“I have to get to the Queen before he gets to her.” My voice came in a breathless torrent.
Color drained from her face. She grabbed my hands and pulled me to a secluded spot beside the window. “Before who gets her?”
“Mr. Wyck. He’s dressed himself up as a guest. He’s headed for the ball. We have to go. Before it’s too late.” I knew I wasn’t making sense, but there was no time to explain. We had to move.
Behind her gentle brown eyes, I could see Marlie sorting and scrutinizing my words, weighing them for merit.
I grabbed her elbow, breaking my own rules of touch. “We must go!”
She stared at my hand on her arm then looked at me. I could see she understood now. “The Queen isn’t there. Not yet. It’s too early. She won’t appear for another hour, if I had to guess.”
“We cannot guess!”
“You’re right,” she said. “Wait here.”
She hurried to the door and hailed a footman. When he approached, she whispered to him. Then he whispered to her. He pulled back, his eyes narrowed to pinpricks. She nodded. He sighed and leaned in again. A moment later, he pulled away and returned to his post.
Marlie returned to me. “The Queen isn’t expected in the ballroom for a half hour, at least.”
“What else did he say?”
“Nothing of importance.” Her glance skittered away.
I didn’t need a vision to know she was lying. The way she refused to meet my gaze was proof enough. I would have demanded to know what was said if I thought she would tell me, but I knew she wouldn’t. I had my suspicions, though.
That footman—was he Fayte? Were there others around us? Mrs. Crossey refused to tell me their number, and I suppose it had been my own fault for not pressing the question. Perhaps Marlie had told him what I’d said. Perhaps they could help.
That thought filled me with hope. “He can assist, can’t he? The Fayte Guardians will help?”
Her fingers flew to her lips. Her face contorted in horror. “Don’t speak that name. Not here. Not ever.”
“I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t. Not really. What did she expect? The Queen’s life was at stake.
She nudged me back to the shadows beside the coat racks.
“He said he’d do what he could.” She scanned the room to be sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “But there simply aren’t enough of us to do much of anything without being noticed.”
Her concern was evident, but it still made little sense. Someone intended to harm the Queen, and these people were worried about being noticed?
“Who cares if they’re found out if it means saving the Queen?” I tried to match her whisper, but my frustration was getting the better of me.
“It’s not that simple,” she said. “There are rules. He will do what he can.”
How could she accept that? But there wasn’t time to argue. If they weren’t going to do something, I would.
And I already had a plan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I had reached the Grand Staircase when a hand landed on my shoulder. I whipped around.
“Sorry,” Marlie said. She pulled back and flashed her palms. “I forgot.”
“Don’t try to stop me.” I knew it was risky, but my mind was made up.
“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m going with you.”
I didn’t expect that. “What about the cloak room?”
She flicked her hand over her shoulder. “I told Chester you needed help.”
I frowned, puzzled.
“With a female issue,” she elaborated.
“A female issue?”
She stifled a laugh. “He didn’t dare ask anything after that. But it’s fine. Everyone’s in the ball or milling about in St. George’s Hall. There’s nothing to do now but wait, and I wasn’t going to let you do this alone. But what exactly are you doing?”
A page in full red-and-gold livery strode toward us with a silver platter and cloche. Once he passed, I whispered, “I’m going to the private apartments.”
“The Queen won’t be there. She must be in the Throne Room by now.”
“I need to get something, and if I don’t hurry, it’ll be too late.”
We had to get through the kitchen and up the east stairs to stay out of sight. The detour would add several minutes to the trip, but I couldn’t risk being seen—or stopped—by Mr. MacDougall.
She gnawed on her lower lip and touched her Faytling, but she didn’t move.
I was losing what little patience I had left. “We have to go.”
Something desperate flashed in her eyes and she gripped her Faytling more tightly. “I think there might be another way. If it works, we can cross the Quadrangle in half the time.”
Tempting as that sounded, lanterns had been set up along the interior lanes for the carriages. Anyone gazing out an inner window would be able to see us. Mr. MacDougall, Mr. Bailey, even Chester. “It’s too risky.”
“But no one would see us.”
“Are you insane? Everyone could see us.”
She straightened herself and shook off her hesitation. “You’re wearing Mrs. Crossey’s Faytling, aren’t you?”
My fingers brushed the crystal talisman hidden beneath my collar. I nodded.
She ducked into a dark alcove near the stairs and motioned for me to follow. “There’s an old trick Mother taught me. She told me they used to do it to move through crowds quickly, but that’s when the Guardians still relied on their magic. No one does now, not in ages. I used to do it until Mr. MacDougall caught me and threatened to revoke my Faytling if he caught me doing it again. It should work, though.”
“What should work?” So far, she wasn’t helping. She was only confusing me, and time was slipping away.
She pulled her Faytling over her head and slipped the vessel, cord and all, into the palm of her right hand.
I did the same.
“Now, think to yourself, ‘I’m invisible,’ ‘I’m unseen,’ or something like that. The words don’t matter as much as the intention.”
“You can’t be serious.” If she thought this was funny, I certainly didn’t.
“I’m absolutely serious. Just watch.” She lifted her right hand
