“We think,” said Madinia.
“You know, if you hadn’t been so excited—”
“If you hadn’t been as jumpy as a tail-stepped cat—”
“This room is my jail cell,” Petra interrupted. “Give me an answer or get out of it.”
Margaret took a deep breath. “Madinia’s magic can tear holes in space. Mine can close them.”
“Old news.”
Madinia was offended. “They are rare gifts.”
“And the odds are very, very small that a person who can create a Rift will know someone who can sew it back up,” Margaret added.
“A Rift?” Petra asked.
“Oh, that’s just one of the many words people use,” Madinia said. “They’re also called Gates—”
“Or Lacunae,” her sister supplied.
“—Loopholes—”
“—Portals—”
“—Alleys—”
“So?” said Petra.
“So,” Margaret replied, “over the centuries, people with Madinia’s magic have left Rifts all over the world. And they can be dangerous. Imagine what would happen if somebody was riding a horse across the French countryside and galloped right into the Indian Ocean. Or what if the Ottoman army was marching through the desert and then suddenly walked into London’s Smithfield?”
“They’d be crushed by our forces!” Madinia thumped her fist on the arm of the chair.
“If the Rifts are such a big problem,” Petra said, “why don’t you just travel the world and close all of them?”
“I’m not a maid,” said Margaret. “I’ve got enough work cleaning up after Madinia. Anyway, Rifts are very hard to find. It’d be like searching for one particular leaf in a forest. Even so, Dad says I must always close up a Rift Madinia makes, just in case. But . . . when we went to rescue you, Madinia and I screwed things up.”
For a moment, Madinia looked like she might protest her innocence, but then she said, “Dad pinpointed your location, Petra. I was supposed to tear a gateway to it. But I didn’t know that there was already a Rift, an ancient one, close by. Look at the weak cloth of your trousers. See that hole? Well, what would happen if you made a new hole right next to it? Rip. You’d end up with one roaringly big gap.”
“Once we stepped through”—Margaret twisted her fingers together—“and saw the Gray Men, all I could think of was getting out of Bohemia. I forgot to patch up the Rift. Or maybe I wouldn’t let myself remember because I was such a coward.”
“You were just rattled,” her sister consoled.
“Be glad you were unconscious,” Margaret whispered to Petra. “It was a terrible thing to see.”
“I saw enough,” said Petra.
“Anyway”—Madinia sat up straight—“maybe we slipped up, but we fixed the problem. We snuck out of the house a couple of days ago. We went back to the forest—your country’s shriekingly cold, Petra!—and Meg sewed up the Rift. The whole thing. Even the gap that was there before I magicked it. So, no problem.”
“Nothing you need to tell our father about, Petra,” Margaret said. “Please? Because Madinia and I came to see you for another reason.”
“Dad wants to chat with you in his library,” Madinia told Petra. “You’re so lucky! He never lets us in there.”
Petra looked at the sisters, considering. She said, “You wouldn’t have to worry about me keeping your secret if you sent me home.”
“We can’t do that,” said Margaret.
“Our dad would punish us!” Madinia protested. “We wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house for the rest of our lives, and the winter ball is just around the corner!” She frowned at Petra. “I think you’re very selfish to even suggest that we do such a thing.”
Margaret said, “We’re not going to send you back to Bohemia. We know it’s not safe for you there.”
“Yes,” Madinia chimed in. “That, too! We saved your life, remember? I think you owe us a little confidentiality.”
Petra reflected. “I’ll keep your secret,” she promised, deciding that if she had learned anything from her past encounters with Dee, it was that hidden information is a powerful weapon.
At this thought, her hand strayed to her left hip.
There was nothing there. The sword was gone.
With panic, Petra realized she had been so distracted by poison, leeches, and Astrophil’s hunger, she hadn’t noticed that her sword was missing. Had it been lost in the forest? Had Dee taken it?
“You said that Dee wants to see me,” Petra said urgently.
“Kind of immediately,” Madinia replied. “He said it’s important.”
“We’re supposed to show you the way to his library,” Margaret added.
Petra nodded. “I’ll go. But I need a minute alone.”
“I hope it’s to make yourself look a little less grotty,” Madinia said.
Margaret nudged her sister. “We’ll wait for you in the hall, Petra.”
When the door shut behind them, Petra called softly, “Astrophil?”
The spider slipped out from under the bed. His eyes glowed a deep green from the brassica oil he had gulped down an hour ago.
Petra walked over to the mirror. She told herself she wouldn’t flinch no matter what she saw. She looked in the mirror, and stood still.
There were shadows under her eyes, and a long, thin red weal stretched from her left collarbone to her jaw. The scar was an almost perfectly straight line. Almost.
At the base of her throat, the scar was interrupted by a horizontal curve of untouched, pale flesh. Something had protected her skin from the Gristleki’s burning tongue.
My necklace, she realized, and touched the white line where the leather cord had been. Losing the necklace was the least of her worries, but Petra still bit back a sob. Would she lose everything that she cared about?
Astrophil was walking up her leg. He leaped to her elbow. Look at me, Petra.
She did.
We will find a way to return to Okno, the spider said. I promise.
Petra attempted a smile, but it flickered and died. She pulled the tie from her ponytail and shook her brown hair over her shoulders, hiding the scar.
Astrophil crawled up, and perched on her right ear. I think you look lovely with your hair down, anyway.