I THOUGHT HE LOOKED FAMILIAR. “You don’t look like a fool.”

“I should hope not. I’m a fool by occupation, not presentation. And only occasionally by reputation.” He grins.

“You’re too young to be a fool,” I persist, swaying a little.

“Not at all.” George takes me by the shoulders. “I’m eighteen, which is the most foolish age of all. All the troubles of a man, yet none of the excuses of a boy.” He leads me down the dirt path that winds around the edge of the garden. “We need to get you to your room before anyone sees what condition you’re in.” He looks around. “But I don’t know how—”

“Oh, I do.” I grab his sleeve. “Follow me.”

I drag him off the path and across the grass toward a vine-covered wall. I walk along it, trailing my hand through the leaves.

“Know what’s funny about this palace?” I say. “All the gargoyles. Lots of them are hidden, but when you find one, they’re always next to something interesting. See?”

I stop and point to the little snout that’s almost completely buried by the ivy. Stick my hand into the greenery and feel around for the door latch I know is there. Got it. I lift it and hear a tiny click, then pull apart the curtain of vines to reveal a small doorway.

He’s doing it again: staring at me with that funny expression, his dark eyebrows raised, the tiniest smirk on his face.

“What?” I say.

“Nothing. But—you’re a funny girl.”

“Not really.”

“Yes, really. I mean, what does a girl from the kitchen know about secret doors?”

I tut a little. “This is nothing.”

“You don’t say.” He shakes his head, then gestures to the door. “Ladies first.”

I squeeze through the tiny opening, and George climbs in after me. I lean out to rearrange the vines before closing the door behind me. Inside, it’s pitch black.

“There’s a staircase here,” I say. “If you go all the way to the top, you’ll come to a door. It opens up into the great hall, behind that huge tapestry, you know, the one with the owls and bats attacking the wizard on the table?” King Malcolm has a fondness for violent tapestries and paintings, and I hate them all.

“Aye, I know it. But what about you?”

“I’m going this way.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, though it’s so dark he probably can’t see. “Behind me. The hallway leads to the kitchen. The maids’ quarters are just past it.”

I stand there for a minute, waiting for him to leave. But he doesn’t. And even though I can’t see him, I can feel his eyes on me. I can’t figure out what he wants.

“I guess you can go now,” I say.

But he doesn’t move. “I would feel better if I saw you safely to your room.”

I fold my arms. “I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t say you did,” George says mildly. “I was just being friendly. Seems as if you could use a friend.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I dunno. Hanging out in a dodgy tavern alone, drinking absinthe alone, stumbling home with a pirate and a fool, alone—”

“What’s it to you, nosy parker?”

“Last name’s Cavendish, actually. But come on. Let’s be friends. I’m new around here. I could use someone to show me how things are done.”

“You are a fool if you want a kitchen maid to show you how things are done,” I mutter.

I wish he’d leave. I want nothing more than to go to my room and sleep. Forget this day ever happened. In the dark like this, the absinthe is starting to wear off and I’m beginning to remember everything. Accidentally killing that necromancer. Caleb’s kissing Katherine Willoughby. Going to the masque with her while I stay home alone.

Then I get an idea.

“If you’re King Malcolm’s fool, then I suppose you know about his Yuletide masque.”

“Aye. I’ve heard of it.”

“If you really want to know how things are done around here, that’s a good place to start. Since we’re friends now, why don’t you go with me?”

George clears his throat. “Go with you?”

“Yes.”

“To the masque?”

“Yes.”

Silence. For the third time today, I can feel my cheeks getting hot.

“What?” I say irritably. “I suppose a fool is too good to go to a dance with a maid?”

“No. It’s just… I didn’t know maids were allowed to go to masques.”

Damnation. He’s right, of course. Maids can’t go, but I wasn’t going as a maid; I was going as a witch hunter. Not that it matters, since I’ll be wearing a mask and no one will see my face anyway.

“We’re not,” I correct myself. “But you are. And as I say, I think you should take me.”

He clears his throat again. “You know, you’re very cute. And if I were at all inclined in that direction, you’d certainly be someone to consider.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s turning me down.

“A simple no would suffice,” I mutter.

“Suffice it to say, my no isn’t simple.”

“I’m not in the mood for riddles,” I snap. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t drunk that ale. Or that I’d drunk more so I’d be passed out somewhere instead of babbling like an idiot to a fool.

“I’m going to go now,” I say. “So, as I said, up those stairs, through that door, under the tapestry, and that’s that.” I turn around and walk down the hall. I’m almost to the end when I hear his voice.

“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”

I don’t reply. I just keep walking.

