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Celestyna dabbed her mouth with her napkin and folded away the ache in her heart. What had her mother taught her?

Don’t yell.

Don’t cry.

Don’t laugh too hard.

Don’t love too much.

Don’t fret, don’t worry, don’t overthink.

“If you’ll pardon me for a moment,” Celestyna said, rising, “I need to adjust my hairpins.”

Orelia wrinkled her nose. “But your hair looks lovely.”

“Surely that can wait until you’ve finished your breakfast,” suggested Lord Dellier.

“It could,” Celestyna agreed, “but you know how silly we girls can be. I won’t be able to eat until I’ve settled it! The plague of it will eat away at my heart until there’s nothing left but ashes!” She staggered a little, hand on her forehead, and fluttered her eyes dramatically.

Orelia giggled. “Tyna, stop it!”

“Oh, the kingdom will fall to pieces should my hair topple! My sister will lose her mind with grief and throw the mightiest tantrum you’ve ever seen—”

“All right, all right,” said Lord Dellier fondly, his mouth twitching.

“Hurry back, dear,” said Madame Berrie, fluttering her napkin. “You know Cook’s porridge is no good cold.”

Celestyna, fake giggling along with Orelia, bowed out the doors to the nearby parlor.

Alone, the smile fell from her face.

Quickly she found the supplies she had stashed under the sofa—boots, cloak, a bit of food. She would have to make it all the way through the castle grounds and into the mountains without the royal guard following her.

Her palms sweating, her heart a fast drum, Celestyna tied her skirts around her knees and hurried to the far window. She pushed open the glass and looked down.

And promptly felt a little sick.

She was high up—muchhigher up than she remembered. Far, far below was the winding green maze of the royal courtyards. If she fell, if she lost her grip, she would do much worse than break a limb.

She gazed down at the castle wall. It was thick with tangled green vines, and through the vines snaked the long metal drainpipe she would hold on to as she climbed. The wall was stony and rough, pocked with holes. She could do this; she could climb down and use the castle itself as a ladder.

A distant clatter from the dining hall made her whirl around. Was someone coming to find her?

From the parlor ceiling, something softly cooed.

Celestyna looked up.

A dozen mistbirds waited in the rafters, their long pale feathers trailing.

Her fingers tingled. Would they start squawking and screeching as she crawled out the window, and give her away?

But then, through the open window came a soft thread of wind. And that wind carried a voice so faint that Celestyna at first thought it was her own mind speaking:

Run, girl.

One of the mistbirds fluttered down from the rafters and blinked up at her with its bright blue eyes.

We won’t let them follow.