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  He stood and walked to the mantel. I clutched my bracelet in my pocket, fingering the clasp Uncle never fixed.

  "Sorrows all around in the way things have transpired," Gregor said. He opened a jade box and removed Beryl's stone. At the sight of it a tingle ran up my back.

  "Do you know, Miss Chapdelaine, that I bought this stone off of our light-fingered friend there with the thought of presenting it to my future wife, the princess Beatrix. But as soon as I held it in my hands--and met her, soon after--I felt she was not its rightful owner. I couldn't make sense of it. It was almost as if the stone had a will of its own."

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  If only you knew. I waited, my heart thumping.

  "I puzzled over it. I became so absorbed in the mystery that I carried it around with me, thinking perhaps it might tell me whose it was." Again he rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes.

  "The curious thing, Miss Chapdelaine, is that when I danced with you last night, I had the strongest sensation I should give it to you. It never occurred to me that it might have been yours to begin with."

  Once more his gaze compelled me to look back, no matter how much I'd rather not. I stroked the bracelet, tiny between my finger pads. Here was a knot where the chain had kinked.

  Here were the broken ends of my chain.

  "I asked you to come to the ball tonight so I could give it to you myself." He laughed, a short, unconvincing sound. "A wild thought, I suppose. But the music, and the dancing, put wild thoughts into my head. Such as breaking off my betrothal to Princess Beatrix. A monumental task that would have been! My mother, my father, the king and queen of Hilarion, with all their court here visiting... but last night, with the music playing, I actually thought I'd do it."

  My eyes flooded and I turned away. His elegant quarters disappeared behind tears. Just as well; I couldn't bear to face him. Yet an accusation buzzed in my head, demanding to be said.

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  "You felt all this, yet you sent me to my death willingly enough," I said. Sobbed.

  There was a long silence. I closed my eyes.

  "Was it I who sent you?" His voice wavered.

  He was crying!

  No less was I. But I couldn't stop stabbing yet.

  "You lost no sleep over it," I said. "You slept like a baby. Peter had to wake you."

  I felt petty and foolish, my bitterness spent. I rubbed my eyes and waited. "You're mistaken, Miss Chapdelaine," Gregor said. He brushed a finger against my chin, asking me to look at him in the eye. What I saw there was a wide, gentle patience, calm like Laurenz Harbor on a summer morning, and forgiving. I hated to need his forgiveness. But I had no power to blame him when I looked him in the face.

  I watched his lips as he spoke. "I haven't slept at all this night. I wasn't asleep when Peter summoned." He gestured with one hand toward a room that adjoined this one. A private chapel. A small nave, with an altar for kneeling. Dozens of candles flickered against the walls.

  "I was praying."

  * * *

  He waited a few minutes for me to compose myself. He then took my wrist and placed the stone in the palm of my hand.

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  "I give this to you now," he said, "because clearly it belongs to you. Peter can owe me. I'll write to Lord Coxley and issue you a full pardon, and I'll summon a carriage to escort you safely to wherever you wish. I imagine Coxley's hounds are out in full force by now."

  I clenched the stone in my fist. Having it back brought no relief, no joy. No more did my pardon. Kindnesses from Gregor were worse than blows now. "One thing more, Miss Chapdelaine. I must rescind my invitation to the ball tonight," he said, his voice gravelly and strange. "The night is devoted to presenting Princess Beatrix, the future queen of Laurenz, to her people. I must remember my duty to her, and to them." His eyes bored holes through me. "And in the future, I'll remember not to heed rash ideas that arise when dancing with pretty girls."

  He spared me the faintest sliver of a wry smile, which somehow I returned, shattered though I felt. Yes, sweet. I remembered our moments together, too, and always would.

  No less than this one.

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  Chapter 22

  Ragamuffins such as I did not often ride in the prince's personal carriage. I didn't need the footman's sneer to tell me so. He shut my door, sparing me a brief glance of reproach, as though I might muddy its upholstery. "Will you look at that?"

