“Send word about her new dress immediately. The tailor must return in a few days’ time with her gown. She must be ready!”
Ten days left ’til the blue moon. The days are slipping away from us like sawdust.
“I will, my lord.” I say. “We will.” Tiffin bows his head and Nan does a little bob and curtsy that nearly makes me choke at the sauciness of it.
When the door shuts behind Laszlo with the guard safely on the other side, I launch myself into Nan’s arms, hopping up and down with happiness. Tiffin stands awkwardly to the side until I reach out and grab him too, pulling him into our embrace. Together, they smell like iron and sparks, glaze and paint—everything good and real about the world outside these doors.
“How I have missed you! What news of poor Fonso? Did the food reach you, Nan? Has it been enough? What about the Sorens? How is Bran?”
Nan laughs and squeezes me back. “Hold tight to your questions, Piro. First, I must get my bearings or I’m not going to be able to see straight. Too many eyes on me. Far too many eyes.” She pulls back and I let her go because I understand her need to gape at the cloister of marionettes.
Tiffin takes the opportunity as well, murmuring, “Bloody brimstones, Piro! How in the blazes did you end up in here? Is this his private chapel where he worships them or something?”
I shake my head. “This is the gallery, the best of his private collection. Apparently this is only half of it.”
“We’re out there with barely enough food to fill our bellies, being terrorized by wooden soldiers, with the threat of a fight against Brylov hanging over our heads all so he can win some seat at a bigger table than the one he has here, and he’s playing at puppets …” He rubs his eyes in disbelief.
“He’s not exactly playing,” I say quietly. Bran is the only one who knows the true nature of the project the Margrave has commissioned me for. The rest of the makers know I am here, building a special marionette at his request, but that is all.
“What do you mean?” asks Nan.
“He has hopes to bring her to life,” I point to Prima, finding myself unwilling and unable to lie. “He is the one reviving the old magic, all while hiding behind me, blaming me for it.”
Tiff’s eyes grow wide, the whites looking sharp against his dark skin. “Preposterous,” he scoffs. “And just how does he think he’s going to do that, eh? A few magic whispers and that thing will be up walking around on her own, living and breathing? That deranged wastrel!”
Nan walks around the gallery, chewing a fingernail, looking angry and repelled all at once.
“No offense, Piro, I know you and your father love marionettes, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. They are just so … so gruesome.” She motions to the body of a man who bears a wolf’s head. “How on earth are you working here, let alone sleeping here?”
“Well, I can’t say it’s been restful, but I don’t have much of a choice, now do I? You must ignore all of that,” I say, taking her by the hand and directing her eyes back to me, to the wooden princess lying in state in the center of it all. “You must tell me, how is Fonso? What’s happened?
Her eyes grow pained. “Someone—or something—attacked him in the early hours, when he was up stoking the furnace. Nearly shoved him in, but you know Fonso, he has the strength of a bull and is just as stubborn. Still, he’s suffering—great burns all up his arms. ‘Twill be some time before he can work again. We’re all taking turns, seeing to him, but Anke’s been especially good. Makes her feel useful, with Emmitt being gone.” Nan’s voice drops low.
I pull her to me, hugging her tight again, feeling devastated at the torment visited upon my small clan. Feeling, as always, that I am to blame.
“You and Tiffin must be alert,” I whisper in her ear. “I fear the Margrave may try the same with you, if he senses anything not to his liking. Close your studio, run to the Sorens or to the woods, whatever you need to do if you feel unsafe. I’m worried for you all. We must act quickly now, I don’t know how long we’ll have alone.”
“Don’t worry about us,” she whispers back. “Worry about yourself and take the gift of freedom when it’s offered to you,” she says with a knowing wiggle of her eyebrows. “Leave everything behind and go as soon as you have the chance.”
Tiffin reaches out to awkwardly pat my shoulder. Nan throws him a glare, her voice still low. “It’s not as if we’re sending her to the gallows, you clodding oaf. She’ll be fine.”
I look at her skeptically. “I don’t know how … how am I to get past the guards?”
“You’ll think of something! Charm them with your feminine wiles!”
“What? What wiles?” I ask, alarmed.
“Can’t we get started now?” Tiffin interrupts, looking around nervously. “I don’t want to spend a minute longer in here than I have to. No offence, Piro.”
“Right,” I say, my mind still baffled at the idea of escape. “Tell me, have you all been getting enough to eat?”
Nan’s eyes light up again, and I can immediately tell the intrigue of smuggling food from the Margrave’s stores is a delight.
“Yes! Remarkably, there’s been more than enough to go around. Now,” she says, suddenly very business-like, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “Tiffin, these hands aren’t going to build themselves. Let’s get to it.”
“That’s what I’m
