Oliver stared at him, aghast. "Do you mean," and his voice was barely a whisper, "that the King Under Stone was responsible for my father's death?"

"And my father's," Galen said. "And my mother's, and my little sister's." He looked down at the tiles. "I think that's enough to prevent this gateway from working. Whoever did it will have to sc.r.a.pe all the tiles clean and start over."

Heinrich blew out his candle. After a moment Oliver blew out the ones in his hands as well. In the dark he felt something soft shoved into his arms.

"Take the cloak, lad," Galen said. "I hope you've got more sandwiches in your pockets. I'm sending you to Bruch."

"You are?" Oliver felt numb. They were sending him away from Petunia, away from the heart of the crisis? And what was he supposed to do, try to plead his case to King Gregor again?

"I need you to find Bishop Schelker," Galen said, to Oliver's surprise. "Tell him we need him. It's time."

"You have the spell ready?" Heinrich's brow creased. "I thought you and the others were still working on it."

Galen sighed. "We have something," he said. "There's no way to test it, of course. I can find a thousand excuses to read more books, spend another de cade exploring more complex magic. But this," he gestured at the markings on the floor, "tells me that we've run out of time."

"And Schelker will know to bring the others?" Heinrich asked.

"Of course," his cousin replied. To answer Oliver's questioning look, he added, "The good bishop is a dab hand at magic, but we're going to need all the help we can get. There are others with a stake in this who will be coming.

"And make sure the bishop arms you as well," Galen continued. "Bishop Schelker is also a dab hand at blessing silver daggers and bullets. Lily and Poppy are good with guns-all the girls are-but we can always use one more."

Gardener.

Petunia dreamed of Oliver that night, a refreshing change from her usual nightmares.

They were walking in the forest, and everywhere they looked there were roses blooming. Blackened winter leaves were cold beneath their feet, but perfect yellow roses glowed from every bare bush. Petunia, laughing with glee, ran from one to the other, taking cuttings that Oliver gathered up in a flat basket. When she had taken a cutting from every bush that she saw, she stopped by one heavy-laden bush to catch her breath. Oliver picked several of the enormous flowers and tucked them into Petunia's hair.

"I wish that they were scarlet, to match your cloak," he said.

"But I like yellow roses best," she told him.

"Then I will fill your room with yellow roses," Oliver said, and leaned close as though to kiss her.

"Stop giggling," Pansy said, standing there in her nightgown with her hands on her hips.

Petunia turned in embarra.s.sment to apologize to Oliver for her sister intruding on them, but Oliver was gone. The forest was gone. Petunia was suddenly awake, lying in her bed in the grand d.u.c.h.ess's manor, and Pansy was standing over her, glaring.

"It's bad enough that we have the nightmares most nights," Pansy said crossly. "But now you've woken me from the best sleep I've had in weeks with your giggling!" She made a disgusted noise and stomped into their dressing room to use the water closet.

Petunia looked around groggily. Judging from the light coming in through a crack in the curtains, it was just after dawn. Then she had to gape: the curtains were not only closed, but the warmth of the room told her that the windows were still closed as well. What had come over Olga?

As though the thought had summoned her, Olga burst into the room and marched over to the window, yanking aside the curtains. Petunia covered her face with a small moan as the winter sun stabbed into her eyes. The maid ignored her and tied back the curtains, humming as she tidied the room.

"Isn't it rather early?" Pansy had come back from the dressing room and didn't seem all that thrilled with the open curtains either.

"But you're to have a very big day today, Your Highnesses," the maid said.

"We are?"

Petunia blinked at the maid. So far as she knew, they were going to get a more thorough tour of the gardens ... and that was more or less the extent of their plans.

A stab of anxiety went through her as Olga began to fiddle with the coverlet. Was Oliver underneath her bed? She hadn't heard him come back, but then, this was the best night's sleep she'd gotten in weeks as well-she prayed silently that Oliver hadn't heard her giggling in her sleep. And that she hadn't said his name aloud.

"What precisely is happening today?" Pansy asked.

Petunia got up and started sorting her knitting basket. It was on a chair across from the bed, and she contrived to drop a ball of yarn so that it rolled underneath.

"Clumsy!" She started patting around under the bed before Olga could offer to help.

"Prince Grigori has arranged quite the outing for you all," the maid said. "First you are to go riding in the forest with him, and then have lunch at his hunting lodge."

Petunia had writhed her way across the underside of the bed, but hadn't found any sign of Oliver. She crawled out from under the bed on the other side, making Pansy jump as she appeared, holding a ball of yellow yarn.

"Oh! What were you doing?"

"Getting my yarn," Petunia said meaningfully, tilting her head slightly at the bed.

"Oh. Oh!" Pansy appeared to catch her hint at last. "And did you find it?"

"Here." She held up the ball. "And the bed is very clean underneath," she said.