Soon the hall grows narrower and warmer, and I know I’m nearing the kitchen. Supper was over hours ago, but I can still smell the food through the wall, hear the commotion on the other side as they clean: pots banging, maids shouting, the footsteps of servants still carrying in trays from the dining hall.

My stomach starts growling, and I wonder if I can sneak inside and get something to eat without anyone seeing me. I drop to my knees and skim my hand along the wall until I feel a small notch, big enough to slip my finger through: the handle on the tiny door that opens into the kitchen between the wall and the bread oven.

I discovered this door my first week in the kitchen. I was only nine then and didn’t have the courage to open it. I didn’t know what was on the other side, but I imagined plenty: snakes, ghosts, vicious child-eating monsters. Time passed and I forgot about it, until one day Caleb came to keep me company while I did my chores.

I remember his sitting on the floor, playing against himself in a game of dice, left hand versus right. He wasn’t supposed to be in the kitchen with me; the other maids found him distracting. Caleb was only fourteen then, but he was almost six feet tall, with dark blond hair that fell over his eyes in waves. He was good-looking and he knew it. I was only twelve and I knew it, too.

I also knew he was stubborn. No amount of whining or pleading could make Caleb do something he didn’t want to—or turn him off course once he’d decided to do it. If he wanted to stay in the kitchen and distract me, he would. The door is what finally enticed him to leave that day. He swept his dice from the floor, crossed the room, and pushed it open. There was a hall on the other side, dark and dank, leading to the unknown.

He asked me to go with him, to find out where it went. I didn’t hate small, dark spaces then—not like I do now—but I still didn’t want to go. I had work to do and knew I’d get in trouble if I left. But I always followed Caleb everywhere. There wasn’t any place he could ask me to go that I wouldn’t say yes to. But I never considered the possibility that one day he would stop asking me. Never realized that without him, I had nowhere to go.

Suddenly, I don’t feel hungry anymore. I get to my feet and push through the next door, into the hall that leads to the maids’ quarters. Here, it is dim, lit only by a single torch set into a bracket in the wall. But it’s still bright enough to make my head start spinning again, just like it did inside the tavern. I lean against the wall and close my eyes to try to make it stop. I’m tired. So tired that when I hear his voice it takes me a second to respond.

“Elizabeth?”

I jerk my head up. There, at the end of the hall, is Caleb. He starts toward me, his hands clasped behind his back. My heart leaps at the sight of him.

“Where have you been?” He’s standing in front of me now, his face half hidden in the shadows. “And what happened to you? You look terrible.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I mutter.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“What are you doing here?” I say. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know”—I wave my hand around—“moving in circles and swaying oh-so-gently to the music?”

Caleb smiles. “It’s midnight. The ladies have been asleep for hours.”

Something about the way he says that grates on me. As if he’s insinuating I’m not a lady because I haven’t been asleep for hours. As if I didn’t already know I was no lady without that.

“Well, tra-la-la,” I say under my breath.

“I wanted to check on you before I went to bed, only you weren’t here.”

“I was busy,” I snap. “I don’t always sit around my room waiting for you to show up. If that were the case, who knows how long I’d be stuck inside?”

Caleb’s eyes go wide. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to him this way before. But I’m so angry I can’t help myself.

“Besides, I don’t need you to check on me. I’m perfectly fine.” I move toward my door but get hit with another wave of dizziness. I throw my arms against the wall to steady myself, but my feet get tangled up in my cloak and I tumble to the floor.

“Yes, you seem perfectly fine,” Caleb says. I can hear the amusement in his voice. I would be furious if I weren’t about to throw up. “Just how much of that ale did you drink, anyway?” He helps me to my feet.

“I dunno,” I mumble, leaning against him and closing my eyes again. Things don’t spin as much when my eyes are closed.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Caleb says. “First the necromancer, now this.”

I crack open an eye to look at him. “Just having a bad day.”

“But it isn’t just today,” he says. “Lately you’ve seemed a little…”

“A little what?”

“Unhappy.”

I blink in surprise. I didn’t know he paid enough attention to me to notice.

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. You just don’t seem yourself. You’re so quiet. Normally, I can’t get you to shut up.” He smiles. “And you say I never come to see you, but it’s been a long time since I’ve gotten an invitation.”

“You used to not need one.”

“Yes. Well. We were kids then. I can’t exactly show up at your room without an invitation now, can I? I shouldn’t even be here now. What would people think?”

I know exactly what they’d think. My hand goes to my pocket again.

“Anyway, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. You used to be able to tell me anything.”

I was able to tell him anything—once. But that was before he grew tall and I stayed short, he got handsome while I stayed cute, and he opened all the doors I wanted to keep shut.

