They did not exactly sleep apart, however. When she dropped into one of the narrow beds in the servants room, Cade pushed the other beside hers, and in this way they were together, but with a comfortable space around them for sleeping. Before Cade even got into bed, she’d drifted off into a deep sleep.

At some point during the night she had one of those dreams where it was hard to tell if she was really awake or just dreaming. In it, she was sitting up against the headboard, soft moonlight working patterns across the floor. Cade was buried beneath his blanket beside her. Across her lap lay a piece of paper with a drawing on it. It was a well done rendering of the inside of a building, or at least a section of a building. She knew, without knowing how she knew, that this was the interior of the palace.

The drawing appeared to be of some great hall with a fountain in its center featuring a winged dragon rearing back, water flowing forth from its mouth. To either side of the fountain were colonnaded corridors.

Cade rustled beside her and sat up, but it was not Cade. Yates, his ghost, sat beside her. An otherworldly cold drafted off him and against her skin. It was as though he were an open door through the veil of death.

Yates. She mouthed his name, not sure if she mumbled it into her pillow, or if she was actually sitting up speaking it, or if she had uttered it at all.

His translucent hand hovered over the paper. He had finally revealed one of his drawings to her. He pointed at the corridor to the left of the fountain, and once again, with unfounded assurance, she knew it led to the prison of forgotten days.

• • •

In the morning, Karigan arose foggy and out of sorts, like she’d been at the Cock and Hen all night imbibing too much. Unfortunately, when she shook off the initial layer of fog, she remembered she hadn’t been anywhere, or anywhen, near the Cock and Hen. She dressed and found Cade and Luke already at breakfast.

“Started without me?”

Cade glanced over his shoulder at her. “We couldn’t let the flatcakes get cold. Besides, you were restless last night. I thought it better to let you sleep.”

She dropped into a chair beside him, and he passed her a cup of hot tea and a blueberry muffin. The muffin brightened her mood.

“I think I dreamed a lot,” she said. She grasped at fleeting images as she tried to remember the dreams. Had Yates been in one of them?

“I never remember mine,” Cade said.

“Well,” Luke told Karigan as he buttered a muffin, “while you were dreaming the morning away, Cade and I have been discussing possible strategies should we hear back from the palace.”

Karigan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” She wondered if Cade had told Luke what he had witnessed of her ability.

“Luke thinks you should remain behind,” Cade said, “so that if things go wrong, at least one of us can try to flee.”

“And what did you say to that?” she asked him.

Cade smiled. “I told him that he’d better give you a good dose of morphia if he expects you to stay put.”

Karigan conjured up the sweetest smile she could summon. “And the one who came anywhere near me with a dose of morphia would find himself—”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door. At first they just looked at one another, then she scrambled out of the sitting room and back to the bedroom to hide, half eaten muffin in hand. She left the door open just a crack so she could see and hear.

Luke opened the front door. The person on the other side did not step in, so she could not see him, but he said, “Mr. Mayforte? I am a courier from the palace. The Honorable Webster Silk extends his welcome to you on your visit to Gossham, and he has sent you this message.”

Luke received an envelope, and closed the door after the courier.

“Well?” Cade asked.

Karigan slipped out of the bedroom as Luke opened the letter and briefly read the contents. “We’ve been invited to the palace,” he said. “We are to arrive at four hour.”

GATES AND WALLS

It took a moment to sink in: they’d been invited to the palace.

“That was quick,” Cade said.

“Yes,” Luke replied, still staring at the paper in his hands. “I had heard Webster Silk wasn’t one to waste time, but I didn’t think . . . not so soon.” He handed the message to Cade, who in turn passed it to Karigan. It was brief: Mr. Mayforte, four hour. At the bottom was the official seal of Webster Silk, Adherent Minister of the Interior.

“Not one to waste words, either,” Karigan remarked.

They convened once more at the table to resume their conversation that had been interrupted by the courier.

“I am going with you,” Karigan said before either of the men could speak.

“I think she should,” Cade said over Luke’s protest. “She has as much at stake here as we do, and is a fierce opponent in a fight. I should know.” Then he gazed at Karigan. “And she won the esteem of her king for unimaginable deeds. If any of us is more suited to go, I can’t think of a better person than Karigan.”

Karigan smiled at him and affectionately nudged his leg under the table. He did not mention her special ability, so perhaps he’d said nothing of it to Luke earlier. She was just as glad. She was too accustomed to keeping quiet on the subject.

Luke, clearly outnumbered, nodded. “All right, but I suggest she stay with the wagon when it’s time to enter the palace. Now don’t you glare at me, young lady. We’ve gone to great lengths to shield your identity, including putting forth the story of your illness. Webster Silk will have heard of it I’ve no doubt, and it is best not to tip him off that it was all a fabrication.”