Jane
The E∂ian encampment was quiet save for the crackle of campfires and the muted voices of soldiers, who were huddled in groups around the fires, discussing tactics or telling stories they’d never told anyone else, but needed to be told. In case they died in the morning.
The sunlight was fading from the sky. From the opening of her tent, Jane couldn’t see London—that was hidden by hundreds of other tents. But she knew it was there. Looming large on the landscape of her destiny.
A chestnut horse trotted toward her through the camp.
Gifford.
Jane breathed out a sigh. Many E∂ians had been sent to scout earlier, including Gifford, and she’d worried the whole time he was gone.
She pulled the tent flap wide to let him in and save him the indignity of transforming into a naked man outside. Gifford squeezed past her, carefully avoiding stomping on the lone sleeping pallet, and held still while Jane slung a cloak over his back.
It was the same evening ritual they’d performed since leaving Helmsley, an attempt to hold on to as much of their overlapping human time as possible. Sure, there was the usual scramble for clothes and the impending second change, but they’d made it work so far. Same for a similar morning routine, which was sometimes shortened when neither of them wanted to wake up. Ferrets and young men were both notoriously late sleepers.
But things had been awkward between them since the bear hunt. For obvious reasons.
“I hope your horse time was productive,” Jane said. The tent was dim, lit by a single lantern hanging from the topmost pole. “If we can’t pull this off, we’ll be right back in the Tower waiting for our executions.”
Light flared inside the tent. “Don’t talk like that.” Gifford quickly adjusted the cloak and found the clothes Jane had laid out for him. “We’re going to live tomorrow, and for long after. We’ll have years and years to fight about everything you want to fight about.”
He made it sound like it was a desirable thing.
“I hope so,” Jane said. “I’ve been making a list.”
“I don’t doubt it. What shall we fight about first?”
“I think you know.”
“Uh . . .” He was more or less dressed now, the cloak a crescent moon around his feet. She turned to him and crossed her arms.
“You locked me up. In a cage.” How could he not understand what a problem that was?
“I was trying to keep you safe!” he countered.
Jane threw up her hands. “I don’t want to be kept safe! And I definitely don’t want you to be the one to decide whether or not I need to be kept safe! That’s not your duty.”
For a few moments, they just stared at each other.
“I’m your husband,” he said at last. “If keeping you safe isn’t my duty, what is?”
For the first time, Jane realized that maybe he was just as uncertain in this relationship as she was. Maybe he wasn’t as sure of himself as she’d always assumed.
“As my husband,” she said softly, “your duty is to respect me. To trust me. If I say I want to do something, you can’t stop me just because I might get hurt. That’s not living. I need to make my own decisions.”
“When you came after me at the tavern, you nearly died.” He looked wrecked at the memory. “You nearly died, and then who would I have argued with?”
“You’d have found someone.”
“No.” He stepped toward her. “I only want to argue with you.”
She met his eyes and saw that he meant it. “And I only want to argue with you.”
“I do respect you,” he said earnestly. “And I trust you.” He spoke more hurriedly now; it was almost dark. “I’m sorry, Jane. I shouldn’t have locked you in a cage without your consent, and I shouldn’t have made you believe that what you want isn’t the most important thing to me. I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. But I am sorry. Deeply, madly, truly sorry.”
Jane spent a moment untangling that. “So you’re apologizing for locking me in a cage?”
He nodded. “And I’ll apologize every day for the rest of our potentially short lives, if that will help.”
“Quite unnecessary.” She closed the distance between them and looked up (and up and up) to meet his eyes. She shook her index finger at his nose. “But if you ever even think about locking me in a cage again, I will stab you with a knitting needle.”
“It’s as though you’ve reached right into my worst nightmares, my lady.” He grinned.
“And I suppose I’ll try to be less rash when it comes to putting myself in danger. After all, if I died, who would you argue with?”
“I’m glad you’re finally seeing reason.”
She laid her head against his chest. Gifford’s warm breath stirred against her hair, making sparks ignite in her stomach. “Now,” he said. “I want to hear about your day. Did you read any new books?”
“I’ve read all the books we have.” She wrinkled her nose. “Armies aren’t very good about carrying libraries with them. I can’t imagine why. We’d fight so much less if everyone would just sit down and read.”
Gifford’s laugh rumbled through him, loud against her ear. “A question I often ask myself. Imagine how much money the realm would save if the rulers focused their finances on libraries, rather than wars.”