  Peter made no attempt to conceal his admiration. He slid back and forth over the polished leather seat, and picked at the ornaments on its lanterns. The horses started abruptly, and both of us were thrown back against the stiff cushions. Beryl's gem slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. Peter pounced on it.

  "I'll take that," I said, holding out my hand.

  "Half a second," he said, holding it up to his eye.

  I snatched it forcibly from his hand. "I said I'll take that."

  "Criminy," Peter said, rubbing his palm, "you don't

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  think I'd steal that thing again, do you? After all the trouble it's caused?" "In a heartbeat," I replied. "Or less."

  I watched the city sweep by through the windows. Even with festival traffic, the royal coach had no trouble getting through. Everywhere we went faces turned to stare, in hopes of seeing Prince Gregor, no doubt. Imagine their confusion at seeing ragtag me instead. I sat back and pulled down the blinds. The carriage's movement made me uneasy. I sat small in a corner of the seat opposite Peter and clutched the gem close to my heart with both hands. It thrummed reassuringly. I itched to escape the carriage. The inside smelled of fur and perfume and mint.

  I'd ridden in carriages like this one as a child, but never since my arrival at Aunt's. And not only because there was no money to hire them. I feared them. Mama and Papa had died when their carriage tipped into a ravine on their way home from the ball that night.

  And Coxley had been the one in charge of things as soon as my parents were gone. The one who sent away the servants and sold off so many of my parents' valuables.

  He was the same man who took such delight in sending me to my death. What had he said, about his unfinished work? And watching me die would conclude it? Last night those words

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  had slid underneath other, more urgent fears. Now they demanded attention. Had he murdered my parents?

  Could such a question ever be answered after so many years?

  Hadn't he all but admitted it?

  The answer was present in the asking. Of course he had. I was sure of it. He would, and he did. I knew it. It was as though the whole universe had been poised, holding its breath, waiting for me to make this discovery. He'd been an upstart working for my father ten years ago, and now he was the second most powerful man in the kingdom. Lord Coxley. The kings arm of justice. Such transformations took fortunes. Among other things. Ruthless enough to do it, clever enough to conceal it, shrewd enough to profit from it.

  I felt numb. Empty, as though I'd drained out of myself. That my parents had died in a tragic accident was my life's central truth. This horror was paralyzing--not mere chance, but deliberate evil had stolen them from me. They'd been killed. Their killer was determined to finish the task of exterminating my family. And I'd just slipped through his fingers. He was not one to take that lightly.

  We crossed the bridge without incident, despite a cluster of constables waiting at the toll booth. Gregor's carriage, it seemed, was not subject to searching.

  "This is the life for me," Peter said, folding his arms

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  behind his head. "Snap your fingers and you're at the head of every line, and no nosy officers. Do what you want, when you want!"

  I shook my head. "I don't think Prince Gregor sees it that way. It's not just a life of ease."

  Before long we drew close to the fork in the lane where the road led off to my--Beryl's--house. I rapped on the window, and the driver reined in the horses.

  "Would you let us off here, please?" I called.

&
nbsp; The footman opened the door and helped me down with the least possible civility. Peter jumped down, muttering that I should have let them drive us all the way.

  "What do you mean, 'us'?" I asked between my teeth, watching the carriage circle around and head back. "I don't know where you think you're going." "Why, to visit you, of course," he said, "and pay my respects to this Beryl of yours."

  I gave up. If I didn't let him in the door, he'd come in through a window. "This way," I said, trudging off.

  We reached the lawns. Peter whistled. "This is where you grew up?" Was it? "Just till I was five."

  Peter laughed. "You would have been a catch after all! Even for His Royal Blue Eyes."

  I rubbed dust kicked up by a carriage wheel out of my eye.

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  We rounded the curve in the drive and the house came into view. Even with a bleached sun hiding behind curtains of cloud cover, and bare trees clawing the sky, and frozen, shriveled shrubbery, it was magnificent.

  Peter shook his head. "You had all this and lost it?" I thought I saw real sympathy in his eyes. "I'm going to be a lot nicer to you from now on." I laughed.

  "And anyway, you might get it all back, right?"

