I look up at giant iron gates, where six heads have been impaled on spikes. They are the Keepers of the Gates, ever staring. The heads have been preserved in oil so they will not rot, but the wind and rain have nevertheless turned them sour and hideous. It is a gruesome warning to all the land of what happens to those who cross the nobility.

This is the place I must get into.

A gold-wrought cage, the Palace of the Tuileries.

I feel a knot of fear in my chest.

Remember that everyone is afraid.

I close my eyes and think of Azelma’s words, the stories she wove around me.

Il était une fois … there were six mice that lived in a city of cats. They dwelt in a time of great suffering and terror. One day the mice started to speak and ask questions that no mice before them had ever dared whisper.

I open my eyes and count the heads on the spikes again, mouthing the names as I go.

And these were the names given to the mice: Robespierre the Incorruptible, Marat the Hideous, Danton of the Golden Tongue, Mirabeau the Wise, Desmoulins the Brave, and St. Juste the Beautiful, the Angel of Death.

Father has been taking me out on his burglaries for over a year, so I know well how to silently clamber and slip into small spaces. After all, I am a mere whisper of a girl, more shadow than flesh.

I am afraid to break into the palace. But I am more afraid of what will happen if I don’t. All I know is that I must get back to my sister, so the quicker I do what I’m told, the quicker I can return. Which is why I throw myself between the wheels of a moving carriage and grab the underside, letting it carry me into the grounds, past the guards. I hang there until feet in jeweled slippers step from the carriage onto bone-white gravel and the servants in leather slippers and hard boots close the doors with a resounding thud. The carriage starts to move toward the hulking building, and at last I release my grip.

I somehow manage to slip past blurs of noise—for even at this hour, there’s the clamoring of guards, carriages, and servants—and scale the wall that will lead me to the west wing.

My fingers are bleeding by the time I get to the right balcony and drag my body over the rail, collapsing in a heap.

It takes me a few minutes to look around. There’s a large shuttered door. But Father showed me how to pick a lock before I could even walk. I reach into my trouser pockets and find the pins that Azelma placed there for me. Thanking her silently, I pull them out and get to work. Father taught me well. The door opens in seconds, gliding outward, leaving me staring into a massive room cloaked in darkness. Roaring fear pulses at my throat, driving me ever forward. I take a step and let my eyes adjust.