“Not if I were allowed to shop for books.”
“England would go bankrupt,” he said gravely. “Thank God for wars.”
She pushed him away, playful. “You can’t switch sides like that.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “It’s too late. I’ve switched already, and since you’ve forbidden switching that quickly again, I’m stuck opposing you.”
“Congratulations,” she said. “You’ve just described our entire relationship.” She took his hand, her eyes going serious again. “I’m not sorry we got married. About the way it happened, maybe, and all the discomfort we’ve put each other through. But not that we got married.”
The way Gifford smiled was so full of hope and relief, it made Jane’s breath catch, and she had the strongest urge to stand on her toes and press her lips to his. But then he glanced toward the tent flap. “It’s almost ferret time.”
He tried to pull away, but Jane held tighter to his hands and shook her head.
“I don’t want to change tonight.” She hugged him, burying her face against his shoulder. “I want more than these few minutes, Gifford. G.”
“I know,” he whispered. He held her tight. “Me too.”
Jane clung to him like he was her anchor. Some nights she was resigned to the change, and others she fought and knew she would not win. But right now she resisted the flickers of light with all her will.
She felt the magic fill her. Then it drained away, and Jane opened her eyes, expecting to be small and furry and cupped against Gifford’s chest.
Only the last part was true.
Gifford held her against him, but it was her human hair that he stroked, and her human legs that she stood upon, and her human eyes that met his.
Awe filled his face. “You . . . broke your curse.”
She was still trembling with the anticipation of the change. Maybe they’d been wrong about the time. After weeks of living half lives with short times at sunrise and sunset, they’d both learned how long they typically had together, but maybe they’d been wrong.
“You didn’t want to become a ferret,” Gifford continued, “so you stayed human.”
“It wasn’t that,” she breathed. “I wanted to stay with you. That was my heart’s desire.”
Wonder and disbelief warred on his face, but finally a wide smile won as he cupped her face in his hands.
Heart pounding, Jane leaned forward. They were close. So close.
Cloth rippled and torchlight shone in. “G—” Edward stopped halfway into the tent. “Oh. I’m sorry, Jane, I thought you were a ferret.”
For a moment, Jane wished she were a ferret. It’d be less embarrassing than her cousin walking in on . . . something. A kiss that didn’t happen.
She leaned back and caught her breath, resigned. The kingdom had to come first. “It’s all right. I learned how to control it at last. I think I’ll remain a girl tonight.”
“Good. That’s good.” Edward flashed a tense smile and turned to Gifford. “We’re having a strategical meeting in my tent.”
Gifford turned to look at Jane. “You should come with us.”
Jane froze. Go with them? To plan? To strategize?
Edward stared at Gifford. “We’ll be planning a battle, G. The men, I mean. Well, and Bess, of course.”
“Which is exactly why Jane should join us,” Gifford said. “She’s excellent at planning.”
Jane looked back and forth between them.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s go. I have lots of ideas.”
The three of them walked to the tent where the leaders of their assembled forces—Archer, Bess, the commanders of the French and Scottish armies—were standing around a table that bore a map of London. Gifford spent a few minutes pointing out different places of interest—what might be a useful hill and where they might focus their attempts to enter the city.
“That’s the plan?” Jane asked after a few minutes of listening to Edward and Archer bicker over the best place to attack the city wall. “To besiege London?”
Edward shrugged. “We have to take London somehow.”
“London has never crumbled under siege, not in all of recorded history,” Jane pointed out.
“But it’s not as though Mary will meet us on the battlefield.” Edward coughed lightly. “She won’t send out her army when she doesn’t think she needs to. The rules of engagement mean nothing to her.”
Jane had a sudden idea.
“Then the rules of engagement must mean nothing to us,” she announced. All the men in the room frowned. “London cannot be taken. And it doesn’t need to be taken.”
Mary hadn’t needed an army to take London. Yes, she’d had one, but they’d just sat around the wall being scary while Mary intimidated the Privy Council into submission and seized the throne.
“What do you propose, Jane?” Bess gave her an encouraging smile.
“We take Mary.”
“Take her where?” asked the French commander.
“Take her how is probably the better question,” G said.
“Take Mary. Yes, that’s clever,” Bess said, ignoring G’s concern. “All Edward needs to do is show up to confront Mary. When everyone sees that the rightful King of England is alive, they won’t be able to deny his claim to the throne. But it must be in the proper place, where there can be no question about his identity. And we must not give Mary any time to prepare.”