"I shall tell the chambermaid that you approve," Olga said, her voice flat. "Are you not excited to spend the day with Prince Grigori?"

"Of course we are," said Petunia brightly. She tossed the yarn into the basket. "Aren't we, Pansy?"

But Pansy's face was creased. "Is it safe? Aren't there bandits? And wild animals?"

"Prince Grigori is the greatest hunter in Ionia," the maid snapped. "If he says that you will be safe with him, then you will be safe with him!" And she swept out of the room.

"Well," Pansy said, her eyes wide. "I guess we'll be dressing ourselves, then."

"She's in love with Grigori," Petunia said slowly.

"I think she made that very plain," Pansy said, going to the wardrobe. "Are you sure Oliver isn't in here?"

"He's not under the bed," Petunia said. She went to the wardrobe and rustled the gowns about. "Oliver?" When no answer came, she pulled out her riding dress and threw it on the bed. "I don't know where he is," she said. "Or if he's coming back."

"I'm sorry," Pansy said, putting a hand on Petunia's arm. "But with things as they are, he's probably better off. I mean, we're dealing with the King Under Stone and his brothers, and the grand d.u.c.h.ess might be-" Pansy stopped with a gasp, her eyes wide. "What if she's Rionin's mother?" Pansy's eyes got even wider, if that were possible. "Or worse-the mother of one of the princes we killed? She must loathe us!"

"The grand d.u.c.h.ess is a rather strange old lady," Petunia admitted, remembering their conversation from the night before. "But I can't imagine she would have anything to do with this. She doesn't have any contact with her ... firstborn ... I'm sure. How could she?"

This gave Pansy pause. "Well," she said at last. "I still think we need to be wary."

Petunia busied herself getting dressed, not wanting to start an argument. Olga soon returned and helped them finish dressing, doing their hair in simple styles that wouldn't interfere with their riding hats. Not that Petunia planned to wear hers. It was very stiff and the veil itched, and she never wore it unless one of her sisters fussed.

As soon as breakfast was over, they a.s.sembled in front of the manor. The presence of Prince Grigori and the grand d.u.c.h.ess at breakfast had meant that Petunia had not been able to ask if anyone knew what had become of Oliver. She hoped that he had been able to speak with Galen, but Galen gave no sign at all.

All thoughts of Oliver were chased from her head when she saw the horse that Grigori wanted her to ride. Nearly the twin of his own enormous mount, it was a coal-black beast that towered above Petunia.

"Er," she said when the groom led it over to her. She looked at the other horses being brought forward for her sisters. They all seemed much gentler, and she watched with envy as Lilac reached for the reins of the smallest, oldest-looking horse.

"Oh, but you must try her," Prince Grigori enthused about the black mare. "She is one of the finest in my stables. The full sister of my own favorite." He patted the nose of his horse, which looked like it was going to bite him.

"Er," Petunia said again.

"I would love to ride her," Poppy said with genuine admiration. "I'm afraid that I'm the horse woman in the family."

"I can a.s.sure you, Petunia, she is as gentle as a lamb," Grigori said. The mare stamped her foot, and the groom took a step back. "And for you, dear Princess Poppy, I have an equally worthy mount." He gestured to a fiery-eyed bay.

"Ooh, lovely," Poppy said. She snugged on her leather riding gloves, an eager expression on her face.

"Poppy," Petunia whimpered.

Poppy looked from the bay to the black mare, then shrugged. "You'll be fine, Pet, just keep a firm grip on the reins." And she happily followed the groom to the mounting block.

Prince Grigori cupped his hands to help Petunia mount. She felt like she was preparing to be tossed over the moon as she put her knee into his hands. He lifted her into the saddle with a smile, and she scrabbled to adjust her cloak and get the reins in the right position. The horse shifted beneath her, and she broke out in a cold sweat. Her leather riding gloves felt thick and awkward, and she couldn't remember how to hold her hands, suddenly. Olga was probably watching her through a window, sick with jealousy, and at that moment Petunia wished she could trade places with the maid.

"Isn't she magnificent?"

Prince Grigori's face was alight with plea sure. Petunia wondered if he wanted her to fall to her death. Before she could say anything, however, Violet's husband, Frederick, started asking the prince questions about his horses' bloodlines. Petunia just sat there like a lump with the reins wrapped around her hands, worrying about whether she would even make it through the front gates without falling.

"Here, you," Poppy said, drawing up alongside her. Her horse was smaller, but that just meant that Poppy and Petunia were now the same height. She took the reins from Petunia, untangled them, and showed her how to hold them correctly. Fortunately, Prince Grigori was busy a.s.signing horses to the others. Petunia refused to let him see how frightened she was. And not just of the horse.

"This seems like a terrible idea," Petunia said to Poppy in an undertone.

"Yes," Poppy said cheerfully. "That's why we're going to do it. He's clearly up to something, and the only way to find out what is to go along."

"And what if he ... attacks ... us?"

