Mariana shrieked along with her. Someone—either her or Alan—battered at the creature’s arm to break its grasp. With a sickening crackle of bones, Fiona yanked her wrist free.
She stumbled backward, tripping over a stone and tumbling to the ground. Her face slammed against the dirt, the fall knocking the wind out of her. Disoriented, she pushed herself up. Byron darted around her head.
“Fiona, where are you?” Mariana shouted.
Is she on the other side of the cemetery already? Fiona stumbled toward the entrance, refusing to look back. “Alan! Mariana!”
The hag’s anguished wail ripped through the still night, making her senses falter. Fiona broke into a sprint through the angels. She was only fifteen feet from the wall now, her feet kicking up clods of earth. Behind her, the iron crypt gate rattled louder.
“I’m coming!” she called. “Are you here? Alan?”
“Mariana’s over already,” said Alan.
He waited for me.
She collided with Alan’s invisible body. “Ow,” he said, grabbing her to hoist her up. She clambered up the vines, eager to get as far as possible from the crypt. In her panic, she lost her grip on the top of the wall.
“Fiona, get over!” he shouted with frustration, pushing her back up.
At last, she scrambled over the edge and threw herself down, landing on the other side. A jolt of pain shot through her right ankle.
“Are you okay?” asked Mariana. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.” With effort, she righted herself. It was at least a quarter of a mile to the house, and a searing pain screamed up her leg.
Behind her, Alan thumped to the ground. “Let’s go!”
They were off running into the hedge maze, but after a minute, the pain in Fiona’s ankle slowed her down. She gave up on sprinting and sputtered to a pained limp. Where’s Byron? The howl from the cemetery pierced the air as she stumbled toward a hedge wall.
“Mariana?” she said, but there was no reply. They were far ahead of her now. Fiona had been left behind. And if her ankle was broken, she’d shatter her bones if she transformed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Thomas
Thomas stared at the sneering guests around him, no longer quite as beautiful as they’d appeared before. His anger nearly took his breath away. He and Oswald were nothing more than a joke to them.
“Dancers!” the King bellowed. His reddening nose suggested that he’d slammed more than a few glasses of wine by now.
Fortuna emptied her goblet and grinned, parroting the King. “Dancers!” For the first time, Thomas noticed that her cheeks were painted a lurid pink.
Lithe women clad in silver gossamer leapt onto the windowsills and into the hall, each with lilac hair streaming behind them. Floral tattoos snaked around their bodies.
Delicate string music swelled from the gardens, and the dancers twirled and spun over the tiled floor. Thomas would have enjoyed this, if only his own death weren’t hanging over him.
Long strands of tulle unfurled from the arches and the dancers grasped the fabric, climbing upward. They spun around the hall with astounding grace and agility, swinging from the high arches and pushing off the stone walls. Night had fallen, and the stars glittered.
Thomas’s heart thrummed in his chest, and he took another slug of wine to steady his nerves. Would it be possible to stage some kind of escape while everyone watched the entertainment? But even if he escaped the fortress, he had no way out of Maremount. The King’s forces would surely hunt him down. And he couldn’t leave without Oswald.
As the music drew to a close, the dancers leapt to the flowery ground near the table, pulling handfuls of colored jewels from their bodices. They tossed the gems into the air, and the stones transformed into colorful birds that flew around the hall. Blue, red, green, and gold sparrows circled their heads.
The dinner guests clapped and cheered, and the dancers slipped back into the gardens. Thomas’s hands trembled. He was going to be suspended in a glass vat, eternally stung by scorpions.
Celia rose, grinning. “Oh, how I love birds!” She chased a golden sparrow as it flew around. “Come to me, golden birdie!”
Idiot. Celia’s obviously no help. She certainly seemed mad, or at least simpleminded. “I’ve caught one!” she trilled.
The rich food churned in Thomas’s stomach, and he dragged a hand across his mouth.
Just as he picked up his goblet, the golden sparrow landed on his plate. The bird clutched a small, coiled piece of paper in its claws.
“Father, I can dance, too!” Celia twirled, laughing loudly. The guests’ attention turned to her, giving Thomas the chance to pry the paper from the bird’s foot. He held a small, handwritten note his lap:
We’re both in danger. They keep me locked in the Gold Tower. If you can get to me there, I have the spell to get us out of Maremount.
Dizzy, Thomas rose from his seat, pushing back his chair.
Asmodeus stood next to him, glaring. “Leaving so soon?”