“Mary will be holed up in the Tower of London, won’t she?” G asked. “In the royal apartments at the top of the White Tower?”
Jane slammed her palm on the table. “Then we break into the Tower.”
“The Tower that . . . also hasn’t been breached, ever?” Edward eyed Jane.
“Right, but we have advantages others haven’t.” Jane counted on her fingers. “One: an intimate knowledge of the layout and inner workings of the Tower of London. Two: a kestrel.”
Everyone looked at Edward. (Even the French commander, though he wasn’t sure why everyone was looking at Edward. In spite of all the hints, he hadn’t figured it out yet.)
“I can’t go in there alone,” Edward protested.
“I’d volunteer,” boasted Archer. “But I can’t fly over the walls.”
(Here, the French commander’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. France was still a country run by Verities, after all.)
Edward glared at Archer. “The problem isn’t the walls. It’s that I’d be naked. And unarmed. I’d have to land and change on the Tower Green, conveniently in the very same place Mary executes people like me, and I’d rather not make it that easy for her.”
(Everyone definitely knew what they were talking about now.)
“It’s fine with me if you want to send the bird in.” Archer smirked at Edward. “But we have these armies, you see. Are they for nothing?”
The Scottish and French commanders looked at each other in a moment of mutual solidarity.
“The armies are useful.” Jane wished the others would all just hurry up and understand. “They will be a diversion. Imagine her panic when Mary looks out and sees several thousand soldiers assembled outside the city. Here.” She touched a spot on the map. “On the opposite side of London from the Tower.” She leaned forward over the table eagerly. “Mary doesn’t even know you’re alive, Edward. As far as she’s aware, I’m the one preparing to attack London. And we’ll let her continue thinking that.”
“Which doesn’t change the problem of a naked bird king standing on the Tower Green,” Archer said. “Do you have a plan to keep him from getting killed before he surprises Mary?”
“Yes.” Jane grinned. “I do.”
Edward had been planning to attack the city at dawn, but with Jane’s new and improved plan, they were going to hold off until night fell, so that it’d be easier to sneak into the Tower unseen. Which would give them the entire day to prepare.
“I’m going to practice,” Jane announced when she and Gifford returned to their tent together to get some much-needed sleep. She hung a cloak from one of the tent poles to act as a curtain, then took off her clothes. Light flared as she changed from girl to ferret to girl again. It was surprising how easy she found the change now that she knew she could do it. Now that she knew what she truly wanted.
“Show-off,” Gifford said from the other side of the cloak curtain. “You’re probably keeping our neighbors awake with that light.”
She just wished G would want it, too. He’d be much more useful in the morning in his human form. And there were so many other reasons that she wanted him to be with her tomorrow.
Jane turned into a ferret and ran up his leg and side until she perched on his shoulder.
Gifford stroked her fur. “Nicely done, my dear. Now can we go to sleep?”
She considered asking him to practice, too. But if he wanted to, he would suggest it. He would try. But since he didn’t offer to try, she became a girl again, dressed, and together they squeezed onto the narrow sleeping pallet.
“This is nice,” G said against her hair, pulling her back against his chest. “Thank you for not making me sleep on the floor.”
“You’re welcome,” she murmured. It was more than nice, she thought as she closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind. She’d go to bed like this every night, if she could. But this could be their last night together.
It was starting to feel terribly familiar, this feeling that tomorrow they could die.
The sounds of birds singing woke her a few hours later. She stretched her arms and wiggled her toes; she was still a girl.
“Did you sleep?” Gifford’s voice behind her was deep and groggy.
Jane nodded and pulled herself out of their makeshift bed. “Not well, but it was better than nothing.” In truth, she’d tossed and turned for hours. There was much riding on her today.
Gifford sat up and smoothed back his hair. “I didn’t sleep. I kept thinking about you breaking your curse.”
Jane looked over at him, hopeful.
“Your heart’s desire, you said.” He rose to his feet, his clothes all sleep-tousled and a pressure mark running the length of his face. He was beautiful, she thought, if one could call a man beautiful. There was a question in his eyes, and she knew the answer.
“Gifford, I—” The word balanced on her tongue. Was it so difficult to say? It couldn’t be wrong. The feeling had been gathering in her since those days in the country house, growing and deepening ever since. And now that she knew the secret to controlling her form, they could actually have a future together.
