Part 21 (1/2)
Grigori started to scramble to his feet as Oliver brought the b.u.t.t of his pistol down on the back of the prince's head. Grigori went down like a felled tree, and the grand d.u.c.h.ess screamed like she had been wounded herself.
”My Grigori!” She clawed at the lacy bedclothes, trying to rise.
”Madame, please be still,” someone said, coming into the room behind Oliver.
”Galen!” Petunia recognized his voice at once and nearly dropped the pistol. She was almost shaking with relief.
”Steady on, Pet,” he said, looking around. ”Walter?”
A bubble of hysteria formed in Petunia's chest as their old gardener came hobbling into the room, peg leg and all. He raised one eyebrow at Petunia, who was standing over the ruffled bed with a large pistol aimed at the grand d.u.c.h.ess's chest.
”Well, Petunia,” Walter finally said. ”I see you've found us an excellent spot to finish our preparations in.”
”It was my pleasure,” Petunia said, and couldn't keep the hysterical laughter contained any longer.
Invisible.
Oliver followed Petunia silently and invisibly through the silver wood to the path, where four of the dark princes were waiting for her now. They were pacing along the path, occasionally taking a few steps between the trees, then they would leap back with expressions of great pain.
”What are you all doing here?” Petunia glared around at them, and Oliver had to admire her courage. ”I hardly need four of you to help me break off some twigs.”
Just moments before, she had helped to bind Prince Grigori. She had listened, face impa.s.sive, as Grigori admitted that he had written in wax on the floor of the hothouse to open a gate between the estate and the Kingdom Under Stone.
Then she had watched as Oliver and Galen had dragged Grigori down the pa.s.sageway to one of the other bedchambers. She had listened unflinching to the screaming and recriminations of the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Volenskaya while Heinrich had checked the old woman's room for any weapons. He had nailed the window shut before locking the grand d.u.c.h.ess into her ornate bedchamber.
Without the slightest sign of fear, Petunia had listened while Galen had told her their plan, nodded, and then swept out of the chalet without even bothering to look back. Not that it would have mattered if she had: both Oliver and Galen had donned their invisibility cloaks so that they could follow her.
When Oliver had led the charge through the silver wood to the source of the screaming and shooting, they had seen the two princes Under Stone who had been with Petunia crossing the lake in their little boat. That had chilled Oliver more than the screams or the gunshot. Were the princes running away and leaving Petunia? What had happened?
But he shouldn't have been surprised to find that Petunia had things well in hand when they arrived.
Oliver did like to think that when she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, her face had brightened. Not just to have help, but to see him specifically.
When they broke through the woods and found that four princes had returned, Oliver felt a flash of relief. The princes would have had to take more than one boat across the lake, which meant that he and Galen would have an easier time crossing as well.
That had been the one uncertainty in their plan, because the boats were crowded at three pa.s.sengers, and adding one invisible stowaway would have been dangerous enough, two impossible. Oliver had been prepared to wait on the sh.o.r.e until Galen could sneak back over later to fetch him, but now it seemed that they would both be able to cross the lake immediately.
”Well? Answer me!” Petunia shook a handful of silver twigs that she had hastily gathered at the princes, who recoiled.
”We thought you had been attacked,” Kestilan said. ”So we went for help.”
”It's really not all that helpful if you stand on the path sulking while some fool with a pistol tries to take me hostage in the wood,” Petunia retorted.
They had decided that she had best stick as close to the truth as possible without mentioning Oliver, Galen, and the others. The King Under Stone would know about his mother's chalet in the forest, and there was no sense pretending that Petunia had been lost for an hour.
”What?”
Now Kestilan came forward, concerned, though the twigs in her hands kept him from actually touching Petunia. Oliver was quite pleased by this, and by the way Petunia held them up to fend him off when it looked like he might put his arms around her.
”Did you know that Prince Grigori and the Grand d.u.c.h.ess Volenskaya are living in the middle of the silver wood?” Petunia's voice was sharp.
The princes stared at her.
”You didn't, did you?” Her tone changed and she sounded pitying. ”Rionin has brought his mother and his nephew Grigori here and built them a lovely house in the thick of the woods. I stumbled upon it, and Grigori tried to take me captive. I barely managed to fight my way free.”
Kestilan and one of the other princes looked impressed, and Oliver could hardly blame them. The third prince looked suspicious, though, and the last was angry.
”No wonder our palace is falling into ruin,” he raged. ”He's been using his power to build a pretty little cottage for his mother, has he? And where are our mothers?”
”Tirolian,” said the suspicious prince. ”Stop it. I, for one, had enough parent in our father. I have no wish to bring my mother here.”
”If Rionin were to die, Stavian would be king,” Tirolian said in a low voice to the suspicious prince. ”A not unwelcome change.”
”Do you dare to speak treason against our brother Rionin?” Kestilan looked aghast.
”Can we go back to the palace and speak treason in comfort?” Petunia brandished her twigs again. ”I would like to return to my sisters.”
”We will return, but there will be no talk of treason,” Kestilan said.
”What a shame,” Petunia said, and began to stroll down the path.
The princes fell into ranks behind her and Oliver came after them. He a.s.sumed that Galen was also with him, but the crown prince moved so silently that Oliver had no idea where he was. Oliver stayed as close behind the princes as he dared, straining to hear what Petunia and Kestilan were saying. But he needn't have worried, Petunia clearly wanted everyone to hear what she said next, and her voice carried down the path.
”You know why Rionin allowed me to come here and gather these twigs, don't you?” Petunia's voice was arch. ”He wanted me to find his mother's chalet. If I hadn't found it by accident, I'm sure that Grigori would have come to collect me. Rionin promised me to Grigori, you see. Rionin's mother likes me too much to let me marry the son of some feather-brained Belgique countess. At least, I believe those were her words. Grigori's reward for bringing his grandmother here, along with my sisters and me, is that he gets me.”
She said it so lightly, as though it were of no consequence, but Oliver's hands curled over his weapons. How could she say and do these things and act like she didn't care whether Rionin gave her-gave her like she was a piece of property-to Grigori or to his brother Kestilan?
Oliver couldn't stand it. He drew his pistol as quietly as he could.
A hand came down hard on his arm.
”She will be all right,” said the crown prince in Oliver's ear. ”Remember, she has known them all her life.” Galen let go of him, and Oliver slowly slipped the pistol back into the holster.
A moment later they were at the sh.o.r.e of the black lake. There were two small boats; it would be a tight fit, but better than they had planned for.
”You ride with Petunia,” Galen murmured in his ear.
Oliver relaxed just enough to realize that he had had his jaw clenched shut. He loosened it, trying to breathe normally as he watched Kestilan help Petunia into one of the boats. He would need to get in without making any noise, just before they pushed off.
Just as one of the princes-Blathen-was stepping into the stern, Oliver also got in. Then he discovered a little hitch: he couldn't sit in the middle because he would be cheek-to-cheek with Kestilan, but the bow was very narrow.
”These seats are so uncomfortable,” Petunia fussed.
She twisted about in the bow until her skirts were wrapped around her legs. She was leaning on her side, one elbow propped on the gunwale. If Oliver leaned on one hip, he could just fit next to her.
Oliver lowered himself gingerly into the little s.p.a.ce beside Petunia. He had to grab hold of the gunwale on his side to stop himself from falling on top of her. As it was, they were pressed very closely together. Her perfume smelled like roses and cinnamon, or perhaps, he thought, that was just Petunia herself.