But she was alive. She was alive, and so were the others who’d come to aid her. And so was Isobelle.

Hilde greeted them with a shout of pleasure, offering Isobelle the remains of the spiraled fried potato on a stick she was eating. “You must fill your stomach, ja? Jinna is reopening the tavern tonight, and it is important to eat before one drinks!”

The girls regaled them with the bits and pieces of news and gossip they’d gleaned from the market thus far, and Jane showed off a new tournament shirt she’d bought that featured stylized images of a knight and a dragon facing off with one another, and a line of text beneath it that read “Never Sende a Manne to Do a Woman’s Jobbe.”

Gwen’s eyes wandered, searching the crowds. Isobelle, sensing her distraction, gave her hand a squeeze, and Gwen glanced down and asked, “Where is Sylvie?”

Isobelle eyed her sideways, and then flashed a smile at Jane and Hilde. “I’m peckish for a cheesecake on a stick—we’ll catch up with you later!”

They hadn’t gone far when Isobelle pulled Gwen into a makeshift alley between two stalls. “I’d meant to tell you. I saw her the other day with Olivia, who was taking measurements and cutting some fabric to make her some new dresses. I think that’s probably where she is today—with Olivia.”

Gwen’s brow furrowed in confusion. “New dresses? But . . . why couldn’t you say that in front of Hilde and Jane?”

Isobelle raised one eyebrow, eyes grave but lips quirked with the faintest of knowing smiles. “They were black dresses, Gwen. Mourning dresses.”

Gwen bit her lip as the implications of that struck her. She’d just seen Sir Ralph the day before, alive and well. “Um . . .” she said slowly, feeling herself slip back into her old habit of stalling for time when trying to keep up with Isobelle’s mercurial conversational talents. “Olivia . . . she doesn’t really assassinate people, does she?”

Isobelle opened her eyes until they were very wide, and very innocent. “A lady would never ask such a direct, distasteful question, Gwen. I certainly never have.” The eyes began to sparkle, just a little. “But, I mean, you’re welcome to go ask her if you want.”

Gwen gave a theatrical shudder. “I’d rather fight another dragon, thanks.”

Isobelle laughed, but soon her amusement died away, and she gazed up at Gwen’s face, her own thoughtful as she raised a hand to trace the shape of Gwen’s cheek. The brush of her fingertips made Gwen shiver, and she could feel a flush rising to the spot where Isobelle’s skin had touched hers.

“Are you all right?” Isobelle asked softly. “You’ve been quiet. You’re not having nightmares still, are you?”