She desperately wanted a future together.
“Jane.” He glanced at the tent flap. “It’s almost time. The sun.”
“Don’t change,” she whispered. “Stay with me.”
“I want to, but—” He began tugging at his clothes, loosening his shirt collar and picking at the buttons.
“Don’t change!” Jane went to him and took his shoulder, like her touch could break his curse. “Want to stay with me more than you want to do anything else.”
“I’m sorry, Jane. I wish—”
She grabbed his face and kissed him, shoving her fingers through his hair to draw him closer. “Stay with me,” she pleaded against his lips. “Don’t change.”
Gifford pulled back for a heartbeat, his eyes wide with surprise. “Jane,” he breathed. “I—”
“Don’t change.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Please.”
“Oh, Jane.” He kissed her. Softly at first, but then she pulled him close and pressed her lips harder to his. And that was it. She could feel him giving in by the way his body pressed against hers, the way one of his hands cupped her cheek, and the way the other slid down her arm. She could feel his desire to stay human in the fevered, desperate way he kissed her. Like he wanted this to last, to make this moment stretch on.
But then he jerked back and threw his shirt free, bright white light enveloping him.
“No!” Jane’s eyes stung with tears.
The light faded, and Gifford stood there as a horse.
Jane pressed her hands to her mouth to hold in a faint sob.
His head dropped.
“It’s all right,” she said tremulously after a long moment. “It’s very difficult to master the change. Even Gran said she had a hard time with it, remember? You can try again. When you’re better rested.”
She went to lift the flap for him to step out of the tent.
“I’ll see you later,” she said. “Tonight.”
He didn’t look at her as he passed. He just went. Then she was alone in the dim space that still smelled faintly of horse.
She stared down at the tangled blankets they’d shared, trying not to cry. Perhaps she’d put too much hope in his feelings for her. What if he didn’t care about her as much as she cared about him? What if that was why he hadn’t stayed human? She’d tried. Oh, she’d tried, and they’d kissed. But it hadn’t been enough.
She hadn’t been enough.
Jane spent the day waiting for dusk.
She didn’t see Gifford, except the occasional glimpse of him running with other horses, or resting in the shade. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Not that she had time to dwell on him. There was so much to do to prepare for nightfall.
When the sun was almost down she made her way to Edward’s command tent. Gifford trotted toward her, chestnut coat shining in the honey light, and then he vanished into the tent without pausing to acknowledge her whatsoever.
Her heart sank.
She watched as the camp readied itself for battle. The men put on their armor and strapped on shields and swords. The archers tested their bows. The cavalry saddled their horses. And the noncombatants pinned open their tent flaps, preparing to receive the wounded.
There would be wounded. There would be dead.
“All they have to do is look scary.” Edward came outside his tent and saw Jane brooding over the infirmaries. “It’s like you said. They’ll distract Mary from us.”
“I know.” Jane hugged herself. “But some will inevitably be injured. They’re here to draw fire.” Archer was out there among the assembling troops, ready to lead the Pack into battle. Gracie, she knew, had insisted on joining him in the fight. What if Gracie was hurt? What would it mean to Edward if she were killed?
A chill ran through her. What if Edward himself was killed? Her plan wasn’t perfect. There were variables she couldn’t possibly account for. He could die.
She didn’t know if she could survive his death a second time. Or Gifford’s.
Gifford.
(At this point we as the narrators would just like to say something about the true danger of this entire situation. We should remind you now that we only promised to tell you an alternate story to what the history books record. You’ll be lucky if you can find a history book that mentions Jane at all—since she’s often skipped over in the line of English monarchs—but if you do, that book will say that Lady Jane Grey ruled England for nine days, was deposed by Mary, and then had her head chopped off. Well. We already know that didn’t happen in our tale. Our Jane still has her head.
But we can’t promise that Jane’s always going to be safe in the part that’s coming up, or Gifford, or Edward, or any of the other characters you’ve come to know and love. The truth is, any of them could die at any moment, and then, well, Queen Mary would undoubtedly spend the next five years living up to the nickname Bloody Mary by having hundreds of poor E∂ians burned at the stake. So keep that in mind as you read onward.
Anyway, back to Jane and her worrying.)
“We’re all doing this for the same reason,” Edward said gently. “The soldiers know it. They’re willing to sacrifice everything for that reason, if sacrifice is what they must do.”
