It lay directly across the path where Jane and Vincent must walk. She pulled to a halt and surveyed the farm. Unable to speak for fear of drawing attention, she could not explain the trouble. If they retraced their steps, there was a route that passed through only one shadow, but it was farther away, and she had her doubts about how much longer Vincent could remain standing. Another option would be to pass behind the wagon and try to hold the Sphère in the sun. The third choice was to walk toward the front gates, which she could reach without shadow, but which opened onto a tree-lined drive.

As the soldiers worked to unload the wagon, she realized that their activity would, of necessity, take them inside the farmhouse. There would be very few people in the courtyard, and perhaps the carter might pull the wagon out of the way.

Jane watched as the last trunk came off. Anne-Marie, rather than moving the wagon, stayed in the courtyard, hand pressed against her bruised cheek. She alone stood near their path, and Jane judged that they would not have a better opportunity.

Tightening her grip around Vincent’s waist, she started them forward again, conscious of how much weight he leaned upon her. They reached the wagon and moved as close to its bed as she could. Jane stretched her left hand out to keep the Sphère in the sun as they crossed the cool shadow.

On the far side of the shadow, Vincent stumbled.

Jane threw her hip under him trying to slow his fall, but he outmassed her by a considerable percent and dragged them both down. The glass Sphère tumbled from her grasp.

She and Vincent tangled together, trying to catch it, but it shattered against the ground. The crack of breaking glass bounced off the buildings around them. All other sound in the courtyard stopped.

Anne-Marie turned, spying them. Her eyes widened.

They were, for the moment, blocked from view by the bulk of the wagon to everyone save Anne-Marie, but other footsteps ran toward them. Vincent lay nearly insensible on the ground.

Jane could not let them take him again, and if discovered, they would take her as well, which would put their child in danger. Where before one life had been at risk, she had now imperilled all three of them.

Desperately, Jane reached into the ether and drew out a fold of glamour. She twisted it, and with a speed she had not known she possessed, blew a Sphère Obscurcie around them. Spots swam in front of her eyes and the courtyard pitched beneath her. Jane dragged air into her lungs.

Anne-Marie shrieked. Flinging her hands in the air she raced toward the house and away from Jane and Vincent. ‘If they have broken Mme Vincent’s looking glass, I shall have words with them. I had my heart set on it.’