“At first, but once Galen and I have had a chance to talk to him, and once his ire has cooled …” Heinrich shrugged. “All I know is, I will not see you face a firing squad. Something can, and will, be done to make things right for you and your people. Even the king suspects that other powers were at play when he divided up your earldom. We just need to buy a little time while we figure this all out.” His face tightened, and he looked down at his knuckles, which bore small white scars. “Fortunately, my wife and her sisters are providing a distraction.”
“What’s happening? Is Petunia all right?”
Heinrich looked at him for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But as soon as you leave, I’ll be riding after them.”
“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 imp
ending 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.
“Is Jonquil still—” Petunia started to say to Rose in a low voice, but Rose shook her head. Her eyes went to the grand duchess, seated in her usual high-backed chair with its many small pillows to cushion the elderly woman’s back.
“You all look so worn out, my dears,” said the grand duchess, whose ears had not been dimmed by her age, something Petunia always forgot. “Is it the preparations for the double wedding that keep you so busy?” She smiled at Poppy and Daisy.
“I wish,” muttered Poppy.
At the same time, from her seat on a pouf in front of Petunia’s, Iris said, “Yes, but it’s the wrong royal wedding.” Lily gave her a light poke between the shoulder blades before she could say anything else.
“How is that, my dear Iris?”
The grand duchess had remembered their names instantly upon meeting them, which impressed Petunia. She’d spent years being called Pansy or Poppy, sometimes even by her own father. And most people seemed to have trouble telling Orchid and Iris apart, despite Orchid’s wearing spectacles.
“I just … it was nothing,” Iris said, and from behind her, Petunia could see her ears turn pink.
“I think that perhaps Iris is a touch jealous,” Rose said in a confidential voice, leaning over the arm of the sofa a bit, as though sharing a secret with the grand duchess. “She is only a year younger than the twins, you know.”
“I’m not—” began Iris, but both Petunia and Lily poked her and she subsided.
“It has been most trying,” Poppy said in a posh voice that Petunia suspected was modeled after that of Lady Margaret, their mother’s cousin, a famous Bretoner society lady with whom Poppy had lived for a year. “One wedding takes quite enough planning, but two?” She threw up her hands dramatically.
Petunia had to admire Poppy’s skill at deflecting the grand duchess. Poppy, who as a child had been known for her sharp tongue and hoydenish ways, had been greatly improved by her time in Breton. Yet Petunia often got the impression that Poppy was merely playing a part, impersonating Lady Margaret, and was relieved that Poppy’s personality had not gone through a permanent transformation. She could tell that Prince Christian loved Poppy just as she was, too.
“A difficult task, indeed,” the grand duchess agreed. “I recall my own wedding, so many years ago. Russaka has always held itself aloof from the rest of Ionia, and our customs are very different. I thought my betrothed’s mother would faint from shock when she saw my wedding headdress and heard the mandolins and flutes playing instead of the church organ.”
“Did you marry here in Westfalin?” Pansy looked dreamy at the thought. If anyone was feeling a bit jealous of the twins’ upcoming marriages, reflected Petunia, it was probably Pan.
“Yes,” the grand duchess said, nodding. “My betrothed was already an earl, and I was only one of nine daughters. It was easier to send me here with my mother and two of my sisters as attendants than to bring every Westfalian noble who wished to attend to Russaka!” She laughed at the memory.
Pansy looked as though she was going to press for more details, but Hyacinth, seated on the chair just beside Petunia’s sofa, spoke up first.
“Nine daughters?” Her eyes were narrowed.
“Yes, it was considered a lot, until your mother went three further than mine!” The old lady cackled good-naturedly.
Hyacinth muttered under her breath, “I wonder who her mother bargained with to get nine daughters.”
“My mother didn’t make any bargains,” the grand duchess said coolly, and Hyacinth looked nonplussed at being heard.
Petunia wondered if any of her sisters caught the emphasis on the word “mother.” Did she, then, know someone who had made a bargain with a supernatural being? Who? The grand duchess herself? If she had in fact borne a son to the King Under Stone … no, Petunia couldn’t even think it of her.
“Now, we must get you rested before your husbands join us tomorrow!” The grand duchess got to her feet, moving to the door of the parlor. “Though I find it most strange that none of them came with you,” she added.
“Galen and Heinrich had business in Bruch,” Rose said. There was a small line between her brows, and Petunia wondered just what the cousins were doing. “And Poppy and Daisy’s husbands-to-be had to return to the Danelaw and Venenzia to make their own preparations for the wedding.”
“But lucky Violet’s husband is coming tomorrow,” Daisy said.