"Have you got your pistol?" Poppy looked scandalized at the very idea that Petunia might have left her bedroom unarmed.

"Of course I do," Petunia said, off ended.

"Well then!" Poppy grinned. "We outnumber him and his little band of hunters, who can't be very impressive since Oliver and his men have kept right on thieving under their very noses."

Petunia looked around and realized that Poppy was right. Prince Grigori's hunters were a sullen-looking group of no more than six men. They were on very large horses, and armed, but as Poppy said, they had tried and failed for months to bring in a single one of Oliver's men.

And what were they going to do? Try to abduct the sisters on behalf of the King Under Stone? Did they even have a gate to the Kingdom Under Stone?

Petunia shook her head at her own fears and tried to concentrate on not falling off her horse instead. They left the estate and went into the forest, and Petunia discovered that if her horse kept moving it wasn't half so alarming. It helped that it was a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly through the bare tree branches, and those birds that had not fled for warmer climes calling out to each other.

They ambled down a trail that led east, away from the a.n.a.lousian border and deeper into the Westfalian Woods, which Petunia found rea.s.suring. But as they rode, Petunia's relief at staying on Westfalian soil began to be replaced by a growing uneasiness. She knew that she had never been in this part of the forest before, yet it began to look increasingly familiar. She knew that there would be a small stream just ahead, and an elm that had been split apart by lightning, both halves of its divided trunk still reaching toward the sun.

Inside her gloves, Petunia's hands grew slick with sweat. The pins that held her hat in place stabbed into her head, and she reached up with one hand and pulled them out, jabbing them inelegantly into the crown before removing it entirely. Violet was looking at her with concern, so Petunia didn't discard the hat but set it in her lap, taking up the reins with both hands again. The horse's ears flickered, as though sensing her uneasiness, and she prayed that it wouldn't take the opportunity to throw her off.

When they pa.s.sed a rock fringed with moss in a way that made it look a balding man, Petunia knew how she knew this part of the forest. It was the forest she had seen in her dream the night before. There were no roses, of course, and she was with Prince Grigori and not Oliver, but this was without a doubt the place she had seen.

Violet drew her horse alongside Petunia's.

"Are you all right, Pet? You're very pale."

"I will be fine," Petunia said, taking pains to keep her voice even. "I am just worried that this horse is very tall and I ... there are yellow roses! There really are!"

Her horse jogged sideways as she shouted this, and Petunia sawed at the reins to make it stop. It b.u.mped into Violet's horse, which threw up its head in protest. Everyone halted as Petunia leaped from her own mount, even though it was still dancing around ner vous ly. She narrowly avoided being stepped on, first by her horse and then by Rose's, as she bounded across the trail and off into the forest.

"Petunia! Where are you going?" Rose called after her. Petunia could hear their horses crunching through the dead leaves after her, but she didn't look back.

Just there, just ahead, where she had dreamed that Oliver put roses in her hair, was an enormous rosebush. Despite the season, its leaves were a healthy dark green tinged with red, and it was covered with fat yellow blooms. They were precisely the glowing primrose yellow that Petunia and her father had been looking for.

"Petunia!" Galen's voice was sharp. "Don't touch those roses!"

But Prince Grigori just laughed. His enormous horse was between her and her sisters, and he leaned down and offered her a small dagger. "Take all you like, princess. It seems that they were meant for you."

"Thank you," Petunia said, taking the dagger without even looking at him.

She was studying the bush to find the best place to make a cutting. It was a pity that the bush was too big to transport whole. She wondered if they could come back later with better tools, to prune and uproot it. For now, though, a few slips would be sufficient.

She heard Galen's voice again as she separated out a thick stem crowned with blooms and began to slice through it.

"Petunia, stop," Galen said. "Roses don't bloom in winter; they can't be natural."

Petunia heard harnesses jingling as several of the others dismounted to come after her.

"Who cares?" she called out. "Father will be ecstat-"

Just as she heard Lily and Heinrich shouting almost in unison for her to wait, the ground opened up beneath her feet. The thorns of the stem she was holding went right through her leather glove and into the palm of her hand, but she just gripped it tighter.

A heartbeat later, she landed with a thump on all fours on black soil that glittered faintly. She looked up through the silver branches that swayed over her head, but all was darkness above them, with no sign of the hole she had fallen through. She stood and shook the glittering dirt from her cloak and gown, leaning against one of the silver trees for a moment to get her bearings.

After a time, when no one else arrived, she made her way to the sh.o.r.e of the black lake. Across the lake, the jagged black spires of the Palace Under Stone cut the murky air, as familiar as her own home.

Kestilan was waiting on the sh.o.r.e with a single silver boat.

"h.e.l.lo, beloved," he purred. "Welcome home."

Petunia didn't reply. What was there for her to say? Still holding the yellow roses in one hand and Grigori's dagger in the other, she stepped into the boat.

Tested.