“Have a good trip.”
“Not likely,” he mutters, and then he leaves the conservatory.
I sit on the edge of the fountain, thinking very hard about Lord Ambrose.
Deciding my head is playing foolish tricks on me, I brush aside my rogue thoughts. I then pick up my shears and return to my chores.
* * *
I lock allmy doors and windows, as Lord Ambrose commanded, but I wait for the bandit’s knock.
I fall asleep at the tea table, roused in the middle of the night by a wail that comes from somewhere on the grounds.
Unnerved but curious, I walk to the balcony door and peek out the window. Below, in the middle of the grass near the forest's edge, a large fire glows. I recognize several members of Lord Ambrose’s staff, along with many Faeries I’ve never seen before. There are at least twenty of them gathered. Many laugh loudly, and another shrieks, though it’s obvious no one is in peril. They’re most likely drunk on the Faerie wine they pass between them.
One couple is twined around each other, kissing like they fear the world is going to end. I frown at them, unsettled at the public display, never having seen something like it in my life.
One of the maids sees me at the window, and she grins and nudges her elbow into her friend’s side.
“Come down, human!” the second girl yells with a sharp giggle, holding up a bottle that glows green in the firelight. “Join us!”
Most laugh, but someone appears to shush her, and the two maids reluctantly turn from the window.
I let the curtain drop, wishing I hadn’t let curiosity get the best of me. What are they doing out there? The marquis said it’s a full moon. What does that symbolize in Faerie?
Disconcerted, I go to bed, hoping morning will come quickly.
It does not.
The night drags on until dawn finally chases Lord Ambrose’s staff to their beds.
Regina doesn’t wake me as she has the last two days, so I stay in my room, unsure if the marquis is back yet and not daring to venture into the halls alone after last night’s display.
The day passes. Dusk falls on the forest, and still, no one has come for me. No meal is delivered; no one tells me I must tend to the plants.
Soon, night blankets the sky. The moon is hidden behind clouds tonight, and the landscape is dark. There are no fires or gatherings.
All is eerily still.
I pace back and forth before I decide to do something that could be remarkably foolish. Before I can change my mind, I step outside and study the distance between Lord Ambrose’s balcony and mine. It’s not far, not really. If it can hold the bandit’s weight, surely it can hold mine.
Nodding to myself, determined, I pull up my skirts and loop them over my arm. I swing a leg over the side of the balcony, telling myself I will not look down.
I find a foothold, pressing down to test it before I reach for the lattice with my left hand. The rough wooden slats dig into my palm, making me worry about splinters. But I don’t have gloves to fetch, and I’ve already come too far to change my mind now.
Holding tight, I transfer my weight to the lattice, thankful the ivy that grows up the wall doesn’t have thorns. Slowly, moving like a crab on a net, I make my way across the short distance. It doesn’t take long, but it feels like I’ve been up here for ages.
Finally, I reach Lord Ambrose’s balcony. I grab hold of the stone railing, holding on for dear life as I attempt to swing my leg over. But I’m not quite high enough. Somehow, I went down a little on the way across.
My arms begin to tremble as I hang here. What was I thinking? I’m not an adventuress, brave and full of spirit.
I’m a painter accustomed to afternoon tea and leisurely walks through the park.
“Surely you didn’t come all this way to give up now?” a man asks from the balcony.
I yelp, nearly losing my grip on the lattice.
Before I fall, the bandit wraps his gloved hands around my waist. He then pulls me up and over the balcony rail as if I weigh no more than a ragdoll and sets me on my feet.