he was defeated and exiled on Elba? No, you and your emperor can keep these fate-spawned dreams, if that’s what these are. It is no gift to close my eyes at night and watch men die.”

  “Perhaps, you will change your mind,” she said softly, as if she planned to do the changing for me.

  I wasn’t sure how all this fit into Miss Stranje’s scheme to help Daneska escape. I may have played my part incorrectly. I suppose I ought to have capitalized on her offer, but the thought sickened me. Especially when I considered the silver bowl and swirling green water from my dreams.

  So I said nothing. The silence thickened and hung heavy between us until her gaze darted to the small window. “I hear hammering and the sound of metal being pounded. What are they building?”

  “Nothing.” I made a show of trying to distract her from the window by shoving her tray with the toe of my shoe. “Eat your food or I’ll take it away.”

  She sopped the bread in her remaining gruel. “You need not be so ill-mannered. That temper of yours will spoil your pretty face.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be angry? Your henchmen almost killed me.”

  She shrugged. “Idiots. They were sent to do a simple task and botched it completely.”

  “A simple task? By that you mean you sent them to abduct Georgie and kill Lord Ravencross.”

  I intentionally used Gabriel’s title, and she flinched.

  I leaned against the heavy wood of the door, which was the cleanest part of the chamber. “I understand why you wanted Georgie, for the ink. But why kill Lord Ravencross?”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Why not? He is the rightful Lord of Ravencross.”

  “Don’t play coy, Tess. You know he is not.”

  I baited her further. “Even so, why do you hate him so much that you would have him murdered?”

  “‘Hate’ is too strong a word, mon amie. It is more that he is an irritation, like a gnat at a picnic. The troublesome kind, that buzzes and buzzes and no matter how often you swat it, it keeps coming back and annoying everyone.”

  How dare she liken him to a gnat? I wanted to swat her. “I suppose it is like the rats that crawl through these dungeons at night. Running every which way, snapping a
nd nibbling on fingers no matter how many traps we set.”

  Daneska hated rats. She’d abhorred Punch and Judy when I discovered them as babies in a nest and took them to raise as pets. She’d tried on several occasions to feed them to the stable cats.

  “You can go.” She tried to dismiss me, shooing me away with a wave of her hand, but her clinking chains spoiled the effect.

  “I’m supposed to stay and take the tray when you are done. Miss Stranje doesn’t want you fashioning a weapon with it.”

  She chuckled at that, even with a mouthful of bread. She ate with her fingers and somehow managed to make it look elegant. “And I suppose she gives me only this scratchy wool blanket and denies me soft sheets because she is worried I might wind them together and make a rope with which to hang myself.”

  I scoffed at that. “We all know you would never do anything so convenient as hang yourself.”

  Her face pinched together in a rare frown, but she quickly banished it. “No more fussing. Come, Tessika, sit beside me. You must tell me all about your life here since I left.” She patted the pallet, but I remained standing. “You have fallen in love, I think. Oui?”

  I couldn’t help it—I drew in too quick a breath.

  She tittered, her fake laugh, the one that sounded like breaking glass. “So you like him, this young pretender who lives at Ravencross.” She would not call him lord.

  I refused to let her pull me in to her web.

  “There’s no sense denying it,” she teased. “I see it on your face.”

  “How? It’s so dark in here, you can’t see anything clearly.” I walked to the window and stretched up on my tiptoes, attempting to clean off a spot. The grime of several years wouldn’t give way easily, but I was able to rub off enough that it provided a filmy portal.

  There was that jingling laugh again. “I can see you well enough to know.”

  “Hand me the tray. You’ve had enough.”

  “Why him, Tessie?” She snatched the last of the bread and set it in her lap. “You are beautiful. You could have other suitors. Better ones.” I’d forgotten how sincere she sounded when she tried. In a soft, caring voice, she lamented, “Why him?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I grabbed the tray from her.

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “No.” It had the horrible ring of truth, because it didn’t matter why I liked him, or even why I loved him. Gabriel and I had no future.

  “It’s just as well.” She sounded oddly subdued. Relieved. Almost as if my feelings truly did matter to her.

  Impossible.

  Nothing ever mattered to Daneska beyond her own desires. She studied the vastly uninteresting floor, and I guessed she was contemplating the fact that Ghost planned to kill his younger brother.

  “You’re not going to kill Gabriel. Neither of you are. I won’t let you.”

  * * *

  I left the dungeon, and Miss Stranje waited exactly where I’d left her. We climbed the stairs in silence. Not until we stepped out on the main floor did she speak. “Well?”

  “It’s done. I cleaned the window as well as I could without being obvious, but I only managed to clear a small circle.” I heaved a sigh and shook my head. “It’s so high. She’ll have to climb the wall. If her chains don’t reach, she’ll have to jump if she’s to see anything at all. Even then it will be very little.”

  “She’s resourceful. She’ll think of something.” Miss Stranje stopped to adjust a painting hanging on the wall of the back gallery. “Do you think she suspected anything?”

  “No. But I did nothing for her to suspect. We bickered mostly.”

  “Good.” She picked up the pace. The soles of her shoes clicked decisively against the floorboards. “Exactly as I expected.”

  “Good?” I caught her arm, and one of her ancestors glared down at me from a painting. I let go. “Don’t you see? Resurrecting our friendship could take a very long time. Ages. If ever.”

  “Of course. These things take time.” She continued down the hall with me tagging alongside.

