“Then pack me some riding clothes,” Raisa said. “Clan style, in saddle bags, for several days. Nothing dressy. Hurry!” As she spoke, she shed the creamy silk that was to have been her wedding dress—and wouldn’t be, if she could help it. Wadding it up, she tossed it into the corner, then stripped off her slippers and stockings and yanked on a pair of trousers laid out on a side chair.

“What is going on?” Magret asked, now wide awake, throwing open drawers and thrusting clothing into two saddlebags. She paused and straightened, midthrust. “You’re not eloping, are you?”

“The opposite. The Bayars mean to force me into a marriage with Micah Bayar,” she said, omitting the fact that the queen was in on the scheme.

“That’s crazy talk,” Magret said, continuing her frenetic preparations. “You can’t marry a wizard. They know that.”

“They may know that, but they’re doing it anyway. They’ve got a speaker and everything, and afterward they mean to carry me off to Aerie House.”

“What?” Magret’s voice rose, and Raisa shushed her frantically.

“Micah’s just outside the door. He’s waiting for me.”

Magret glared at the door. The argument was still going on in the corridor. “I don’t like wizards, I never have.” Magret carried clan blood and, with it, an inborn suspicion of wizards. “You don’t mean to go with him, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I’m leaving. I need you to keep him out as long as possible so I have a head start.”

“Your Highness, I don’t like the notion of you climbing down off the balcony, I really don’t. You’ll break your neck.”

“There’s another way. Through the closet. You’ll see.” Raisa went into the closet, dug out her boots, sat on the floor, and yanked them on.

“Through here?” Magret peered into the closet. “A tunnel, then?” Raisa nodded, and Magret said, “I’d always heard there was one, somewhere in this part of the castle.”

“It lets out in the glass house,” Raisa said.

Magret’s eyes kindled with pride. “You’re just like she was,” she breathed.

“Like who was?”

“Like Queen Hanalea herself.” Shyly, Magret drew back her sleeve, exposing her inner arm. On it was a tattoo of a howling wolf against a rising moon.

“You’re a Maiden?” Raisa spoke louder than she intended, and now Magret was the one shushing her. The howling wolf was the emblem of Hanalea’s Maidens, a mysterious organization of women dedicated to the warrior queen’s memory.

“I am,” Magret said. “They meant to force her into marriage with a wizard, and she wouldn’t stand for it. Said ’twas better to be a maid than married to a demon.”

Well, Raisa thought. There’s more to Magret than meets the eye.

“Where will you go, Your Highness? The queen must be informed,” Magret said.