THE MICE WERE GATHERING.

Stefan’s heart had sunk lower than he thought possible. “He won’t get back in time.” His breath steamed the glass, momentarily obscuring his view.

The ten clockwork soldiers stood at attention, bayonets raised in challenge. Pointing to this very window, thought Stefan. To me.

Marie made a small cry.

“What is it?” he asked. She had handled everything so matter-of-factly to this point, he was afraid to see what could have startled her.

She stamped her foot angrily and pointed across the room where, a moment before, the draped cage had held the piebald mouse spy. “He’s gone.”

The towel was awry, the lock tossed easily open.

“We’ve underestimated them,” Stefan said softly. He stumped to the empty cage and uselessly closed the door again. “Marie.”

She stood before him in her dressing gown, her cheeks flaming with anger.

He took her hand. “I wish we’d met a year ago.”

“What difference would that—” she began.

“I need to go. Stay here. You’ll be safer.”

“Go? Out to them? You can’t!”

“I have to,” he said. “I killed their Queen. Christian made a mistake once that led to this. What will my mistake lead to?”

“It was an accident.” She squeezed his wooden hand between her own soft palms. “Please, Stefan. I won’t let you go alone.”

He bent low and kissed her hand, wishing his lips were not made of wood.

She quickly planted a kiss on his cheek. “All right,” she said. “I’ll stay here, but I’ll be watching you.”

An odd sense of peace filled him and he let go of her hand. “Thank you.”

He slid the wooden sword into his belt and straightened his coattails.

It was time to go.