the tangled covers. The mattress was lumpy, stuffed with a combination of wool and straw. In the palace, he’d slept on a feather bed with fine sheets and the softest of furs. He’d never had to clean his own shirt. Or see to his own chamber pot. Or subsist on rabbit stew for three nights in a row.
Bark, bark, bark, went the dog.
And let’s not forget the women. He found himself suddenly overtaken by women, and not the demure and silent young ladies that fawned over him at court. Oh, no. He had to be surrounded by opinionated women who delighted in bossing him around.
Aggravating, unkissable women.
And still the blasted dog would not stop barking!
Even the dogs here are ill-mannered, he thought as he crammed a pillow over his head and pressed it to his ear. In the palace, the dogs never barked all night. That was not allowed. Pet certainly never barked, unless there was something wrong. Something urgent. Pet never—
Edward sat up.
Of course at that exact moment the barking stopped. The night fell so silent that he was afraid that his eardrums would burst, he was straining so hard to listen. Then he heard a door bang somewhere in the keep, and muffled voices in the hallway. Alarmed voices.
Edward got out of bed and quickly put on his pants and boots. More doors were slamming downstairs, and there was the scrape of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor. The castle could be under attack—it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. If Mary caught on that he was alive, she’d send soldiers to dispatch him straight away.
Edward looked around for a sword, but all he could find was a butter knife and his half of the broken broomstick, which would have to do. He stuck the knife in his boot, tightened his grip on the broom, threw open his chamber door, and stepped out into the hall.
Immediately he was hit with an invisible wall of Gran’s skunk stench, so strong it could have knocked him over. Another ominous sign.
Edward crept down the stairs, his heart thundering, his hair practically standing on end. The entire population of the castle added up to seven people: Edward, Gracie, Bess, Gran, a cook, an old lady-in-waiting who served as a housekeeper, and an ancient man-at-arms who could hardly lift his sword. If they were set upon by soldiers, they were done for. His head would be delivered to Mary in a basket, come morning.
The main hall was deserted, not even the fireplace flickering, but Edward could hear voices. He followed the sound to the kitchens. Banging. Yelling. Carefully, he pushed open the door a crack.
What he saw through the crack was Gran. The old lady was moving with uncharacteristic swiftness around the kitchen, lighting candles, followed closely by a drawn and grim-faced Bess.
“Yarrow, that’s what I need,” Gran said to Bess. “It’s a purple star-shaped flower. It should be in my storeroom hanging from the rafters. And horsetail, if you can find it. Go!”
Bess darted out of the room through the back door, which led out into the ruined courtyard. Then Gran put her foot up on a chair and hiked up her gown, showing a purple-veined leg. She started to hack at her underskirt with a kitchen knife. Edward must have made a sound then, because Gran looked up.
“Get in here, boy,” she barked.
Edward obeyed. No one else was in the kitchen. The long table in the center had been cleared off, and in the middle there was a cloak, and something on it—something dark and furry. An animal of some kind.
“Are you cooking something?” Edward asked stupidly. “What’s happening?”
Gran tossed him what was left of her undergarments. “Here. Tear this into strips.”
Before he could form a coherent protest, the door to the courtyard burst open, and Gracie and a stranger came in, lugging a large bucket of water between them. They went straight to the fire and poured the water into the cauldron that hung over the flames.
“Good. Now go to Elizabeth in the storeroom and help her find what I need. You know something of plants, I think?” Gran said to Gracie, who nodded and slipped out again.
“You,” Gran said to the man who’d helped Gracie bring in the bucket. “Sit down before you fall down. I don’t want to be stitching up your head tonight, as well.”
The man swallowed like it would hurt him to attempt to speak. He was sweat-stained and unwashed, and he looked exhausted. He