"Would you go with me?"

"It wouldn't be wise, not yet, at least. Tempers toward my family are still so raw. And now that the rebel is dead, things will be worse."

"All the more reason to show you have nothing to feel guilty about. We'll ride tomorrow at noontime. If anyone questions you, I'll tell them I ordered it."

He took her hand. She thought at first that he was going to kiss it, but he only sat holding it, looking at her face as if trying to discover some important fact about her. The attention made her feel flustered and terribly self-conscious. She tried to meet his gaze, and did not quite succeed.

He left soon after, and as she closed the door behind him, she thought she heard something moving in her room. She turned from the door and picked up a poker from the hearth, then stood very still, her eyes searching the dark corners under her bed and dressing table, hoping it wasn't a rat. Gradually she relaxed. The sound must have been caused by a draft from the open door rustling the skirts of the gowns hanging on the wall.

With tears in her eyes, Marishka sat at her dressing table. Mihael was clearly making plans for her, and she didn't have strength to resist. She wished for the first time that she weren't the beautiful one, the pliant one. She longed for her sister's stubbornness-and her spirit.

Imre lay in the corner of the dark cell, staying awake and on guard while his companions slept. The heavy length of board he held had already killed three river rats bold enough to invade the cell. He'd wedged their bodies into the crack in the stone wall where they served as both a meal for and a barrier to their aggressive comrades. He could hear the tiny jaws gnawing, and thought of the sharp teeth ripping shreds of flesh and fur from their own dead. Not a pleasant thought, but the noises-the only noises in the darkness-were hard to ignore.