“What reason is that?”
“To make England the kind of place that we would have it be: a land of peace and prosperity, a kingdom where we are permitted to be our true selves without fear.”
“That’s worth maybe dying for.” Gifford’s voice came from behind her.
She turned. At seeing him as a man again, a shiver ran through her, both delight and sorrow. She’d begged him not to change this morning, and he had anyway.
“See?” Edward nudged Gifford with his elbow. “Even the horse agrees.”
Gifford bowed.
“Screw your courage to the sticking-place, right, G?” Edward said. He clapped Gifford on the shoulder and leaned to kiss Jane’s cheek. “Now I’d better change. To make sure I have time to get hold of the bird joy.”
He’d better get hold of the bird joy, Jane thought. And truly, he’d improved, as far as she’d seen. But if he wasn’t there when she was ready . . .
Her cousin became a kestrel and flew into the starry sky. She watched him go.
“You don’t have to be the one to do this, Jane,” Gifford said, when they were alone. “There are others who could.”
She smiled at him sadly. “I must do this. I was queen for only nine days, and I don’t wish to be queen again, but I do love England. I want to fight for it. For E∂ians. For us.”
Gifford searched her eyes, stepping close, but he didn’t touch her. Didn’t kiss her. His change this morning was still too thick between them.
“Then let’s go, my lady.”
They returned to the tent and found Pet sitting with her chin on Edward’s chair.
“Come on, Pet.” Jane kept her voice soft. “I know you want to help Edward. We’ll do it just like I told you earlier. Come on.”
Pet whined like maybe she found this whole thing a very dumb idea, but she followed Jane and Gifford out of the camp.
“Don’t worry, Pet,” Gifford said as they walked. “I can defend us, should the need arise.”
Pet whined again, and Jane agreed. She wasn’t totally confident in her husband’s skills as a swordsman. Although she supposed he’d managed well enough with the giant bear.
Trumpets sounded in the distance—the attack on the city had begun. Jane, Gifford, and Pet moved swiftly in the opposite direction, moving parallel to the old Roman wall that protected the city.
“Here.” Jane guided the group to a wide ditch that ran alongside the wall. The high weeds would provide the perfect cover, as long as they stayed quiet. “Keep low.”
Gifford snorted. “That’s easy for you to say.”
She arched her neck to look up at him. “No one asked you to be so tall.” But she was pleased her demure stature was finally good for something. It was an advantage at last. A boon. An asset. A virtue— She stopped herself from continuing her synonym spiral. There was work to do. “We’ll head for Saint Katherine’s.”
The three of them sneaked as quickly as they dared. Every shout from beyond the wall made the two (at the moment) humans duck. Pet always turned her ear toward the sound, growing statue still, and then wagged her tail when she was sure that all was clear.
It had been a last-minute idea to send Pet with Jane and Gifford, and Jane was glad for the companionship, even if Pet was sometimes a naked girl and that made everyone uncomfortable. Pet was always good to have in a scrape.
She hoped tonight wouldn’t be too much of a scrape.
Ahead of them, a large priory stood against the darkening sky. Jane knew this land well—she and Edward had sometimes played near here as children. There were several abbeys in this part just outside of London, and a church, gardens, and a hospital. She could already see the Tower and its many structures before them, rising against the night. Torches shone along the walls. She wondered where Edward was—if he was circling overhead already, waiting for her. But she didn’t see him. It was too dark.
“Look here,” Gifford said, glancing around. “We’re on Tower Hill.”
Jane shuddered. They were standing on the ground where Gifford was to have been executed not so long ago. A huge, newly built pyre stood nearby, stacked with brush just waiting to be lit. Awaiting the E∂ians Mary had been rounding up over the last few weeks. Jane had never seen a burning, but one of her books—The Persecution of E∂ians Throughout the Ages: A Detailed Account of Animal Form Downfall—had indeed given detailed accounts of the way one died when burned at stake. A terrible, painful death.
That was meant to be Gifford. Her Gifford. Her stupid horse husband who didn’t even try to control his form. Who didn’t love her, not the way she loved him. But Jane would fight any war if it meant keeping him safe.
She reached for Gifford’s hand and found him already reaching for hers. If they failed tonight, this pyre would be waiting for both of them by dawn.
They hurried by the Aldgate and farther south down East Smithfield Road, until they reached Saint Katherine’s Abbey. The three of them aimed for the gardens, keeping to the heavy brush and weeds that grew on the river’s edge.