“Ah, the Archduke von Schwabian’s son,” the grand duchess said, and Petunia thought she detected a slight curl to the older woman’s lip. “The musical one.”
“He’s picking up a new cello from the luthier,” Violet said, as though it was a matter of grave political importance.
“And yours? Where is your husband?” The grand duchess looked at Hyacinth.
“He’s going to Venenzia with Ricard, actually,” Hyacinth said, a blush staining her cheeks. “He wished to consult with a physician there.”
They were all poised to follow the grand duchess into the hall, but she stood unmoving in the doorway. “None of you have children, correct?” The question was shockingly blunt.
Lily swayed and Lilac put her arm around her older sister. Petunia glanced up at Rose and saw Rose’s jaw clench. Someone gave a little gasp, and Petunia looked at Hyacinth, but Hyacinth’s expression was cool, her blush gone. It was Orchid whose mouth was open in shock, her eyes flashing behind her spectacles.
“No,” Rose said finally. “None of the four of us who are married have children.” Her voice was steady, but deeper than normal.
“What a shame,” the grand duchess said. “It’s children that really tie a man and woman together.”
“If I may be shown to my room,” Lily said. “This has all quite worn me out.”
“And I as well,” Jonquil said, moving to stand beside Lily. The two of them together looked like they might simply break in half if a strong draft blew through the room.
“Of course,” said the grand duchess. “Come into the front hall, and I’ll have the maids show you up. I’m afraid that the stairs have become too much for me.” The grand duchess’s private apartments were on the main floor overlooking the gardens. In fact, they were directly below Petunia’s room, and Petunia wondered if she’d seen Kestilan and his shadowy brethren coming across the lawns at night.
After the sisters had been shown to their rooms and thanked the maids for working so swiftly to unpack the princesses’ luggage, they all gathered in Rose’s sitting room. The maids tried to crowd in as well, but Rose sent them off with a few firm words and a quick close of the door.
“What’s happening?” Petunia asked as soon as she was sure the maids were out of earshot.
“Galen and Heinrich are setting your young man free,” Rose said. “That’s why they won’t be joining us until tomorrow. They wanted to make sure that we were out of the way, and so was Father. Dr. Kelling is taking him to the fortress for a few days, to clear his head.”
“My young man? Setting him free?” Petunia stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rosie. What young man?”
“The handsome bandit earl,” Poppy supplied.
“Yes,” Rose said, and gave Poppy a quelling look before she could say anything else. “He came to Bruch last week and confessed to leading the bandits, and to abducting you.”
“He did? Why would he do that?”
Petunia felt like the floor had just dropped out from under her feet. She sank down onto the very edge of a sofa, and Lilac, grumbling, made room for her. Having the leader of the Wolves of the Westfalian Woods turn himself in after all attempts to capture him had failed was likely to have put her father in a very dangerous mood.
Especially if the bandit also confessed to kidnapping one of his daughters.
Petunia could picture Oliver in the Bruch jail … well, what her imagination conjured for the Bruch jail, anyway. She imagined a small, dank cell with a barred door, and Oliver sitting forlorn in one corner with a rat by his feet and his curly hair lank over his smudged forehead. What purpose could turning himself in serve? She knew that he hated banditry, but his people still depended on him!
Shaking herself, Petunia looked around. Several of her sisters had been talking to her, but she hadn’t heard them.
“And that answers our questions about why he gave himself up,” Poppy was saying, a smile turning up one corner of her mouth as she looked at Petunia. “Now if everyone could please avoid saying his name, so that Petunia doesn’t drift off again … ?”
“I didn’t drift off,” Petunia said hotly. “I was just wondering what would make him throw it all away.…”
“Throw all what away?” Poppy asked. “He made it sound like he’d been living in squalor out in the forest, despite all the gold he’s stolen.”
“He doesn’t keep it,” Petunia said, defensive. “There are people who depend on him. They use the gold to buy food.”
“That’s what bothers me,” Lily said, before Poppy could think of a retort. “If he has so many people depending on him, why didn’t he tell Papa before?”
“Didn’t he explain?” Petunia was eager to defend Oliver, despite Poppy’s teasing. “His mother brought him to court to try to have his estate returned to him.” She pointed at the floor. “This estate. It’s the center of his earldom. But after the war, half of the earldom was in Analousia, and the other half was given to the grand duchess’s husband.” She lowered her voice on the last part. “But when they got to Bruch, we were being accused of witchcraft, and Anne was imprisoned for supposedly teaching it to us. Oliver’s mother is Bretoner, and she was afraid that she would be accused too.”
Princess of the Silver Woods (Twelve Dancing Princesses) Page 10
