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Chapter Twenty-Three No lady went in search of the privy alone when she could bring a friend

As the speeches continued, covering the many fine qualities of men past and present, Isobelle let her mind drift.

She carefully

steered it away from the tangled maze of knights who asked her what she wanted, and knights who didn’t, and contemplated instead

whether it was worth taking another turn around the stalls, to see if there were any sweets the girls had missed.

She was going to think about dessert, and nothing else.

“Are they doing some sort of play to commemorate the occasion?” Gwen asked, her voice summoning Isobelle back from her daydreams.

A ripple of agitation was spreading outward from the base of the hill as a ragged group of women pushed their way toward the

speechmakers.

“If it is a play, the lighting leaves something to be desired,” Jane murmured, squinting.

“Please!” The rough cry came from one of the new arrivals.

“Let me through! I must speak with Lord Whimsitt! We seek protection!”

The woman broke past those trying to hold her back, dodging her way up the hill toward the dignitaries.

“It is your duty to protect us!”

Every line of the woman’s body spoke of desperation, her clothes ragged, her face filthy.

With a well-placed kick that made one of the castle guards double over, she sprinted toward Lord Whimsitt, her hair streaming free from its braids.

“This is the dragon bonfire—we seek your aid!” she screamed as another pair of guards grabbed her, pulling her away from his

lordship.

“If you won’t help us, then at least know you were warned—the dragons are alive. Remember us when they come for

you, too.”

A gasp spread through the crowd like wildfire, and Jane tilted her head like a spaniel.

“Isobelle, is this meant to be a reenactment?”

“It is a little violent for a play,” Hilde chimed in as the woman kicked at the guards again, her companions downhill fighting

for their own freedom.

“Though excellent dramatic timing, and I do not mind the interruption to the speeches.”

“She doesn’t look like she’s acting to me,” Gwen said slowly.

“I don’t think she is,” Isobelle replied, a feeling like a stone inside her chest. “I think she believes it. Poor thing. The

bonfires must have set her off. I wish they’d let go of her friends so they could come and fetch her. Someone should be taking

care of her. She needs a hedge witch.”

All around them, debates were breaking out about whether the woman was a paid actor, but their little rug was an island of

quiet.

They watched as the woman and her companions were corralled away by the guard, and as one, the girls winced as a cry

of pain arose from one who struggled too hard.

After a hesitant glance at Lord Whimsitt, the herald climbed up onto the stage once more.

“And now,” he shouted, “a word from

our sponsor, Freya’s Fashion Emporium, featuring the brightest designs from the continent!”

Gwen reached across to take Isobelle’s cup and refill it, and when their eyes met, she tilted her head toward the shadows to indicate a desire to speak privately.

“Do excuse me, ladies,” Isobelle said, popping up to her feet like the sparkly little cat that sprang out of her clock on

the hour.

“Nature calls.” She held out her hand to Gwen—everybody knew that no lady went in search of the privy alone when

she could bring a friend—and Gwen rose to her feet with barely a hint of pressure on her fingers, as though she’d been fighting

the urge to stand.

As soon as Gwen reached the shadows, her steps lengthened, and Isobelle muttered imprecations against her impractical shoes

as she skipped along to keep up.

“Gw—Céline,” she hissed, as they made their way past the picnickers who’d chosen more remote spots, half hidden by darkness,

ignoring their meals in favor of each other.

“I think the people here might like some privacy!”

She kept her eyes firmly on the other girl’s back, feeling her cheeks heat and fighting the urge to take an educational peek

at what they were passing.

It was one thing to drink tea and practice, but a girl needed practical information at some point.

Gwen pulled her in near the trunk of an oak tree, her green eyes flashing with a hint of bonfire light as she turned back

toward her.

For one dizzying heartbeat, Isobelle’s imagination provided her with a startling image—she saw herself step in

closer to Gwen, letting the momentum of that tug on her hand bring them together.

She saw herself lean in, and tilt her face

toward Gwen’s, and.

..

“Isobelle, are you listening?” Gwen’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and intense.