“This is as far as you go,” Jane said as they settled behind a low wall near the abbey. She pointed across a dark field, toward a small bridge that crossed the moat and led straight into the Tower of London. The Iron Gate—Jane’s destination—stood on the other side, a lowered portcullis blocking the way in. There were four guards on the bridge; it didn’t require much in the way of sentries, which was why she’d chosen it.
She took a moment to catch her breath. The Thames rushed by not twenty feet away, but Jane could hardly hear the noise over the pounding of her own heartbeat as she watched the guards, analyzing their movements, trying to find a pattern.
“I don’t like this.” Gifford glanced at her worriedly. “It’s not safe.”
“It’s not your choice,” she snapped, but softened when he winced. “I must. And you know I must. I’m the only one who can. A horse would get caught. Even a dog. But not me.”
“My darling, I don’t think ferrets are as stealthy as you imagine.”
Jane pinched his arm. “I’m as stealthy as I need to be. I rescued you from Beauchamp Tower, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but—”
“And I could hold perfectly still if I wanted.”
“Not even while you sleep, my sweet.”
“And I could vanish for hours and you’d never find me.”
“Only because you’d have fallen asleep in the fold of some forgotten blanket.” But he looked terrified. “Please reconsider.”
“It’s the only way,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. Waiting. Hoping. Wanting him to say something more. Hadn’t she proved her feelings last night when she didn’t change? If he’d just say something now, that might help ease the knot of emotions and anxiety.
Pet sighed and rolled onto the ground, bored.
Jane turned into a ferret.
The light from her change must have alerted the guards, because even as Gifford dumped Jane over the low wall they’d been hiding behind—and she crashed and rolled into the weeds on the other side—she heard a shout, and then Pet began barking and Gifford shuffled to another hiding place.
There was no time to worry about them now. Jane took off at a speedy walk—because running ferrets were very bouncy and not stealthy at all. Gifford did have a point about that.
As she sped through the high grass, what had been a short walk suddenly became much longer now that she was tiny. She missed her human sight, too, though as a ferret the darkness wasn’t quite so impenetrable. And also, she could hear the guards far better.
“Look for an E∂ian,” one guard called from the middle of the bridge.
“Kill any animal you see!”
Jane’s tail felt huge and prickly. Instinct urged her to run in the opposite direction. (She had read somewhere that ferrets were fearless creatures, but she didn’t believe that, even if she was a ferret with a human mind. Ferrets wanted to live as much as anyone else.)
“Look, a dog! Get it!”
Boots struck the ground. She couldn’t tell how many went away from the bridge. Surely not all of them—they wouldn’t leave this entrance to the Tower completely unguarded.
She lifted her head, and looked around. Sniffed around, we should say, now that she had such an excellent nose.
First, she smelled the foul odor of sewage from the moat, and she immediately regretted her excellent nose. Then she tried to block out the stink and search for different notes in the air. Plants. Mold. Sweat.
There were two humans still here, she surmised after a moment of smelling and listening, both with their weapons drawn, ready to kill any animal they saw.
Ready to kill her.
Jane pressed her furry belly to the ground and considered her journey across the bridge. It was a narrow bridge, at least for a human. As a ferret, she had much more room. She just had to get past the men, squeeze through the closed portcullis, and find the correct tower.
Piece of cake. Right.
Behind her, toward the church where she’d left Gifford and Pet, a dog howled—and suddenly went silent. “I got one!” called a guard.
A fresh wave of adrenaline rolled over Jane.
(Okay, so we told you that anybody could die at any time, and you seem like you’re getting worried, but Pet’s fine. Jane had foreseen that the guards would spot the flash of her E∂ian change, so she’d recruited Pet to draw away the guards. Which would, in turn, give Gifford time to hide elsewhere while he waited for her to open the gate. Pet was meant to lead the guards into an ambush with some Pack members on the other side of the field, but whether she would accomplish that—or the guards would give up the chase—remains to be seen. But trust us: we’re not the type of narrators who would kill a dog.)
The dog howling was Jane’s signal to go.
Jane scampered onto the wooden bridge and darted down it as fast as her tiny legs could carry her.
“Watch out!” Boots came thumping toward her. “A rat!”
