Ljubo grabbed the crate and tried to wrestle it back onto the cargo platform. The box shifted suddenly and slipped to the ground, falling open. Marguerite put her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry. The crate was empty. She realized it would probably not remain that way for long.
The moon was waxing, nearly full. That meant the currents in the mists would be bringing more 'lost travelers' to the rim. Jacqueline had not come simply to see Donskoy. As usual, she intended to mix business with pleasure. And, as usual, she would not go home empty-handed.
A smile spread across Marguerite's lips, one that was uncharacteristically wicked. Suddenly she knew how she was going to escape Lord Donskoy's castle.
*****
That night, after the moon had fully risen, Marguerite heard Lord Donskoy sounding his horn outside on the grounds. His companions gathered as they had done before, preparing for another excursion. Marguerite spied on them from her window. Soon the cart and the riders departed, along with their pack of hounds. It reminded her vaguely of the hunts she had seen in Darkon-her father and his friends, riding out in pursuit of a stag. But in Donskoy's domain, the notion of a hunt was much more distinctive.
Marguerite gathered a few belongings in a makeshift sack: a water skin and food, dagger and flint, a wool cloak and a pair of leather gloves. She also included the brooch Donskoy had given her on their wedding day, the one inscribed 'forever.' Without funds, she might need something to trade. Then she selected a tunic that would fit over her bulging stomach and placed it in the cabinet beside her high suede boots. After that, all that remained was the waiting. Marguerite settled in a chair before the fire.
Hours later, the cart and horses returned. As the riders dismounted, Marguerite heard Jacqueline's purring voice and Donskoy's warm replies. The party had been successful; her husband was in a good mood. That meant Jacqueline would stay the night, as Marguerite had hoped. And in the morning, after a light breakfast, the dark- haired woman would depart-but this time the black box on her carriage would bear a souvenir from her trip to the rim. Marguerite crawled into her bed, satisfied.
Just after dawn, Yelena and Zosia appeared for the morning regimen, bringing her breakfast. The mute girl assisted with the nurse-maiding, then left the room.
'You have grown much stronger,' said Zosia. 'Perhaps you would like to step outside today. Some fresh air might do you good.'
'Maybe tomorrow,' said Marguerite, feigning weariness. 'I don't want to take any chances.' Her heart drummed and her breathing was swift. She hoped Zosia wouldn't notice.
The old woman grumbled, then lifted Marguerite's nightshift to feel her stomach. She raised her brow, then went to the black purse she always brought with her, extracting a needle attached to a string. Marguerite pushed down her shift and sat up, crossing her arms over her stomach.
'What's the needle for?' she demanded, unwilling to lie passively beneath a sharp metal object.
Zosia snorted. 'I think your time is growing near. I want to confirm it.'
'That's not possible,' Marguerite protested.
Zosia shrugged. 'The needle will inform me. I will suspend it above your belly as I ask the question, and it will spin to reveal the time of your delivery. Don't worry. There will be no pricking.'
Reluctantly, Marguerite pulled her shift up for the test. Zosia began to hum, watching the needle as it turned one way and then the other, spinning in the air above Marguerite's stomach.
'Not long now,' the old woman announced. She returned the needle to her purse, 'hot long at all.'
'That can't be right,' Marguerite protested. 'How could the baby be coming this soon?'
'The test tells the truth. But you needn't worry, my dear-this is perfectly natural.'
'It is not natural!' Marguerite said. 'I'm only five months along. If the baby comes now, it will not survive!'
Zosia clucked. 'Your sickness has caused you to lose track of time. There's nothing to fear. The baby is very strong, and he wants to be born. Soon he will come.'
The old woman left the room. Marguerite climbed out of bed and donned the clothes she had set aside.
Zosia's prediction had unnerved her, but she couldn't believe it was true. And even if it were, it only confirmed that the time to flee was now.