  Then I really laughed. It felt good to laugh. What else could I do? I wiped my eyes and looked up to see Dog barreling toward me from behind the house. How on earth? I dropped down on my knees and embraced him. He nuzzled my face.

  "Faugh," Peter groaned, grimacing and looking away.

  "How'd you get here, Doggy Goat?" I asked, stroking his ribs. "How'd you pay your toll to cross the river?"

  He eyed me from one side--as he must, being a goat--and butted me gently. "I'm sorry, Dog. We left you at the palace, didn't we?"

  "Meh-heh-heh."

  "Such a clever goat as you. You didn't mind, did you?" I looked up to see Peter rolling his eyes.

  "When you're done with your little love affair, can we go inside? I'm famished."

  I climbed to my feet. "Come on, then. But you're not likely to find a meal here."

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  We headed down the walk toward the front door, but Dog would have none of it. He sidled against me and leaned hard, pushing me onto the lawns until I nearly fell.

  "What's the matter, Dog? We want to go inside."

  He was adamant. He pushed me, tripped me, and each time I persisted in ascending the walkway. Finally he galloped a few steps ahead of me and braced himself, his horns lowered.

  "Your little puppy plans to ram you, I think," Peter observed.

  I was astonished. "I believe you're right." Dog and I faced each other for a tense moment, until finally I stepped off the path and began strolling across the grass in the direction he'd been pushing me. He trotted over and fell into step at my ankles.

  Peter shrugged and followed us as we cut a circle around the house. Who knew what obscure fear had entered his goat brain and possessed him to steer me away from the door? And what harm would it do to oblige him?

  When we'd reached the back he herded us against the wall of the house, where, if we craned our necks around some statuary of a Greek god--which, in the presence of Peter, made me blush a bit--we could just get a glimpse through the tall windows overlooking the terrace. Without thinking I slipped a hand into my pocket and felt for Beryl's gem. It was practically humming with agitation.

  Dog maaahed over and over, loud and agitated. I looked around, bewildered, trying to find some reason for his

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  strange behavior. He kept up his racket without cease. Peter swatted his hide with his hat--not roughly, or I'd have returned the favor.

  A movement caught my eye. Coming the other way around the rear of the house, walking cautiously, was Beryl.

  She saw me. She hitched up her skirts and ran to me, seizing me in a tight embrace.

  "You're back," she said in my ear. "You're back."

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  Chapter 23

  I staggered back on clumsy feet. She steadied me effortlessly, her smile beaming. "I've been so worried about you," she said, rubbing my arms up and down as if searching for broken bones. "Are you all right? You look as though you've been through a terrible fright."

  And that was when I dissolved into sobs. Beryl held me in her arms and rubbed my back.

  Peter, ever helpful, offered Beryl an explanation.

  "Girls are always going off in hysterics, but this time she's got cause," he said. "Nearly got hung, spent the night in jail, they probably intimidated her something fierce there. Made a strumpet of herself last night, on account of her shameless dancing with the prince, and then doesn't she get hauled off and arrested for robbing him."

  With each accusation, Beryl made soothing noises, until I pulled myself off her shoulder.

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  "Peter, will you shut your mouth?" I cried. "Nobody asked you anything!" Beryl looked like she was keeping her face straight only with great effort. She held a hand out to Peter. "I'm Beryl," she said. "I understand you're a common street thief?"

  Peter bristled. "Hardly a common one."

  Beryl demurred. "I stand corrected."

  I pulled Beryl's gemstone from my pocket. It shimmered, pink and jubilant. Her face was full of emotion as she took it from my hand. "Well done, Lucinda," she said. "Well done. I thank you."

  Peter's eyes, I saw, had followed this transaction longingly.

  "Keep it away from him," I warned. "He could rob the Holy Father of his underdrawers."

  "Hey!"

  "You're the reason for all this trouble in the first place," I reminded him. I turned to Beryl. "You're mistaken," I told her. "It wasn't well done. It was as poorly done as it could possibly have been. Everything I could ruin in the process, I did."