I am not a rat, Jane thought, and dashed straight for the nearest guard. She jumped onto his leg, climbed up to the top of his high boots, and bit hard into the soft flesh behind his knee. Her claws dug into the leather of his boot. Can a rat do this? she thought smugly.
The guard howled and swatted her off, knocking Jane’s tiny body toward the edge of the bridge.
“Get that rat!”
Her anger fueled her. Jane jumped to all four feet, ignoring the shocks of pain from her tumble, and kept running, darting to and fro. The guards were after her, but she was quick enough that they could never quite catch her. Finally she swerved so that when they bent to scoop her up, they crashed into each other—and Jane was across the bridge, through a hole in the portcullis, and running into the Tower of London at full tilt.
The stone walls rose above her, huge and imposing. Even more so as a ferret.
But, of course, Jane had spent the day memorizing maps of the Tower of London and figuring out how long it would take her to get from place to place in her E∂ian form. So it was with reasonable certainty that she hastened across the green, squeezed beneath a door, scurried through a few halls, and finally faced an endless set of stairs that would take her to the top of the Constable Tower—the building in the Tower of London that they’d decided would make the best place for their little invasion.
The steps were each as tall as she was.
Speed was important.
But so was stealth.
But so was speed.
Edward was waiting.
She listened hard for anyone moving nearby, but there were no sounds here. Not yet. But the guards she’d evaded on the bridge would soon be after her.
Which meant she needed speed more than stealth right now.
Jane turned into a girl.
She was a naked girl, but there weren’t any options for clothing. As quickly as she could, she hurried up the stone stairs, her bare feet growing more and more chilled with every turn around the narrow stairwell. It was the right decision, because she reached the top more quickly as a human than she would have as a ferret.
The room with the biggest windows was at the top. Hurriedly, Jane grabbed a fire poker from next to the hearth and crossed to the south-facing window. The windows of the Tower were made of cloudy, ancient glass, and they didn’t open. She felt guilty, but she had no choice. She hit the glass with the poker using all her strength, over and over until it cracked and then shattered, leaving a large gaping hole that opened into the night sky.
That should do it.
Jane dropped the poker and scanned for anything useful. The room was crammed with wardrobes and cabinets and crates, which was part of the reason they’d chosen this particular part of the Tower of London.
First, they needed clothes. Most of the clothes in the wardrobes were military uniforms, which were all too big for Jane. (Not to mention the indignity of pants.) But since nudity was out of the question, she pulled on the smallest set she could find and laid out another uniform next to the broken window.
“Come on, birdbrain.” She glanced out, but all she saw was dark. From this angle, she couldn’t see much of anything—not the battle where Bess and Archer led their attack on the city wall, not even the place nearby where Gifford was hopefully unharmed and waiting for her. But she could hear the guards calling to each other in the courtyard below. They probably hadn’t seen where she’d gone (although surely they’d heard the window bashing, so they might have a general idea), but they knew someone had infiltrated the tower. At some point they’d get organized and search it structure by structure. If she stayed here much longer, she’d be caught.
But Edward wasn’t here yet.
What would she do if he didn’t come?
Jane tried to ignore the wild thudding of her heart and moved on to search the cabinets, looking for weapons, but they were all filled with stockings, boots, and hats. Further inspection only turned up a few vaguely weapon-like items. A frying pan. A rolling pin. Oh, and the fire poker.
Jane snatched it up from where she’d dropped it on the floor and smiled at the pointed tip. That could work.
But where was Edward?
As if on cue (or maybe a bit late on his cue), a kestrel flew through the window.
“Edward!” At least, she hoped the bird was Edward. It’d be embarrassing to just start talking with a strange bird.
At the flash of light, Jane turned away and covered her eyes.
“Jane!” the king greeted her happily. “Sorry, but it was harder to tell which window I should come to. I know you said the south-facing window, but I don’t have the best sense of direction as a bird.”
“No time for conversation, cousin,” Jane said. “Gifford’s waiting.”
“Right.” He sounded uncharacteristically nervous. “Let’s go.”
“But I did set out some clothes for you.”
“Oh, right. How thoughtful.” He shuffled around and hurried into his clothes. From the courtyard below Jane suddenly heard a shout: a soldier had come upon the broken glass from the window. They only had a few moments before they’d be discovered.
Edward looked at her grimly. “So what do we have in the way of weapons?”
Jane tossed him the fire poker.
He held it like a sword, so maybe it would be useful after all. “Good enough. And for you?”
Jane picked up the frying pan.