He watched Petunia climb out of the boat without any assistance, his eyes searching her for any sign of pain or fear. She moved easily, but her hood hid her face. The swirls of silver embroidery around the edges of the hood matched the silver of the trees, and the scarlet velvet stood out against the black soil. When she started toward the trees with her escort, Oliver allowed himself to be drawn back into the thick of the woods.

They found a small clear space some ways away, and Walter Vogel set them each to a task. Oliver’s was to cut the silver twigs to a certain length, and then to notch them in a pattern that looked like a line of fence posts.

“Well! What did you think they were?” The crone whacked him over the head with one gnarled hand. “New fence posts to hold them all in, the awful old things.”

Oliver used great restraint to avoid sidling away from the crone. He didn’t care if she was a revered sorceress; his head smarted where she had hit him. But he supposed being several centuries old would make your moods unpredictable.

The two princes busied themselves with the small bags of soil and the leaves, and Bishop Schelker cut marks into the ends of the larger branches that Oliver had chopped. Their preparations weren’t taking very long, and Oliver was hopeful that they would be able to finish refreshing Under Stone’s prison before nightfall. Then he supposed they would just have to worry about actually fetching the princesses, and they could finally leave.

And it seemed that Walter and Galen had a plan to get the princesses out of the palace as well.

“We’ll need to sneak inside the palace, and there’s only one invisibility cloak,” Galen said when they had finished preparing the wood and soil. “Although I do have this.” He reached into the satchel that Bishop Schelker had brought and removed a lightweight shawl of gray wool. “Which should work just as well.”

“It’s not as stylish as my cloak,” sniffed the good frau.

“I wouldn’t think to upstage your fine cloak,” said Galen with a little bow.

“I stole that off a Romisch cavalry officer when I was a young lass,” she told Galen with a twinkle in her eye. “Of course, it had no magic then. I just liked the color.”

“It was always a very good color on you,” Walter Vogel said.

Oliver thought about asking them how long they had known each other, but decided he didn’t want any of the details that the good frau might actually offer about their relationship.

“Two of us will be invisible,” Galen continued. “But unfortunately only two of us. Another reason why I sent Frederick to the estate with Oliver’s men: he would have tried to come with us, and there isn’t a third cloak.

“We’ll try to get in at the end of the ball and bring the girls out when everyone is dispersing for the night,” Galen went on. “Someone will need to wait by the gate to make certain they all get through, and then we’ll close the prison.”

“I want to go into the palace,” Oliver said.

At the same time, Heinrich reached for the gray shawl.

But Galen was shaking his head. He pulled the gray shawl away from his cousin. “I’m sorry, Heinrich. I’m giving the cloak to Oliver, and taking this myself.”

“But Lily,” began Heinrich.

“Heinrich, how fast can you run?” Galen looked as if asking the question pained him, but his eyes never wavered from his cousin’s face.

“Damn Analousians,” Heinrich said, and let go of the shawl. He pounded the thigh of his bad leg with a fist and winced.

“Heinrich, after you help to place the new fence posts, you’ll wait at the gate,” Galen said. “And get all the girls out. And yourself.”

“I thought you needed my help with the spell,” Heinrich protested.

“We could use you,” Walter Vogel admitted. “But we can also do it without you.”

“And I would rather that you made sure that Rose didn’t try to come back,” Galen said. “It will be easier for me knowing that you and the girls are all safe. And alive.”

Oliver looked down at his hands. He knew there was a chance he wouldn’t survive this. Especially if he helped to seal the Kingdom Under Stone. That had been another reason why Prince Frederick had been sent away, for some of their husbands would need to survive this. But if Petunia and her sisters could be free, it would be worth it, Oliver decided.

To his surprise, the good frau put one hand over his in a comforting gesture. He looked at her, but just as she opened her nearly toothless mouth to speak, there was the sound of shouts and then the crack of a pistol firing.

“That wasn’t the palace,” Heinrich said, struggling to his feet.

“It came from over there,” Bishop Schelker said, pointing through the trees where they had last seen Petunia.

Out of habit, Oliver pulled his wolf mask over his face and fastened it. He grabbed his pistol, shifting it to his left hand. He hefted Karl’s ax with his right. “I hope this doesn’t ruin your plans too much,” he said to the crown prince, and then he raced off through the woods.

Prize

Petunia was having quite an enjoyable time pretending that Kestilan and Telinros didn’t exist. Telinros was returning the favor, but it frustrated Kestilan and he kept trying to make conversation, or at the very least make her look at him.

She went a little way along the path that wound from the black shore through the silver wood. It was the same path that she and her sisters had always used, a path she hadn’t walked in ten years.

“Petunia, come back here!” Kestilan called.

That decided her. She went along the path to its end, with the princes trailing behind. Kestilan continued to plead with her to turn back, but Telinros just looked angry when she peeked at him. She straightened her cloak and kept going.

At the end of the path she found the silver gate, set with pearls, that even after all these years was as familiar to her as her own bedposts. Wrapped around the gate was the chain of boiled wool links that Galen had used to seal it shut, the knot pinned by a silver knitting needle.

She reached out and fingered the scratchy, boiled wool of the chain. She remembered watching Galen knit it at dinner, the night before the old king had forced them to stay Under Stone. At the time she’d thought he was only amusing her and her sisters, the way he had earlier by giving Pansy a red yarn puffball when she was crying. It wasn’t until later that she understood what he was doing, his calloused fingers working away with the yarn that was so much more than just wool.

Petunia’s mouth went dry. She whirled, grateful that her sweeping cloak hid the chain from the two princes. Their faces were white and strained, as though it hurt them to be so close to the gate, and she felt a small surge of triumph even as she brushed past them, hurrying back along the path and hoping that they would follow. She snapped her fingers to speed them along.

The chain was knotted and pinned on the inside of the gate now.

Halfway down the path she noticed something else that she did not want the princes to see. Someone had chopped a branch off one of the trees. The scar on the trunk was plain to her eyes, glittering slightly. The shimmering black soil was swirled and scuffed as though several people had been there. She immediately went to the other side of the path and began testing the branches, moving with light steps.

“Don’t go into the trees,” Kestilan said.

“Stop her,” Telinros ordered his brother.

Petunia looked back and saw them both standing at the edge of the path, their faces twisted with pain. Kestilan took one step off the path, between two arching silver trees, and hissed. He glared at Petunia.