They had her. My heart hammered and I struggled to keep the dismay from my face. It’s too early for the spell, I reminded myself. But it was cold comfort, because our plans had been disrupted before we’d even begun. The witch had made her move.

And now it was time to make ours. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m washed,” I said. “If you could please heat me some water for a bath.”

Bathing didn’t seem a priority, but I had a part to play that did not include showing up sweaty and stinking of horse. Bolting up the stairs, I went to my room to retrieve the herbs I’d hidden in my desk in case I needed them.

My eyes went to the gown hanging freshly pressed from my dressing screen, clearly my mother’s selection. My stomach clenched, knowing that when she’d had it hung there, her only concern had been my appearance. How I would be received. She had no idea how much danger she was in, and I couldn’t even warn her. As disgusting as the idea was, she was our bait and I could do nothing to jeopardize that.

But I still needed to know where she was.

Hurrying down the hall to her room, I went to her vanity and snatched up a hairbrush. It was as devoid of hair as if it were new. Frowning, I riffled through the rest of her combs and cosmetics looking for strands of hair. Nothing. The maid must have been through, and she apparently did a better job cleaning my mother’s things than she did mine.

Turning up a lamp, I went to her closet and began going through her clothes, searching for the gleam of red-gold, but there was none. How was that even possible? The linens on her bed were freshly laundered, and my eyes roved around the room for something else I could use. An object would work, but it had to be something that mattered to her – not some little knickknack she’d bought and not thought about since.

Tristan’s plan had seemed so straightforward. I’d go to the castle with my mother, and then I’d track down Marie or something of hers, and steal a memory of Anushka’s identity. When I had it, I’d use his name to give him the information, and he’d hunt her down. That failing, I’d remain glued to my mother’s arm, and wait for Anushka’s approach. There was no place she could take me that I could not call him, no place where he could not find me. And we were banking on her not knowing that fact.

The door opened behind me, and I turned, thinking it was the maid with my bath water. But instead, I found myself facing two grim-faced soldiers dressed in formal uniforms, a sprig of dried crimson berries pinned at their lapel.

“Mademoiselle de Troyes,” one of them said. “The Lady du Chastelier requests your presence.”

“I’m not ready,” I protested, taking a step back. “I haven’t even bathed.”