Marguerite shook her head. What she was thinking could not be. 'You sent me to him. on the night you told me to search for the white spider's web.'
The old woman cackled. 'I sent you after something to heip you conceive,' she replied. I did not tell you where to find it.'
'But you knew I could find the web in only one place, a place that only Ramus could help me find.'
Zosia pursed her lips. 'Perhaps. Perhaps not. You are growing agitated, my dear, It is not good for the baby. Rest now, and we will talk iater.'
'Ramus said that he had a bond with you,' Marguerite saidt refusing to be brushed aside. 'And with Donskoy as wet!. Who is he?'
'I think you know,' Zosia responded. 'It was not always difficult for Donskoy to sire a child.'
Marguerite gasped.
Zosia smirked, then collected her tray and turned to go.
'Wait!'
The old woman sighed. 'All right, child. One more question, then I shall go.'
'Who is the father of this baby?' Marguerite asked.
Zosia raised a brow. 'Not a pretty question for a married woman to ask.'
'This is not a pretty place.'
'I would have to perform a rite to know that answer.'
'Yes,' said Marguerite. 'And you've already done it, I'm sure.'
Zosia smiled at her. 'Not so light-headed after all, my child.'
'Is Ramus the father?'
Zosia shrugged. 'What does it matter? Donskoy believes it is his. And after the child is born, he will require you no more, despite all his sweet promises. Then I will help you return to Darkort. That is what you truly want, is it not? In exchange for the baby, I will send you home.'
Marguerite felt the color rising to her face. 'A mother should not leave her child.'
'In time, you may think otherwise,'
'No. I will not make this bargain with you.' Marguerite swung her feet to the floor. 'I won't abandon-'
As she started to rise, the dull pain of a overstretched muscle shot through her stomach. She hissed, then eased herself back onto her bed. Inside, Marguerite had the faint sensation of gnawing, as if something were scratching at her belly.
Zosia raised a bony finger. 'This is enough disturbance for one day. You care for the health of your unborn; that is good. You must rest now.' She walked out the door. With her hand on the latch, she paused. 'You cannot escape the future, Marguerite. Your mind will turn in time.'
The door creaked shut behind her.
Marguerite collapsed back on the bed. 'No,' she whispered. 'I will not barter my child to buy my own future.'
*****
Hours later, after the pain had passed, she rose from the bed and went to the cabinet. Taking care not to strain, she pushed at the massive piece of furniture again, this time from the back instead of the side. She could not slide it, she realized, but perhaps she could cause it to tip, toppling forward. Of course the resulting crash would be deafening. She would have only one chance to scramble behind the furniture and open the secret passage-assuming she could reach the trigger at all. So she could not overturn the cabinet now. This would have to be a test, a dry run. If she could budge it at all, she would take it on faith that she would be able to topple it later.
She slipped her fingers behind cabinet and pulled until they ached. It failed to move even the width of a fingernail. She searched the room for any object that might provide leverage. There was a stool in a corner. She carried it to the cabinet and forced a leg between the back and the wall, then jerked. The leg snapped off at the center, leaving the stool with a short, ragged stump.
Then Marguerite saw the poker on the hearth. She picked it up; it was warm, but not searing. With the tip inserted in the slim, dark space behind the cabinet, she tugged. The metal dug into the stone wall, loosening the mortar, yet the neither the cabinet nor its wooden frame yielded an inch.
A soft twinge of complaint rose from Marguerite's belly, but she did was not ready to give up yet. She opened the cabinet doors and pushed her gowns aside, exposing the back. To her dismay, the wood appeared to be a single piece; there were no gaps to dig at. Still, this seemed the best way to get to the passage beyond.
She thrust the poker into the fire until it grew hot. Then she touched it to the back of the cabinet, charring the wood. An acrid smell filled the room.
When the panel became soft and black, she chipped at it with the end of the poker, creating a small, jagged depression. It would be slow going, she realized, but eventually, she could create a hole, then pry and chip at the edges to make it large enough to crawl through. She would bum and burrow her way to freedom.
She only hoped that after all her efforts, the door at the other end would still function.
*****
Three weeks passed, then a month. Donskoy scarcely visited her at all anymore, which came as a relief. Zosia had told him that constant rest was imperative for the health of his son, and that he should no longer join Marguerite in her bed, whatever the purpose. Lord Donskoy readily complied. His only interest was in the child; Marguerite was now just the carrier.
Zosia herself came to Marguerite's room each morning to lay a hand on her stomach and administer a potion. Yelena's visits were more frequent. She accompanied the old woman to help lift Marguerite from the bed and walk her about the room, and the mute girl returned alone three times thereafter each day, like clockwork, to bring broths and assist Marguerite with her personal matters. Each time she left, the dull click of a turning key sounded in the lock.
Between visits, Marguerite toiled at the back of cabinet, praying that no one would discover her work. She tired easily, so it was only possible to labor for a quarter hour at a time, slowly picking and chipping away at the wood. The panel seemed petrified, as hard as rock. Before returning to bed, she tried to conceal the damage by covering the hole with garments, but she knew her project would be readily discovered if anyone looked closely.
Fortunately, Marguerite had little reason to dress in finery, and few of her gowns could have covered her enormous belly anyway. And then, there was the damage, the slashed silk. Yelena had little reason to open the cabinet.
As far as her attendants knew, Marguerite still remained bedridden, moving only occasionally to a chair by the fire, and then with help. She worried that Zosia would see through her ruse, but so farf the old woman had said nothing to suggest she knew of her patient's true condition. She encouraged the mother-to-be to rest as much as possible, for the baby's sake; to all appearances, Marguerite was complying.
After a time, as the hole neared completion, Marguerite told Yelena she was feeling well enough to eat solid food. She requested hard cheese and bread. Of these, she ate half, then stowed the rest in her cabinet, She had no idea how long she would be traveling when she made her escape. But some preparations were in order.
Finally, the hole was almost large enough to crawl through. Just two more days-one if she pushed herself-and Marguerite could make her escape. If she waited any longer, she might be unable to walk. Her stomach was larger than that of any pregnant woman she had ever seen, though by her count she was only five months into her term.
Her plan was crude and desperate. She would steal down to the stables and take one of the horses, then ride out to the fork and turn right. She had never ridden past the rim. Perhaps her escape lay that way. It was not a good plan, she knew, yet it seemed her sole chance. Once the baby was born, she would be expendable. She knew it was true. And she did not wish to leave without her child.
Marguerite was comparing her own wide girth with the size of the hole in her cabinet when she heard a carriage approaching. She had heard the same sound twice before. And both times, it had heralded the arrival or departure of Jacqueline Montarri. Apparently, with Marguerite bedridden, Lord Donskoy had forgiven his friend and welcomed her back to the keep.
Marguerite went to the window and glimpsed Jacqueline's slender form emerging from her carriage, heading toward the entrance to the keep. Ljubo stood at the back of the vehicle, examining a frayed rope. It had come loose from the parcel it entwined- the long black box.
