"Why must you be so short," grumbled another voice. Groggily, Oliver placed it as Princess Pansy as she continued to talk. "I mean, honestly, are you trying to grow?"

"Do you think I enjoy being short?" Petunia shot back. Then she laughed, taking the sting out of her words. "Cousin Edgar keeps calling me Pocket-size! It's disgusting!"

Through a bubble of laughter, Pansy replied, "I thought you were just doing it so you wouldn't have to share your clothes."

Continuing their good-natured bickering, they went over to the wardrobe. Oliver was about to slide out from under the bed when he noticed a third pair of feet had followed them into the room. From the plain gray hem of her gown Oliver knew that it was a maid, and one of the grand d.u.c.h.ess's household. If she had been wearing the black gown of the royal household he might have risked it, but one of the grand d.u.c.h.ess's maids was sure to sound the alarm. He stifled a sigh and prepared to wait some more.

There was no fear he would doze off again, as he saw the day gowns of first one sister, then the other, hit the floor. Stocking feet walked all around the bed, and then the stockings were rolled off as well. Oliver tried not to look, but he couldn't help himself. Petunia's feet were just as delicate as the rest of her, he noticed, and she had a habit of spinning on her toes when she turned, as though she were dancing.

New silk stockings were pulled on. Ruffled petticoats. Corsets were tightened-judging from the grunting-and satin slippers tied onto narrow little feet. And then came the gowns. Petunia was indeed wearing the blue silk with lace sleeves that Oliver had noticed before, and Pansy wore something pink. Oliver hoped to catch them on their way out of the room, and hoped that the maid would not stay behind to straighten up.

But the princesses' evening toilette was not yet finished. They each had their hair taken down and redone by the maid, and then there were jewels to put on, and gloves and fans to be gathered. Oliver really began to wonder if he shouldn't just roll out of his hiding spot and try to overpower the maid. This was interminable!

"Olga," Petunia said, just as Oliver had decided to risk it. "Would you please go see if Maria needs any help? She's supposed to be dressing Rose, Lily, and Jonquil, and Jonquil is very particular."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The door closed behind the maid, and Petunia stuck her head under the edge of the bed.

"Oliver, is that you?"

"Petunia! What are you doing?" Pansy sounded startled.

"I can hear you breathing under there," Petunia announced. "And I smelled evergreen sap."

She frowned, her blue eyes searching in the darkness under the bed, and Oliver remembered that he was still wearing the cloak.

"Yes, it's me," he said.

Pansy let out a small scream, and Petunia shushed her.

"I'll come out, I've got Prince Galen's cloak on."

Petunia stepped back as Oliver crawled out from under the bed. Once he was on his feet, he took off the cloak and folded it over his arm. Pansy gasped again as he became visible but didn't scream.

"What are you doing here?" Petunia demanded.

Pansy had a more pressing question, however. "Did you watch us undress?"

Oliver felt himself turning red. "Just ... just your feet," he stammered. "I mean, I only saw your feet. I wasn't trying to look, I swear!"

Pansy looked scandalized, and she actually bent her knees a little so that the hem of her gown concealed her feet even more. He must have been born under an unlucky moon, he thought ruefully.

Petunia smacked his upper arm. "So what are you doing here, other than spying on us in our underthings?"

"I came to warn you," he said, trying to stand up straight and appear trustworthy.

Both princesses immediately looked wary, exchanging glances. "Warn us of what?" Petunia asked. She studied him with those blue, blue eyes and Oliver wondered all over again what he was doing here.

"The Nine Daughters of Russaka," he blurted out at last, before he lost his nerve.

Petunia blinked, but she didn't say anything.

"The grand d.u.c.h.ess is one of the Nine Daughters of Russaka," he continued. "And they ... their sons that they had in the tower ... were the sons of the King Under Stone."

"We know about the grand d.u.c.h.ess," Petunia said. "Though I still don't believe it entirely. And who told you about the King Under Stone?" There was a crease between Petunia's brows.

"Princess Poppy," he replied. "It was in a book that she gave me, while I was in Bruch. So I guessed that ... that you and your sisters, you were entrapped by the King Under Stone all those years ago, and that's why your dancing shoes wore out every night. Now that you're here as her guests, I thought you should know about the connection between them. Also, I found something in the hothouse where I saw the shadows coming up out of the floor, and I wondered if Crown Prince Galen had had a chance to look at the floor there."

The princesses seemed slightly stunned by all the words that had come out of Oliver's mouth, and neither of them said anything for minute. Then Pansy took a tentative step toward the door, and Petunia stopped her with a hand on her older sister's arm.

"Are you accusing the grand d.u.c.h.ess of being in league with the King Under Stone?" Petunia didn't look shocked, but her face had gone hard, and Oliver's heart sank a little.

