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“I think I’d rather have Nadder back.”
Finley yawned. “It’s just a few more months. You can take anything for that long.”
A few more months. A few more months.Brandon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, even though he had to be alert in the morning, when his own watch would start. He wasn’t used to being in bed at this hour. He was used to meeting with Villette in the garden while the whole house slept around them.
Now they would have to carry out their plotting in broad daylight, constantly aware that anyone might overhear them or notice them in conversation. They would not be able to speak openly or touch freely—the gods knew they would be unable to kiss—
Brandon stifled a groan and rolled to his side. He could bear the physical separation. But it would be agony to be unable to talk with Villette, to share ideas about their escape or warnings about some new obstacle he had perceived.
And then he almost started out of bed. They wouldn’t even beableto leave if Linnet decided to keep the overnight shift permanently. All of their plans hinged on them being able to sneak out of the house when everyone else was asleep—
Brandon forced himself to lie back down, to relax his muscles, to clear his mind. Linnet would have time off eventually and someone else would have to take her place. Finley hated the night shift and would gladly let Brandon claim it. He and Villette would just have to make meticulous plans during their rare interludes of solitude. They wouldn’t be able to rely on chance and error—
He brought his forearm up to cover his eyes.So many things could go wrong,he thought.We will have to be so careful.
Brandon felt heavy-lidded and heavy-limbed as he took up his duties the next morning. He wasn’t sure he’d slept at all the night before; he’d finally just given up and gotten out of bed when dawn sidled up to the window. He could only pray that no determined assassins came bursting onto the property, because he could tell his reflexes were slow and his mind was foggy. He wouldn’t be much use in a real fight.
Linnet had passed him in the hallway without a word, heading back to her bed. Villette had not yet made an appearance, but Finley was at breakfast. “I’m heading down to the Quatrefoil,” she said. “Want anything?”
He yawned. “A better night’s sleep.”
She laughed. “You’ll get used to being on normal hours again. You’ll like it better.”
He was sure she was wrong.
Villette finally left her room around noon, floating down the stairwell so soundlessly and mournfully she could have been a ghost. She paused for a scant breakfast and headed out to the back garden to enjoy the flimsy sunlight of late summer. Finley was still gone, Linnet was still sleeping, and Abe was on the front lawn planting a line of new shrubbery. As long as the cook stayed in the kitchen and the maid busied herself upstairs, Brandon thought, he might be able to manage a few minutes of conversation with Villette.
He dawdled a bit so it didn’t look like he was rushing right out after her; he even completed a circuit of the upper stories just to prove he wasn’t in a hurry. Then he made his way down the back corridor like a man with one more task to complete.
Villette was sitting on one of the benches overlooking the fish pond, staring at the water with so much despair she might have been watching a funeral. She didn’t even lift her head when Brandon stepped out of the house. He stopped near the edge of the patio, not too far from the door, a position that gave him a good view of the entire garden. It was the spot he would normally hold if he was just standing here, keeping watch.
For the next hour, they stayed that way, Villette keeping all her attention on the pond, Brandon allowing his eyes to sweep across the small enclosure as if he was constantly looking for trouble. He kept his head cocked back slightly toward the kitchen, hoping he would detect any sounds indicating that someone else was about to come outside. But all the other inhabitants of the house seemed to be absent, sleeping, or occupied.
Finally, Villette stirred and glanced his way. “Hello—Brandon, is it?” she called. “Can you come here a moment? I have a question about the fish pond.”
“Yes, dona,” he said, and marched across the lawn to her side. She was pointing at some invisible defect in the stone border at her feet.
“Do you think the mortar has loosened? Do you think the water is leaking?” she asked.
He was trying not to grin. It wasn’t a very convincing ploy, but it would do for their purposes. He knelt in front of her and ran his hand over the inlaid stones. “It’s hard to tell,” he said. “Maybe there’s a problem.”
“So we have a new guard,” Villette said in an undervoice. “How does that affect our scheme?”
“It gives us less leeway,” he admitted. “We can’t just wait for an opportune moment—we’ll have to make a plan and stick with it.”
“Will shealwaysbe on the night watch?”
“Until she earns a day off. Which will be in a couple of weeks.”
Villette caught her breath. “Does that mean we should be prepared to leave that very day?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good.” He stood up and brushed the dirt off his knees. “I think that should take care of the problem,” he said in a slightly raised voice, in case anyone was listening. “That’s the best I can do.”
Chapter Twenty-nine:
