She’d explained to Petunia about her parents discovering her absence, that they knew all about the Dreamland plans—and didn’t appear to care—and that they intended to remove the contract mark tomorrow. She’d been carefulto omit certain details—like her father’s hand striking her face, or his fingers crushing her wrist with enough force to leave a ring of mottled purple beneath her skin.
“I’ll send word to Evryn,” Petunia had promised after Mariselle requested she dispatch a note with the earliest available messenger pixie. “Though I shan’t be able to assist you at the cottage this evening. Mother has invited Lord What’s-His-Name with the one yellow eye to dinner. The gentleman who’s been hinting about seeking a ‘youthful companion’ since his last wife expired. Mother is convinced he intends to offer for me this very evening, despite my assuring her that I would sooner court a toad.”
Now, as dusk deepened outside her window, Mariselle paused to examine her appearance in the mirror above her vanity. The bruise on her cheek had darkened overnight to a dark blueish purple, stark against her pale skin. She’d spent a considerable amount of time that morning carefully applying layers of powder and cream to conceal it. With similar care, she’d wrapped a delicate silk ribbon around her wrist, securing it with a bow that appeared decorative but served to hide the worst of the bruising there.
She would have preferred a simple healing charm, but she’d realized with dismay that morning that her reticule—with its magically expanded interior containing a variety of useful potions and charms—had been left behind at Windsong Cottage in her haste to flee Evryn’s seduction attempt.
At the thought of Evryn, her mind immediately conjured the almost-kiss from her dream. The way his hands had cradled her face, how he’d leaned in, his lips just a breath away from hers before she’d awakened with a start. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, then immediately dropped her hand, frustrated with herself.
“Focus,” she whispered. She couldn’t afford to be distracted now.
Somewhere in between staring at her canopy and reaching for her mirror to speak to Petunia, Mariselle had felt her determination solidify, her resolve crystallizing into an unshakable plan. The contract between the Brightcrests and Rowanwoods had been clear: restore Dreamland to functional capacity. They were so close now. So tantalizingly close. But what would happen if her parents succeeded in removing the contract mark tomorrow? Would it somehow undo all their work? Unravel the delicate magic she’d already woven into the dream core? She couldn’t risk it. She had to finish tonight.
A soft knock at her door broke through her thoughts. She stilled. Dinner. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.
“Enter,” she called, smoothing her skirts and positioning herself beside her bed, the perfect picture of resigned captivity.
The door opened to reveal not Tilly, as she’d hoped, but one of the younger kitchen maids she wasn’t well acquainted with, carrying a tray. Behind her stood Hadley, one of her father’s most trusted footmen, his expression impassive as he supervised the delivery of her meal.
Mariselle’s heart sank. She’d feared her parents might have dismissed Tilly upon discovering the ruse with the pillows, suspecting her lady’s maid of aiding in her nightly escapes. The absence of her most loyal ally within the household confirmed those suspicions.
“Your dinner, Lady Mariselle,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy as she entered.
Mariselle smiled, a practiced curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you.”
The young woman approached, balancing the tray carefully. Hadley remained in the doorway, ever vigilant. He’d been guarding her room since her parents left for dinner at the Silverthorns earlier.
Now. It had to be now.
As the maid drew near, Mariselle stepped forward as if to take the tray, deliberately moving too quickly and causing the maid to startle. The tray tilted, a glass tumbler wobbling precariously.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, my lady?—”
“No, no, it was my fault entirely,” Mariselle said, reaching out to steady the tray with one hand while her other hand brushed against the young woman’s bare wrist.
The effect was immediate. The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, then glazed over, her muscles going slack as sleep overcame her. The tray began to tip, and Mariselle caught it swiftly as the young woman slumped forward against the edge of the bed and then slid to the floor.
“So sorry,” she whispered, directing an apologetic look at the woman’s sleeping form as she hastened to set the tray down on the bed.
“What’s going on?” Hadley called, alarm sharpening his voice as he stepped into the room. “Lady Mariselle, what’s?—”
“Oh!” Mariselle gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in convincing distress. “Hadley, please! I don’t know what happened—she just collapsed!”
The footman rushed forward, concern etched across his features. He knelt beside the unconscious maid, checking her pulse, entirely focused on the young woman’s still form as Mariselle made a show of leaning over him while pressing her palm to the exposed skin at his neck. For several moments, nothing happened, but then Hadley’s movements became sluggish, his head beginning to droop as his expression shifted from concern to vague confusion.
He swayed on his feet, and Mariselle caught him awkwardly as he fell, bracing herself against the edge of the bed and groaning with the effort of lowering his considerable weight to the floor.
She straightened, breathing hard, looking between the two of them with a twinge of guilt. They would sleep deeply for several hours and wake with nothing more than mild confusion about how they’d come to doze off at their posts.
Moving quickly now, Mariselle slid her enchanted mirror out from beneath her pillows—she planned to speak to Petunia later—hurried past the two sleeping forms, and paused in her doorway. After glancing both ways down the hall, she closed her bedroom door behind her and set off.
Mariselle’s parents had taken an enchanted carriage out to dinner, but fortunately the Brightcrests owned more than one. It was a simple matter, as it had been numerous times before, to slip past the main stables where the horses and pegasi were kept alongside the conventional carriages. The grooms were invariably occupied with the evening feed at this hour, and the night watchman had the regrettable habit of dozing in the small anteroom by the tack room.
The adjoining carriage house, with its blessedly whisper-quiet hinges, housed the family’s collection of enchanted conveyances. Mariselle had perfected the cloaking spell for the carriage over the past weeks, and within minutes, she was seated comfortably within the now-invisible vehicle as it glided silently away from Brightcrest Manor, responding to her whispered destination without hesitation.
When at last it arrived at the furthest accessible point near Dreamland, Mariselle flung open the door without waiting for the carriage to come to a complete stop, her mirror still clutched in one hand. Her slippered feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and she gathered her skirts, uncaring of the brambles that caught at the delicate fabric as she hurried along the winding path toward Windsong Cottage.
“Please let me have enough time,” she whispered, the words a desperate prayer carried away by the evening breeze. She quickened her already hurried pace, pulse thrumming with urgency as she reached the door and pushed it open.