"Yes?" He wished that it didn't sound like a question. "I mean, I don't know. But I do know ... or, er, I believe that she did have one of the King Under Stone's sons. Did you know he had twelve? All with n.o.blewomen?"

"Yes," Petunia said, and now her voice was wintry. "I knew."

"Oh," Oliver said. He suddenly felt extremely foolish. "So, I just, was worried that you might not be safe," he said lamely.

Oliver could feel his ears burning. Why had he come? They probably knew much more than he did. Princess Poppy had probably just given him the books because he was bored and she had them at hand, and not in some roundabout plea for help.

"You saw shadows in the garden?" Petunia asked.

"Yes," Oliver said. "The first night that you were here. They looked like men, or the shadows of men, and they ran through the garden toward your window," he told her, hoping that at least this bit of information would be useful.

Petunia looked toward the window, thoughtful. "You say they came out of one of the hothouses? And you found something there? What?"

Before he could answer, though, Pansy spoke up. "If you won't let me get Rose and Galen," she complained, "at least let me lock the door, Pet."

Petunia let go of her sister, who hurried to lock the door.

"Keep one ear to the door, please," Petunia told her. "Olga never lets me out of her sight for very long. And she has her own key." She sighed heavily.

"I found wax, clear wax all over the floor leading to the door of the hothouse," Oliver said, before he put his boot in his mouth by saying that Olga sounded more like a jailer than a maid. "It looks like someone has written something in the wax, but I can't make it out."

Petunia rose up on her toes, seemingly excited. "So you've seen Kestilan and his brothers, and you think you know how they get into the gardens here?"

"Kestilan?" There was that name again. Oliver fought down an irrational surge of jealousy for this mysterious being who took up so much of Petunia's attention.

"That's the name of the youngest prince," Petunia clarified.

"Yes, then, I suppose I did see him," Oliver told her. "I didn't really know what he-they-were."

"They are the sons of the King Under Stone," Petunia said. "But they aren't supposed to be here, in this world. They're supposed to be shut up in the prison that was created to hold their father."

"Someone's coming," Pansy whispered.

Oliver slung the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the clasp.

"Get back under the bed," Petunia murmured. "And listen."

"All right." Oliver crawled back under the bed and lay still, trying to keep his breathing as quiet as possible.

"We all took a tour of the gardens this afternoon at Galen's insistence," Petunia said, speaking in a quick, low voice. "Grigori led us around, though, and I guess he just thought that Galen was interested because he used to be a gardener. But Grigori said the hothouses were boring, and we didn't go anywhere near them. So we'll have to try tomorrow-"

The doork.n.o.b rattled.

"My princesses, it is time for dinner," called the maid through the door. "Why have you locked the door? Open, please."

Oliver bit back a laugh as Petunia said something under her breath that was not fit language for either a princess or indeed a young lady of any rank. He settled in for another nap, and wished he'd asked her to bring him something from dinner. It was going to be a very long night.

Prayer.

At dinner, Petunia could not stop thinking about how much Prince Grigori looked like the princes Under Stone. She had never thought about it before, but with his pale skin and black hair, he could easily be one of them. But did that mean that he was part of some larger plot? Was he helping the princes? How could she find out? She caught herself staring at him, eyes narrowed, and tried to concentrate on the food instead.

"Pet is always a bit out of sorts in the winter," Pansy suddenly said, in a lighthearted tone that made everyone turn their attention to her. "It's because she's so devoted to Mother's gardens, you know. Anytime she can't be out digging in the dirt she becomes restless." Then she blushed. "Not that she likes being dirty, or rooting around in the mud," she clarified.

"Really, Petunia? I knew that you were fond of gardens, but I didn't know that you liked gardening itself!" Prince Grigori smiled at her, and Petunia gritted her teeth over the indulgent look on his face. He probably thought she liked picking flowers for table arrangements or some other ladylike pursuit.

"Yes," she said, slicing a sprout in half with unnecessary vigor. "I have been working with my father and our head gardener for several years in the hot houses, perfecting my father's hybrid roses. We're trying to create a yellow rose that blushes pink in the center."

To her satisfaction, this did appear to impress the prince.

"You are creating new roses?"

She liked that he did not seem surprised that she was the one creating the roses, but more that such a thing was possible. She nodded her head graciously at him.

"Yes, we are. It's quite exciting, really."

Orchid made a face. "It's really not, unless you're also obsessed with roses," she said.

Petunia glared at her.

"It's quite complicated," Rose put in. "And I do think my father is a little disappointed that the only one of us with a gift for gardening is Petunia. I think he hoped for three or four who would enjoy talking about grafting and cross-pollination."

"I have never heard either of those terms," Prince Grigori admitted.