  She regarded me cryptically. "Most things are harder to ruin than you think." She smiled and held out her arms, gesturing with a sweep toward the house and all the grounds. "I give you, Lucinda, your house, once more. Welcome home." My legs felt weak. I did it! But I didn't. Or, I had no

  chance of keeping it. The house felt no more mine than Sebastien Palace. I waved away these thoughts, remembering Beryl creeping around the hedge. "What are you doing outside, Beryl?" I asked. "Were you hiding?" She looked around surreptitiously, then shepherded us both toward a rear door to the house. "Come inside, quickly," she said. "I don't dare stay here long. There isn't much time."

  We went inside and collapsed on couches in the parlor. Beryl got to work pulling paintings down from the walls. First the smiling youth, and then Aunt as a young girl. She wrapped them in soft cloth, then tied them with string. Then she sat and took my hands in hers.

  "A man was here, just now. He came and searched the house," she said in an urgent whisper. "That's why I was outdoors. I decided I'd rather spy on my enemy than confront him. It's him! The man who's been trying to steal my stone. I got a better look at him. He only just left. It's a wonder he didn't see you. If you'd gone in the front door, he might have."

  "Lucinda's goat wouldn't let us," Peter said.

  I sat up straight. "Beryl, was he tall, with pale hair and blue eyes?" Beryl nodded. "And an official uniform, with epaulets."

  "That's him!" I cried. "It's Lord Coxley, the king's Chief Minister of Justice."

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  She sank back, clutching at her hair. "Of course. Of course! Why didn't I see?"

  I watched her face. See what? I wondered.

  She turned to me. "Coxley was the lawyer who sold me the house. We met once, very briefly. I wondered about him then. There was something about him... She shook her head. "Chief Minister of Justice! I fear for the kingdom." I thought of Gregor, who would occupy the throne with the devil himself as his most powerful official. With any luck, Coxley would be dead and gone when that day came.

  "Beryl," I said, taking her hands, "Coxley worked for my father. He had them killed. I'm sure of it. He as much as said so to me. He said that seeing me dead would complete his unfinished work. He was gloating over it!" I felt my eyes grow wet.
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  Beryl frowned and nodded.

  "Why would he do that?" Peter asked.

  "For their wealth," Beryl said. "Perhaps, even, for some petty offense they caused him. But surely, for their wealth. To him, they were stepping-stones. How else does an unknown lawyer become the kings Chief Minister of Justice in so short a time?"

  My breath came in little gasps. "Aunt always loved to say how my parents died in debt, that they were frauds, living high. I never believed it. But when they died, all the money was gone." I hated for Peter to see me cry like this. 207

  "Men like Coxley are ruthless," Beryl said. "They'll stop at nothing to achieve their ends." She rose, rubbing her hands together briskly. "He stationed a guard here before leaving," she said, "out in the hedgerow beyond the property. If your goat hadn't made me aware of him, Lucinda, we'd be in trouble right now. As it is, I've taken care of him."

  I felt a chill run over me, and for a moment I remembered the story of Aunt's brother, John. "Taken care of him? What did you do?"

  Beryl shook her head with a wry smile. "He's fine, Lucinda. He'll wake up tomorrow thinking he had a rough night with the lads at a pub, and wander home to his wife. Now, come along, you two, we can't stay here, I'm afraid Coxley'll be back, possibly this time with company. We have an important mission." She patted her pocket and smiled. "Now that I have this back, I'm not afraid of what may come to me, but I have to keep you safe, Lucinda, until we can think of what to do about Coxley."

  I stood with an effort, my tired legs protesting." Where are we going?" "To Montescue's Goldsmithy."

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  Chapter 24

  The hansom cab disgorged us outside the faded door to Uncle's--now, Aunt's--shop. Beryl paid the driver, handing him a folded slip of paper and some extra money, along with some whispered instructions.

  "What was that about?" I asked her.

  "A message," she said, her lips tight. "Never mind that."

  I looked up at the MONTESCUE'S sign painted over the shop window. Even with Beryl there to support me, I dreaded going inside and facing Aunt again. We entered, Peter brushing crumbs from the sticky buns Beryl had bought us off his coat. The shop was empty. No one had dusted it since I left, that was plain.