  “Time, yes. But we don’t have forever to work with here.” How long did we have, I wondered.

  “Very well, I see your point. Tell me exactly what the two of you said. If you are right, we may need to change plans. Unfortunately, we have very few options.”

  I walked beside her, telling her all that had transpired between Daneska and me. Most of it, anyway. I left out the part where Dani accused me of being in love with Ravencross.

  I was so absorbed in the telling of it, I hadn’t realized she’d led us to the side door that opens onto the garden. She stopped with her hand on the knob.

  “Nothing you’ve told me makes me think we should abandon hope. On the contrary, it went much better than I’d anticipated. Well done.” She clapped my shoulder. “I will leave you here. They’re all out there, working on the ballista. The day is quite fine. After that dreary dungeon, perhaps you ought to enjoy some sunshine.”

  She was up to something. I could tell. What’s more, she knew I could tell. She tilted her head, indicating what lay beyond the door. “Go on, then. He won’t bite.”

  Gabriel. She meant Gabriel. I swallowed. Me, I’m not afraid of anything. I’ve leapt from a pier to catch a moving ship. I’ve stood, knife drawn, in a field facing a gang of murderers. In London, I fought hand to hand with Daneska’s henchmen. But the thought of meeting Gabriel made my legs weak.

  I’ve listened to the other girls talk enough to know this wasn’t the silly weakness love produces. It couldn’t be. I thought of a hundred excuses for my nerves. The strain of having dealt with Daneska. The part I had to play with the Chadwicks. Yes, there were a myriad of other reasons. But the pure and simple truth was I didn’t trust myself to not want to run to him and wrap my arms around his neck as I’d seen Georgie do to Lord Wyatt.

  It was unfair that Miss Stranje should foist this situation on me. I lifted one eyebrow, intentionally trying to appear severe. “I’m surprised at you, Miss Stranje. What kind of girls’ school are you running where the gentlemen are allowed to run tame among your students?”

  “Wicked child.” The corner of her mouth turned up in a half smile and she turned the handle, leaving me standing there with the door swinging open in full view of the horde of people out in our garden.

  The day was fine and it might have been lovely in the garden, except all the sawing and hammering and pounding of metal somewhat spoiled the effect. Ravencross looked up at me, and my foolish knees melted.

  I told myself I would simply speak with him to make certain he was healing properly. That’s all. Except someone needed to convince him to hire more men. I could do that. I ought to find out if farmer Jason’s son was able to stay alert through the night. Oh, yes, these were dandy excuses. Perfect reasons to stand next to him and watch his mouth move as he answered. First-rate deceptions every one of them.

  Truth was, I wanted to be near him.

  What harm would there be in just being near him? So long as I remembered it was only in passing. A fleeting moment of pleasure. Why not eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die? If only there wasn’t the die part. My heart dropped. It felt as if the darn thing tumbled down the steep stairs of Stranje House and sank past Daneska’s cell, past hope, into a dark, bottomless dungeon.

  He stared at me and his face was glorious to behold. I had no idea—No, that’s not true. I’d always thought he would be that beautiful when he smiled, really smiled. Except it was more than that. He looked like his angelic namesake, a glorious heavenly being who had no business loving the likes of me.

  I’ve always said I don’t cry. And I don’t. Heavens above, I’d just tried my hardest when the Chadwicks were here and couldn’t produce a tear to save my life. So this wasn’t crying. It’s possible a droplet of water leaked out of the corner of one stupid eye, because I felt the salty wetness burning a trail down the side of my cheek and dashed it away.

  The breeze lifted his dark locks as he walked toward
me. All I could do was watch, envious that the wind could run her fingers through his hair and I could not. He had the good grace not to bow. Instead, he tilted his head and watched me descend the garden stairs.

  I tripped on the third step. Tripped. Me, who could dance better than anyone else here, could run without falling across sheep pastures riddled with obstacles, and perform Madame Cho’s defensive movements flawlessly.

  I stumbled.

  He reached for me, clasped my hand to keep me safe, and suddenly I felt grateful for my graceless moment. I held his hand until I reached the last stair.

  “Will you walk with me?” he asked.

  Would I walk with him? Tongue-tied and stupidly shy for no reason at all, I nodded. Except I didn’t want to walk here in the park, not where they would all be watching us. And especially not if Lady Daneska had found a way to peek through her dungeon portal and spy on the goings-on in the yard.

  He must have noticed my reluctance, because he offered an alternative. “The day is warm. We might take the path along cliffs.”

  Twenty-one

  SYMBOLS

  I liked walking with him. I liked the even rhythm of our steps as we crossed the gravel drive, and the easy way we navigated rangy mounds of green thistles and clumps of sea grasses waving gently along the cliffs overlooking the sea. The tide was in, splashing hard against the rocks below, sending cool spray up every third or fourth wave. Yes, I liked walking with Ravencross. Except he wasn’t Ravencross.

  “What was your name before you became Lord of Ravencross?”

  “Helmsford.” He scooped up a handful of small stones and threw one of them, side-armed, out into the ocean. “Simple, uncomplicated Gabriel Helmsford. And I’d give a considerable sum to go back to it.”

  I bit my tongue, holding back the secret that wanted to come rushing out. I steered the subject to a less volatile topic. “I suppose you know that Lord Wyatt and Captain Grey captured Lady Daneska. We’re holding her at Stranje House.”