—and Azalea saw it was the real Jessamine, curled on the ballroom floor.
Head pulsing, Azalea rushed to her side, hoping to warm her quivering body. Keeper shoved her away and snatched Jessamine up, striding out of the ballroom. Azalea staggered after him, realization pouring hope into her chest. She’d been right about the handkerchief! Keeper couldn’t leave the palace!
“You know where the graveyard is, Miss Jessamine?” he said, carrying her under his arm like a sheep. He pulled the entrance hall door open. Tangled ropes of black branches twisted over it like snakes, masking the doorway.
Keeper closed his eyes and placed his hand on the tangled mess of branches, and his face grew ashen—just as when he had raised the water, those many months ago. His breathing labored. The tangled movements of the branches sped, and they parted in pieces, letting a stream of sunlight through.
“You can’t come back in until you find the King,” said Keeper, heaving for air. “The bushes won’t let you in unless you have him with you. Understand? Don’t be gone long, my dear.”
Azalea grabbed a shawl from the coatstand and wrapped it tightly around Jessamine.
“Don’t come back,” she whispered. “Find the King. But don’t let him in. Don’t come back!”
Jessamine blinked her bright blue eyes at Azalea. Keeper grasped Jessamine’s arm and threw her through the opening in the branches. She stumbled out and nearly tripped down the long, gray stone stairs.
“Yes, find the King,” he said. “Tell him I am killing the eldest princess—slowly.” He slammed the door.
Azalea dashed for the handkerchief, but Keeper caught her first, boxing her into the ballroom, and threw her into the curtains of one of the windows. The rope tassels twisted and wound of their own accord, wrapping themselves around her already-sore wrists. She bit back a cry as they tightened, sending shoots of pain up her arms.
“Let’s savor this,” he said.
With the utmost delicacy of his long fingers, Keeper tugged the pins from her hair and flicked them behind him; they clinked against the floor. Azalea struggled, squirming to keep her head away from Keeper’s fingers, but the cords kept her bound. Tendrils of auburn hair cascaded to her waist. The girls in the mirrors watched on with wide eyes. Azalea writhed with humiliation.
“There now,” Keeper whispered, when the last pin had clinked to the floor. “Don’t you look pretty.”
He leaned in to her. Azalea could smell the musty, empty-teapot metallic smell he carried with him. She couldn’t believe how she once had actually wanted to kiss him.
“Tell me,” he said in a low voice. “How did you get the handkerchief back? I should like very much to know—”
He stopped short at a tiny sniffling noise behind him. Turning, he stepped back to reveal Jessamine, standing at the ballroom doors, small and shivering beneath the shawl. Her black hair hung over her shoulders, stringy and dripping from the melted snow. She was alone. Keeper’s eyes narrowed.
“How in the world,” said Keeper, snapping his cloak behind him as he swept to her, “did you get back in here? Alone? Mmm?”
Jessamine’s eyes shone bright with fear, but she did not back away. A touch of defiance sparked in them.
“My father says,” she whispered, raising her chin. “My f-father says…he says…if you hurt us…he will box your ears.”
Keeper stared down at her trembling figure. A smile grew on his face.
“Oh, did he?” he said. “I am shaking in my boots, I assure you.”
He knelt in front of Jessamine and took her tiny hand in his.
“Let’s play a game,” he said. “I’ve heard some children do it with crickets, but it is so much more fun with people. I was so dearly hoping to do it to your father, but, alas.” Keeper sighed. “He is not here. Shall we begin with your thumbs?”
He grasped her thumb with a black gloved hand and—
Was soundly thwacked across the face.
The punch came from nowhere, and it echoed across the ballroom. Keeper fell back, colliding with the marble. There was a very satisfying crack of his head smacking against it.
He had been boxed in the face!
CHAPTER 27
Immediately Keeper sprang to his feet, massaging his cheek. His eyes narrowed to slits, searching.
“It seems we have a guest.” Keeper gave a half smile, showing one long dimple, but his eyes glinted hard. “Welc—”
Thwap.
Keeper smashed to the floor again.
“Oh, we shall see about this!” he growled. With catlike dexterity, he jerked about and lunged at nothing. His hands caught on something invisible, clawing it to the ground, wrestling. A twist, and the invisible something had slammed Keeper to the floor again.
The wraith cloak!
Mr. Bradford! Azalea’s heart jumped.
But no—the invisible figure’s movements were…stiffer. Firmer. Harder.
“Sir!” cried Azalea.