“Um, what?” Isobelle dropped Gwen’s hand like it had scorched her.

Her heart was beating like a wild thing trapped within the cage of her ribs.

She hid her hands in the folds of her skirts, hoping Gwen hadn’t noticed they’d begun to shake.

She’d daydreamed about kissing people before, even if she’d never done it when it counted.

But those dreams hadn’t forced

their way into her mind like this, pushing through the doorway and taking over, insisting they be heard.

And those people..

. they hadn’t been girls.

Why was that? Had nobody before Gwen been the right girl, or was it just that everybody expected her crushes to be boys, so she’d never looked at anyone else?

If someone kisses me , Gwen had whispered, I want it to be because they need to .

“Isobelle,” Gwen said again, and a bolt of sheer panic went through Isobelle, zipping down her spine and nearly sending her

legs buckling.

“Yes,” gasped Isobelle.

And then, steadying her breath and lifting her chin, she made her voice sound normal through sheer

effort of will.

“Yes, Gwen. What is it?”

Gwen paused, studying her carefully.

For a moment, Isobelle was certain Gwen had seen the same imagined embrace she had.

That

she could read in Isobelle’s eyes that something had just shifted, irrevocably, undeniably.

Then, with a shake of her head,

Gwen continued.

“I don’t think we should just dismiss that woman.”

“Nobody’s going to dismiss her,” Isobelle said, marshalling her attention toward the conversation at hand.

“Someone will make

sure she’s taken care of.”

“No,” said Gwen, her jaw twitching.

“I mean, I think we should listen to her.”

Isobelle blinked.

“You’re saying you think that woman saw a dragon?” she asked.

Then, feeling she had to clarify: “A real dragon?”

Gwen produced one of her charming scowls, eyebrows drawing together.

“I don’t know what she saw,” she said.

“But that’s the

whole point. How terrified must she have been to do something like this? Did you see them hauling her away? You can be killed

for assaulting someone of noble blood. Why would she ever risk something like that, unless she already had nothing to lose?”

Isobelle forced herself to dismiss her electrifying fantasy and properly bring her mind to bear on the problem.

“I’ll grant

something distressed her,” she said eventually.

“But I struggle to believe she saw a dragon. The reason all you knights are

forced to charge at one another is that there are no dragons anymore, and haven’t been for over a century. But—” She held up a hand to forestall Gwen’s reply.

“Olivia will

find out what’s happening. I can guarantee she’s already on her way to see what that woman has to say. She loves a mystery.”

Gwen was quiet, brooding on that.

Isobelle did not reach up to deal with the curl that kept falling across the other girl’s

brow.

She was quite proud of her restraint.

“You’re sure?” Gwen said eventually.

“I am,” she promised.

“We should wait until we hear from her. Then, if you feel we need to do something, we’ll try to think

what that might be. It will take her some time, though. Even Olivia can’t walk through walls. I don’t think.”

Across by the stage, a group of musicians had started up, trying to get the festival back on track.

Gwen nodded. “We’ll wait for Olivia. Thank you for not laughing at me.”

“I would never,” Isobelle replied, mildly outraged.

Then, fairness compelled her to continue: “Well, not over anything that really meant something to you. For now, everything that can be done is being done.”

Gwen nodded slowly, nibbling her lip.

Isobelle made herself look away, out at the bonfires, and so she was taken by surprise

when Gwen reached out, sliding her fingers down Isobelle’s arm to find her wrist in the dark, and then her hand, giving it

a squeeze.

Sparks ran all the way from Isobelle’s fingertips, up her arm, and straight to her heart, as best she could tell.

It was intensely

distracting.

“Would Lord Whimsitt notice if you and I didn’t come back right away?” Gwen asked.

“There’s something I want to show you,

if you’re up for a walk.”

Isobelle considered the question.

Then she considered the sheer impossibility of taking herself back to the picnic rug to

pretend everything was normal, when everything had changed.

She considered letting go of Gwen’s hand.

She did not.

“If he does, the girls will cover for us,” she said, squeezing Gwen’s fingers in return.

“Show me something.”