I don’t even have to worry about coming up with an excuse for thePrinzessinto spend the morning in her bedroom, because the real Gisele spent the night again, and I slept on the hearth again, and she’s having breakfast in the banquet hall right now, and if I think about it too much I’m going to forget to breathe. Even Ragne is with her now, for safety.
Joniza said nothing stolen was ever really mine. It’s just . . . gutting, to see how much of my life was stolen, even my time with her. How fast it’s all slipping away.
An icy wind sweeps down the lane, and all of my jewel outbreaks ache in answer. More rubies erupted overnight, this time as seeds starting from my ankles and the undersides of my wrists. Unlike the older breakouts, these keep growing. Every hour I feel another one emerge along the lines of my arteries, creeping closer to my heart like blood poisoning from infected wounds.
Worse, I can feel the buds of jewels swelling in my belly now, hard little lumps that roll under my fingertips. I don’t know how large they can grow before it becomes a problem, but one thing is clear:
Today, tomorrow, Sunday. That’s all I have left.
A sign flashes gold ahead, swinging on its hooks in the breeze. Three rings and the nameFrisch, all in gilt. I pick up the pace, if only to get out of the cold, and hide the Reigenbach badge in my pocket.
A bell rings over the door as I step inside. There’s a bland little man at the counter, meticulously polishing a stunning collar of silver and sapphire sparkling on a bed of black velvet. I’m fairly certain I stole the thumbnail-sized stone at its center from Irmgard von Hirsching’s vanity. “MeisterFrisch?”
The man nods, still absorbed in the collar. “What can I help you with,frohlein?”
“I believe you did business with an associate of mine,” I say, shutting the door behind me. “Yannec Kraus.”
Frisch sets down his brush and sits upright, sizing me up. There’s an edge in his voice when he says, “Perhaps I did.”
“That business is mostly over.” I set my satchel on the counter. “But I was hoping you’d make one last deal.”
For something that took so long, the exchange is quick and to the point. Frisch seems as eager to stash away the Eisendorf jewelry as I am to part with it. I leave with two hundredgilden, more than I expected and much more than Yannec estimated. I knew he took a cut, but we agreed to a tenth of the money, not a fifth. But it’s not like I ever caught him in the act, so who knows how long he was breaking our deal.
I think through the plan as I start back to the castle. I will pack today, while Gisele is out. I won’t pack much, just one outfit worthy of a princess, and one worthy of a maid. And, of course, mygilden.
Once it’s clear that she’s taken her place and my curse is broken, I will steal away, hopefully no later than Sunday. I will pretend to be a servant one last time and hire a coach, claiming my lady, a wedding guest, got drunk and gave her coach away as a gift to the bride. Then the next morning I will use the stolen gown, stolen powders, stolen manners, and become aprinzessinfor the final time. And I will take that coach . . . anywhere.
Well, not anywhere. Adalbrecht’s border wars have carved up the south and the east, even gnashing into Eiswald Forest. But I can go west or north, as far as I care to.
I know Emeric said he would follow, but that was before he made it clear Klemens’s revenge matters more. That’s on me, though, for believing him. I won’t make that mistake again.
A thunderouscracknearly makes me leap out of my boots as I set foot in the Salzplatt. The bronze statue of Kunigunde has brought her spear crashing down on the marble pedestal. I hold my breath, convinced she’s going to point me out for a cheat—but instead she freezes again, scowling.
A bright flash of blue catches my eye from across the plaza. Adalbrecht’s coach is parked in front of the city hall, a small crowd gathered around it. He emerges from the double doors, smiling and waving with a toothy kind of triumph. The von Falbirgs must have found the leisure to sign the marital adrogation forms.
That makes his paperwork robbery complete.
I don’t want to wait for him to spot me, or for Kunigunde to single me out. I hurry from the Salzplatt and hope I don’t see either of them again on my way back to the castle.
The clothing is easy enough to pack up and hide in the wardrobe. It takes longer to count out thegilden, then double-count to make sure I have a thousand. Both times I come in just a little over.
I start counting a third time, not because I think I’m wrong, but because when I see the stacks of coins lined up before me—it feels real. I’ve done it. It feels like freedom.
I’ve just reached three hundred when there’s a pulse of heat at my thigh. At first I think it’s another jewel erupting, then I remember I’m still carrying the message-mirror. I pull it out. Emeric’s writing scrawls across the fogged surface:
We need
to talk.
There must be a change in plans. I write back:Where?
When I walk into Fortune’s cathedral a quarter hour later, I expect to see everyone knotted together and anxious as some new miserable development narrows our chances. I didn’t even bother with braids; I just hid the gold, grabbed a cloak and a scarf, and left with my hair flying loose like a madwoman’s in a pageant.
But Gisele, Ragne, Barthl, and Joniza are nowhere in sight. Instead, Emeric is waiting for me in the vestibule, alone. The sanctuary itself is mostly empty, save for the acolyte Fortune possessed the first time I came here, side-eyeing me as she sweeps the aisle between pews. There’s no way to know for certain when one of Fortune’s services will be, for her priestesses roll bones to see if they’ll hold ceremonies every six hours. (Fortune once told me she did that just to keep them on their toes.)
Emeric tips his head at a smaller chapel off to the side. I follow him in, tucking my cloak under my arm. The room is a little smaller than the clergy library, with only a few small windows high above, but it’s lined with rows of flickering vow candles on dark walnut shelves. The smell of burnt wick and melting beeswax weighs on the air. A shallow altar sits at the far end, empty but framed in an arch of gold leaves twining around animal bones.
This is the Gambler’s Altar, where people light a candle and swear to perform a deed in Fortune’s name. She’s supposed to favor them if they succeed, and neglect them if they fail.
