“What makes you think he’ll even look at me?”

Olga sounded so vulnerable that Petunia pitied the girl, despite her duplicity.

“I did everything asked of me,” Olga said. “I kept open your window so the princes had a better chance of reaching you. I spent all night in the cold of the forest, helping Prince Grigori with the spell to create a rosebush in winter. And still I am but a servant!”

“Don’t worry,” Petunia assured her, “I rejected him in such a way that he’ll never look at me again.”

“Poor Grigori,” said Olga with a sigh.

“Yes,” Petunia said, her voice flat. “Poor Grigori.”

Once she had her hair put up, Petunia sent Olga to see if her sisters needed assistance and made her own way to the dining room. She couldn’t have said anything to Oliver without Olga overhearing, but she supposed she would see him soon enough. He and Galen would stay hidden until it was time for the ball, and then they would begin their plan.

Just thinking of it made Petunia’s hands sweat, and she didn’t want Rionin to see her nervousness. But Rionin was not at dinner, and the princes were too moody to pay attention to anyone. When Blathen threw down his napkin, they all sighed in relief.

He held out an arm to Poppy, who put her hand on it as if nothing pleased her more than to accompany him to the ballroom. Stavian snarled at his brother, snatching up Hyacinth and moving to the head of the line. Then Kadros and Violet took their place behind Stavian and Hya, which made Blathen’s expression sour further. Daisy went quickly to Tirolian, looking frightened as they joined the line, and Iris shuddered as Derivos clasped her arm. Lilac and Talivor, Pansy and Telinros went to their places, and at last Kestilan reached Petunia. She joined him as Rose, Lily, Jonquil, and Orchid formed ranks behind. The sisters looked odd in riding gowns, standing beside the princes in their faded silk, and the mood was chill as they entered the ballroom.

The same music. The same dances. Petunia could not count the number of Midnight Balls she’d seen. Most of them she’d been too young to remember. She tried to feign boredom, but the knowledge that Oliver might be there somewhere, along with Galen, kept her on edge.

Added to that, Kestilan was paying her special attention. She gritted her teeth. There could not have been a worse time for Kestilan to decide that he truly loved her.

“Petunia,” he said, looking down at her with what she assumed was his version of cow’s eyes. “We’ve known each other so long,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied crisply. “Since I was two years old.”

“And you were such a small girl then,” he went on.

“Yes, I was two years old,” she repeated.

She remembered him having to essentially carry her through the steps of the dance, or bend almost double to reach her waist, while on the black throne the King Under Stone watched and wallowed in the power that he gained from the dancing.

“So it has been inspiring to see what a beautiful woman you have become,” Kestilan soldiered on.

“That’s repulsive,” Petunia replied. “First, that you’ve been dancing with me since I was a small child, planning to marry me all that time. And now you’ve only decided that you really want to marry me because someone else wants me. Petty and disgusting, Kestilan. Petty and disgusting.” She shook her head.

“What would you have me say?” He glared down at her.

“I would ask for the truth from anyone else,” she said. “But I think I just heard it, and I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Petunia, are you all right?” Pansy asked as she and Telinros danced near them.

“I’m fine,” Petunia said. “But I’m going to sit out the next dance.”

“You are?” Kestilan looked surprised.

“Yes,” Petunia told him. “We are still allowed to sit out at least one dance, I believe.”

When the music ended, she pulled free of Kestilan and hurried to one of the chairs lining the wall before they were caught up in the next dance. He started to follow, but she gave him a look that sent him to the refreshment table instead.

Pansy sat down beside her. “I cannot bear another minute!” She looked as if she were going to burst into tears.

“Paaansy,” came a hollow voice from Pansy’s other side. “I am a gooood spirit!”

“Galen,” whispered Pansy in delight.

Petunia almost laughed out loud in relief. It was just like ten years ago, when Galen had pretended to be a ghost so that Pansy would help him set up the escape. Petunia felt someone take her hand. The hand was warm and calloused and already so familiar. Oliver.

“Oliver’s going to take you across the lake,” Galen said. “Remember: leave youngest to oldest.”

“I still think Lily should go first,” Petunia argued. “It would be just our luck to have Rionin decide to marry her tonight.”

“Getting Lily out is going to be quite a trick,” Galen said. “I may have to create a diversion, which would scotch everyone else’s chances.”

“Fine,” Petunia agreed. “But we’re taking Jonquil now.”

“Definitely,” Oliver whispered. “Poor girl.”

At the beginning of the ball, Rionin had given Jonquil to the fox-faced man. Now he was dragging her through the steps of the dances despite her weeping. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the weeping, which made Petunia wish she still had her pistol.

“Follow me,” Petunia said, rising to her feet.

Kestilan appeared before she had taken two steps.

“No, I’m still not ready to dance,” Petunia told him, watching the dancers for a break in the pattern so that she could walk through without getting trampled.

“You’ve sat out an entire dance almost,” Kestilan said.

“And I’ll sit out another if I have to,” Petunia said without looking at him. “Jonquil needs us. Just look at the state of her! Pan and I are going to help her get herself together.”

With that she began weaving her way between the figures of a particularly wild gigue. She hoped that Pansy and Oliver were able to stay with her. The sooner they got Jonquil out, the sooner Galen could send Orchid and Lilac, and then the others.

When she reached Jonquil and the fox-faced man, Petunia stopped them with a firm hand on Jonquil’s arm. “Come, darling,” Petunia said, “let’s get you freshened up.”

“She must dance,” said Jonquil’s partner, leering down at her.

“She needs to retire for a moment,” Petunia said, trying to pry the courtier’s fingers from Jonquil’s thin arm.

“No,” the foxy man snarled.

“Say no to me one more time,” Petunia snarled back, “and I will have you killed. And if you think I won’t, and if you think Rionin won’t, then you don’t know either of us very well.”

Petunia caught Jonquil around the waist as the fox-faced man pushed her away. At the archway that led to the hall, Tirolian had his hands locked around Daisy’s waist as though preventing her from fleeing.

“Daisy doesn’t need freshening up,” he said. “She’s just come back from the retiring room, haven’t you, my pet?”

“Pet is my nickname, if you must know,” Petunia told him. “Now make way; Jonquil is faint.”

As they walked around Daisy and Tirolian, Petunia had to fight the urge to give Daisy some sign that all would be well. But she could feel Oliver’s hand on her back, urging her on, and knew that the least hint of something amiss would ruin their chances. Tirolian was watching, so they went quickly into the retiring room.

“I can’t take it,” Jonquil said, bursting into fresh tears. She sank down on stool covered in threadbare velvet.

“Shhh,” Pansy said, wiping at their older sister’s face with her handkerchief. “We’re going now, please don’t cry.”

“Now?” Jonquil gulped, looking around. “Are Galen and Oliver … ?” She stopped crying and got to her feet with visible effort. “I’m ready.”

Petunia had stayed near the door while Oliver kept watch just outside. The door opened a crack and his voice came in softly.