"Then you should certainly have Petunia take you to the hot houses tomorrow afternoon and explain them," Pansy said with an excessive amount of enthusiasm. "And Galen and Heinrich should go with you; they've both worked in the gardens as well."

Petunia finally saw what Pansy was doing and tried to kick her under the table but it was too wide. Pansy's voice was so bright it sounded strained. Petunia dropped her knife with a clatter.

"Clumsy!" she exclaimed, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up again. "I would be delighted to have a tour of the hot houses tomorrow, Grigori. But don't worry, I shan't think less of you if you aren't interested." She gave a tinkling laugh that was just as false as Pansy's bright tones, then quickly changed the topic. "Violet, would you like to play for us after dinner? The grand d.u.c.h.ess's pianoforte is very fine."

"It is of Romansch make," the grand d.u.c.h.ess said, as Violet and her husband, Frederick, exchanged eager looks. "My granddaughter Nastasya plays, but since she went back to Russaka, there has been no one to play for me."

"I would be thrilled to play," Violet said, and squeezed her husband's hand.

"I would love to play a duet with you," Frederick said, giving Violet a smoldering look.

"Oo-ooh," said Poppy, and winked at them.

"Poppy!" Daisy poked her twin in the side.

"And perhaps you could play for us while we have a little dancing?" the grand d.u.c.h.ess asked. "There are not enough gentlemen to go around, but then, dear Petunia does not dance."

Petunia looked down at her plate and sighed.

"Petunia loves to dance," Lilac told the grand d.u.c.h.ess. "For quite some time, she was the only one of us who did."

"But did your father not send a letter, Petunia, when you were at court stating that you were not to dance?" The grand d.u.c.h.ess's green eyes studied Petunia's still-red face.

"Petunia had been ill, we all had, but the effects hadn't lingered," Hyacinth said quickly. "Our father was rather overprotective of us, the way that fathers can be."

"I certainly know how overprotective fathers can be," the grand d.u.c.h.ess said, her voice dry. "So if that is all it is, I would love to see Petunia dance with my Grigori later."

Just when she thought her blush couldn't get any hotter, Petunia felt her face absolutely burning. And it didn't help that she could not stop thinking of Oliver lying underneath her bed upstairs. Suddenly her made-over gown felt awkward, and the lace at the decolletage was scratching her.

"Are you all right?" Heinrich murmured.

"I'll be fine," Petunia said under her breath. She smiled brightly down the table at the grand d.u.c.h.ess, who was also watching her. "Shall we have the dancing now, Your Grace?"

"Of course, dear Petunia," the grand d.u.c.h.ess said with a chuckle. She rose and led the way into the drawing room.

Dancing with Prince Grigori was somewhat difficult. He was so tall that she had to either crane her neck to see his face or converse with his coat b.u.t.tons. It was easier to dance with Galen or Heinrich, who were tall but not freakishly so. Heinrich, despite the old injury to his leg, was a steady, reliable partner, and Galen was quite skilled. Violet's Frederick was the shortest gentleman present, but he liked to add little flourishes when he danced.

Daisy took a turn at the pianoforte twice, to let Violet dance with her husband, and Petunia even gave in to the grand d.u.c.h.ess's urging and played a valse, the only dance music she knew.

"Now look at my Petunia," the grand d.u.c.h.ess said. "She dances, plays music, gardens, and knits! Such an accomplished girl on top of all her beauty!"

Petunia didn't have to fake an embarra.s.sed smile, fanning herself to cover her warm cheeks-would the blushing never stop this eve ning? Looking at Iris's face, Petunia could see that she was preparing some biting comment and frowned at her sister.

The grand d.u.c.h.ess held out a slender hand, elegantly gloved in gray silk. "Dear Petunia, please help me to my room. I will retire for the night."

"Of course, Your Grace," Petunia said at once.

They all made their bows and curtsies, and then Petunia took the fine-boned hand and helped the grand dame to rise. They went out of the drawing room and past the stairs to the long hallway that led past the ballroom and the portrait gallery to the grand d.u.c.h.ess's apartments. As she rang for the grand d.u.c.h.ess's maid, Petunia tried to a.s.sume a casual air.

"Do you spend a great deal of time looking out at the gardens?" she asked as the grand d.u.c.h.ess sank down on a sofa near the windows.

Petunia couldn't help but notice that, while the curtains were open, the windows were not. She was sure that the windows of her own bedchamber were wide open, letting in the icy air. And Kestilan.

"Not during the winter," the grand d.u.c.h.ess said with a chuckle. "At least, not during the Westfalian winter. So bleak! Russakan winters, you remember, are a fantasia of snow and ice. But this?" She shrugged one silk-covered shoulder at the window. "I don't know why my maid hasn't drawn the curtains to night."