Marguerite retrieved the sack that held her belongings, then reached through the hole in her wardrobe to trigger the secret passage. To her relief, the portal scraped open, She pushed her gowns aside and wriggled through the gaping hole, entering the tunnel beyond. She was so broad that her belly scraped against both walls, but she managed to reach the opposite end without getting stuck.
Marguerite triggered the swinging stone. For what she hoped would be the last time, she crawled into the room beyond, groaning as she struggled to her feet. At the chamber door, she uttered a silent prayer. Donskoy might have locked it, she knew, once he had discovered her use of the secret passage. She held her breath and tugged. To her relief, it gave way. Muttering thanks to the fates, Marguerite slipped into the hall.
Time was not on her side. In three hours, maybe less, Yelena would go to Marguerite's chamber and find her missing. But Jacqueline Montarri might depart much sooner. With one hand supporting her stomach, Marguerite made her way to the circular stair and descended. She kept her back to the wall, eyes darting as she went, vigilant for any sign of company. As she slipped through the foyer, she could hear Lord Donskoy and Jacqueline chatting behind the drawing room's closed door. She did not stop to listen.
After completing the tortuous route through castle's abandoned wing, Marguerite stepped cautiously outside, into the court that held the stables. She ducked behind a barrel for cover. The expanse before her seemed huge and hideously exposed. Jacqueline's sleek black carriage stood across it. To her dismay, Ljubo was already busy at the front, securing the horses in the rigging. Marguerite peered at the rear of the conveyance. The long black crate had not yet been loaded.
Having finished with the horses, Ljubo disappeared into the low building behind him. Marguerite scanned the court for any sign of Ekhart, but neither he nor the hounds were in sight. She saw only the usual menagerie: the flock of black geese, the weary peacock, the tethered goat. She rose from her hiding place. Then she ran-or came as close to it as possible-hurrying across the muddy flagstones. She slipped once, and the black geese honked excitedly, but no one heeded their alarm. Marguerite ducked into one of the empty stalls near the coach. As soon as she was safely behind the gate, she collapsed.
She had arrived just in time. A sharp pain shot through her stomach, as if something had taken hold inside and had begun to twist. Curled on her side, Marguerite cupped her hand over her mouth to muffle her cry. After a long, horrible moment, the pain passed, and she lifted herself to her knees. The exertion of running had been too great; from here on, she knew she would have to be more careful.
Outside in the court, thers was a scraping noise, as if something were being dragged. A monstrous grunt followed, then the scraping briefly resumed. After it stopped again, footsteps sounded, trailing away in the distance.
Marguerite found a chink near the top of the gate and looked out to see what had happened. Ljubo was waddling across the court toward a small door that led into the keep.
After he disappeared inside, she took a chance and crept out, moving along the front of the stables until she reached the carriage. Jacqueline's coach required no driver, as Marguerite had observed the first time she saw it approaching the castle. Though Jacqueline had never said as much, Marguerite had concluded that the conveyance's magic both drove itself and guided its passenger through the disorienting mists that surrounded Donskoy's lands.
She checked under the carriage and then peered inside, looking for somewhere to stow away. But the only cargo platform lay on the back, in plain view, and there was no other place to hide. Marguerite sighed. A comfortable place to ride would have been asking too much.
She went to the stable, where Jacqueline's long black box stilt lay in the back of Ekhart's cart, hanging partway over the back edge. With great effort. Marguerite climbed alongside the crate. It was relatively crude, like the one that had accompanied her from Darkon, with slender gaps between its rough black planks. It seemed unfair to call it a coffin; if placed underground, it would quickly fill with soil and water and worms. But then again, many paupers received less.
Marguerite gritted her teeth and pushed out the latch pin, then lifted the rusty hasp and opened the lid. Inside lay a woman, plump and white, lying on a bed of straw. She was naked, but for a black wool blanket crudely wrapped round her body. She had snowy blonde hair and a wide red mouth, which at the moment was stuffed with
