~ ~ ~
Marlie checked the darkened hallway before closing the door to our room. “Are you going to tell me what happened back there?”
I struck a match and touched it to the nub that was left of our room’s candle. “What do you mean?” I already knew, of course. I just didn’t want to have this conversation.
The walk back from the garden, where we’d left Mr. Wyck, had been a silent one. We’d moved quickly through the grounds and the castle, avoiding the guards and other nighttime staff, and all that time I knew she had questions burning within her.
“We can start with your companion,” she said, “but I suppose that’s only the beginning of your adventures tonight.” She was teasing me, but there was something else to her tone as well. Irritation.
I knew what she wanted to know.
“I know what he’s going to do,” I said, still hardly believing what I’d seen in that vision. Still not quite trusting myself. “I know how Mr. Bailey plans to attack the Queen.”
The candle sputtered, making our shadows twist and bend along the wall.
“But the masquerade is over. Didn’t he miss his chance?”
“The ball was never his plan. He’s going to attack tomorrow—” I stopped, quickly calculating the hour. “Tonight, actually. When the calliope plays.”
“The thing they brought in crates?”
“It’s an instrument that runs on steam. That’s why it’ll work.”
Marlie still looked dubious. “Unless he plans to hurl those crates at her, I hardly see—”
“He’s going to fill it with water from the divining pool and it’ll make steam. That’s how it’ll work. He’s going to use the instrument to unleash that monster from the Other Realm.” The image I’d seen was too terrible to bear. I dropped onto my bed and covered my face with my palms.
She sat beside me, to comfort me. “Listen”—she was trying to be cheerful—“we can still stop it. Before any harm comes.”
“How?” I prayed she had an answer. I had already played through every scenario I could imagine and not one ended well. “The instrument is already in the castle. The performance is arranged. And who would believe a maid with a mad story like mine?”
She thought for a moment and kicked her feet like a child. “It’ll be all right,” she said at last. “We have the Fayte Guardians on our side. They’ll help. Mr. MacDougall will know what to do.”
I bit my lip.
She rose and paced the narrow space between our beds. “First thing in the morning, we’ll find him, and you can tell him what you saw.”
“We can’t,” I blurted. “We can’t tell him any of it.”
“Don’t be silly. We must.”
“We can’t”—I gulped hard—“because he was in the vision, too. Mr. Bailey and Mr. MacDougall are doing this together. And if Mr. MacDougall’s involved, others might be as well. We can’t trust anyone.”
I knew there were only two people I could trust, and one of them was staring back at me like I’d lost my mind. The other lay unconscious in a bed somewhere in the castle. “I need to see Mrs. Crossey. Before we do anything, I need to find her.”
“I don’t see how much help she’ll be if she isn’t awake.”
“Maybe. But I have to try.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
At dawn, I forced myself to dress, collect firewood from the cellar, and get myself to the Queen’s sitting room without screaming at the top of my lungs that traitors were inside the castle.
At least when I entered, Abigail was nowhere to be seen. Only Lady Bassey and Lady Wallingham were in attendance, sitting together near the window with knitting already in their laps. They glanced my direction when I opened the door and quickly glanced away again.
For a moment, I considered telling them what I knew. I could ask them, I reasoned, to beg the Queen to skip the evening performance, to tell her that her safety was at stake.
But they’d never believe me.
I had to get to Mrs. Crossey, and the faster the better. I dropped a log onto the grate, dumped the rest into the brass basket, and slipped out to the corridor again.
To my relief, it remained empty and silent. This was my chance.
Mrs. Crossey had to be in one of these rooms, but which? I went to the closest door and leaned my ear to it. Nothing. I tried the knob. It turned easily, and I pushed in to find the shades pulled wide and morning sunshine streaming in. The bed stood empty, untouched.
I moved to the next door and found the same.
At the fourth, I peered in to find an occupied bed. The drawn shades made it impossible to see who it was, but I took the chance. Quietly, I closed the door behind myself and tiptoed to the edge of the bed.
What a relief to discover those familiar fleshy cheeks resting against the pillows, that ruddy nose, and coils of silvery hair escaping from beneath her sleeping cap. Mrs. Crossey looked so peaceful, yet still so weak. I sank beside her, comforted by the nearness of her and realizing in a rush of emotion how much I’d come to depend on her and how close I’d come to losing her.
I forced back tears as I found her hand beneath the linens and removed my gloves. Then, lifting her Faytling from my neck, I cradled one of her hands with both of my own and the talisman nestled between us.
“Show me something that will help the Queen,” I said to her or the Faytling, or both. “Something, anything to stop the attack.”
Then I was falling. Spinning. Everything around me blurred until an image took shape. A hulking shadow that slowly resolved into a man. Tall and strong, with wide, hulking shoulders. Black hair, straight as a blade and long. The ends nearly reached his narrow waist, which was a stone-like gray, like his bare back and arms. From