“I’m fine, Caleb. I’m just tired. I’ll feel better in the morning.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“If you say so,” he finally says. “Can I at least help you to your room?”

I nod. He slips his arm around my shoulder and I lean into him, and for a second, it feels as if it’s just us. As if it’s always been. I think for a second that maybe I can tell him what’s happening with me, what’s happening to me. I’m trying out the words in my head, and I actually open my mouth to say them. But when I look up, I see he’s looking over my head and frowning.

I turn around just as he steps out of the shadows: one of King Malcolm’s guards, standing next to my door in his crisp black-and-red uniform, holding his pike.

Oh no, I think. Not now.

A flicker of surprise crosses Caleb’s face.

“Richard.” Caleb nods. “Are you looking for me?”

Richard clears his throat. “No. I’m here to, ah, you know.”

“No, I don’t.” Caleb’s surprise turns into a scowl. “Care to tell me?”

Richard glances at me but doesn’t reply.

“Elizabeth?” Caleb looks at me. “What is Richard doing here?”

I shake my head, too horrified to speak.

Caleb releases me and starts toward Richard. I slump against the wall, pressing my cheek against the cool stone. I hear his footsteps tap the floor as he moves down the hall.

“I’ll ask you again: What are you doing here?”

Again, Richard doesn’t reply. But I know Caleb won’t let it go until he does.

“Answer me!”

“Caleb, stop.” I peel myself off the wall. Start toward him. I don’t make it more than a few steps before everything starts spinning out of control again. I pitch forward wildly and tumble to the floor in a heap.

“Elizabeth!” Caleb rushes to my side.

“I’m fine,” I mutter. But I’m not. Every time I open my eyes, everything goes topsy-turvy. The air is dark and suffocating, and the walls feel as if they’re closing in on me.

“Let’s get you inside.” Caleb pulls me to my feet. We start toward my room again, but Richard steps forward to block us.

“She’s to come with me,” Richard says.

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Caleb snaps. “And if you don’t get out of my way, I swear to you, you’ll be sorry.”

I wince, waiting for Richard to yell, maybe throw a punch. Instead, they both go quiet. Caleb releases me. I open my eyes to find him crouched beside me, clutching a bundle of herbs. I recognize them immediately: purple spiky pennyroyal, yellow flowering silphium. My hand goes immediately to my pocket but I already know it’ll be empty.

He gets to his feet. “Elizabeth, where did these come from?”

“Her pocket. They fell out of her pocket.” Richard’s eyes are wide. “I saw them.”

Caleb turns them over in his hand. Examines them closely. Frowns.

“This is pennyroyal,” he says. “And silphium. Women use these if they’re, you know”—I can hear the discomfort in his voice—“trying to prevent a baby. They’re witches’ herbs.” He looks up at me. “Why would you have these?”

It’s a long, silent, dreadful moment before he speaks, as he works out what he knows against what he wishes he didn’t.

“Baby,” he repeats, his face going pale. “And you… you’re going with him.” He jerks his head at Richard. “At midnight. To see the king.”

I shake my head. Look for a denial. An excuse. Anything. Only there isn’t one.

Caleb spins on his heel to face Richard.

“You didn’t see anything,” he says. “She was never here. She never had these. I’ve got money. I’ll pay you to keep quiet.…”

Caleb starts pulling coins out of his pocket. But Richard is already backing away, his thumb placed between his first two fingers: the old sign against witchcraft.

“She’s a witch,” he says. “I can’t let her go.” He reaches for his belt, pulls out a pair of handcuffs.

“She’s not a witch,” Caleb says. “She just—”

He cuts himself off, but I know what he was going to say: She’s not a witch, she just has witches’ herbs. Caleb knows the laws, just as I do. What I have, what I was using them for, it’s enough to send me to the rack for torture, to prison for detainment, to the stake for burning.

I turn to run, but lose my balance again and slip to the floor. Caleb reaches for me, but Richard pushes him away and grabs the back of my cloak, hauling me to my feet. He yanks my arms roughly behind my back and slaps the bindings over my wrists.

“Elizabeth Grey, by the authority of King Malcolm of Anglia, I am commanded to arrest you for the crime of witchcraft. You are hereby ordered to return with us to Fleet prison for detention and to await your trial, presided over by the Inquisitor, Lord Blackwell, Duke of Norwich. If you are found guilty, you will be executed by burning, your land and goods forfeit to the crown.” A pause. “So help you God.”

“You can’t take her to prison!” Caleb shouts. “You don’t have the authority. Not without Blackwell’s consent.”

Richard considers this.

“Then I won’t take her to prison,” he says. I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief, but he adds, “I’ll take her to see Blackwell.”