And when it scurried onto the floor, no doubt to slip to Adalbrecht and back before I woke, I seized the copper spill-stick urn—convenientlyempty after I threw it at Gisele—and slammed it down over the squallingmahr.
“Grow intothat, you little shit,” I snapped. Then I stood, looking for something heavy to set on it, just in case this particularnachtmahrwas a masochist and enjoyed throwing itself against copper.
I had just dropped a stack of books onto the urn when a single sound froze me in my tracks:
“Vanja?” Emeric was pushing himself up from the desk, blinking and befuddled. I may have knocked him out of his chair throwing my arms around his neck. (I did. I did do that.)
He still seemed thoroughly bewildered, but he buried his face in my hair nonetheless, holding me so tight to him I nearly forgot to breathe.
I half laughed, half sobbed into his shoulder, gasping, “I can’t believe you were going to write all that out on the mirror.”
Then I explained to him about themahr, and why he shouldn’t touch the urn on the floor, and why we were going to get to Fortune’s cathedral as fast as we could. And, more painfully, I told him why I ran.
And then he told me why he would always follow.
And then—well. It took a few extra minutes for us to leave his bedroom and cross the trellis to mine. You can probably figure out why.
(I’m still impressed that he managed to find a place that wasn’t covered in jewels to leave a kiss mark. Not thrilled it was on my neck, but in the moment I absolutely did not mind. I did later, when Joniza saw it and died laughing, but since he was as mortified as I was, I let him off the hook this once. At least it’s scarf weather.)
Now let’s come back to the wedding, where a lot of confused people are trying to figure out what’s going on, chief among them the hangman.
He’s probably going to have more questions after Emeric returns his spectacles to his face, says, “I do apologize for this,” and then kicks him down the gallows’ stairs.
“Don’t apologize, he almost killed me,” I say indignantly.
The wedding guests are turning in their seats, watching the commotion on the scaffold. The remaining guard eyes us, no doubt weighing his options against his pay grade, and finding the latter wanting.
Then everyone finds an entirely new distraction.
“STOP! STOP THE WEDDING AT ONCE!”
Adalbrecht von Reigenbach, Margrave of Bóern, bursts from the Reigenbach ceremonial house, disheveled, sweating, and a little charred.
You see, when he walked into that house for his moment of prayer and reflection, he found two things.
One: the same banishing spell that Emeric used to slow thenachtmahrin Lähl. (With a slight modification to muffle any shouting. It was Adalbrecht. There was sure to be a lot of shouting.)
And two: Ragne, wearing his face and waiting in the traditional Reigenbach family wedding regalia. Virtually identical, just a bit older, and much easier for Barthl to sneak out.
It’s always, always about the details.
So when the real Adalbrecht storms up to the altar, where Gisele’s still clinging to Ragne in his likeness, everyone’s attention is solely on them.
Exactlywhere I want it.
CHAPTER THIRTY- EIGHT
Thieves at theAltar
“That is a fake!” Adalbrecht roars, pointing at Ragne. His jacket is smoking a little, and I cannot adequately express how much joy I take in that. “I was attacked! That—that’s a fraud! Agrimlingor a— something!”
Emeric and I hurry off the gallows while Gisele gasps, clutching Ragne even tighter. “How dare you speak about my darling Adalbrecht this way! How do we knowyou’renot an imposter?”
Emeric’s hand tightens around mine. Everything in this plan has to go perfectly, but this moment more than anything.
“Please, my lady, step back.” Joniza steps between Gisele and Ragne. Ragne has maintained Adalbrecht’s look of constipated outrage this entire time, and it’s almost a little too convincing. Joniza reaches her hands out to both Adalbrechts. Her voice rolls, crystal clear, through the Göttermarkt. “This is very simple. Clearly there are wicked forces at work here, but if one of you is agrimling, there will be a mark on your body.”
Ragne nods solemnly and begins to undo her collar, never one to mind a little public nudity. “I am not afraid,” she says in Adalbrecht’s aloof tones. We coached her on this moment forhours. “I have nothing to hide.”
