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Grace tugged down the velvet curtains with all her might, her heels scraping against the floor for leverage. The heavy fabric gave way with a groan, the rod surrendering in a dramatic crash that sent dust and a spattering of soot into her face.

Lillias erupted into a coughing fit behind her, waving one hand dramatically while the other clutched her chest. Her usually pristine complexion was now smeared with an ashy hue.

A laugh tickled Grace’s throat, but she swallowed through it.

She suspected she looked no better, and with her red hair flying in all direction, she might very well be mistaken for one of the weepers of Scottish legend. The caoineag.

Ignoring her sister’s theatrics, Grace snapped the curtain fabric free and draped one length carefully through the jagged window to shield against the remaining shards. She knelt in front of Zahra, brushing a stray curl from the girl’s face and clasping her small shoulders.

Grace drew a steadying breath, the acrid smoke stinging her throat.

If Zahra could scale a wall in Cairo, she could manage this.

Oh Lord, please let her manage this. “The balcony’s to the right, not directly below us,” she said, forcing a calmness into her voice she did not feel.

“I’m going to swing you toward it, and you’ll have to jump. Can you do that?”

Zahra fixed her with a solemn nod, her light eyes steady and unflinching.

“You can’t just drop her out a window.” Lillias followed behind Grace as she led Zahra up to the only exit from the room. “She’s a child.”

“She’s a very smart child.” And this was their only option. Grace looked down at Zahra. “And more than capable.” Grace lifted Zahra onto the sill, placing the girl at the same eye-level as herself. “Don’t let go until you are sure, all right?”

Zahra gave another one of her nods and without warning, wrapped her arms around Grace’s neck. The sweetest sense of overwhelming joy pooled through Grace as she enclosed the little girl in her arms for a quick embrace. More than heat from the fire stung her eyes. This was part of being a mother.

Swallowing hard, Grace pulled back and cupped Zahra’s cheeks. “Ready?”

Zahra turned toward the window in response.

Grace secured one end of the curtain rope to the iron bracket used to hold back the curtains, just to give her some additional leverage.

The other end dangled down toward the balcony below.

Zahra tested the makeshift rope with a firm tug, her small hands displaying a confidence that spoke of her past life on the streets.

Yes, her little one had done this before.

“Careful,” Grace whispered, catching Zahra’s eyes once more before the girl disappeared over the edge.

She moved with practiced ease, swift and fluid, quickly reaching the end of the cloth and …

a twenty foot drop to the ground below. Now came the tricky part.

Giving her enough of a swing to get her to the balcony on the right.

Grace gripped the curtain, swinging it back and forth to build momentum.

Zahra moved in tandem, her small frame swaying like a pendulum.

On the third swing, Zahra released her grip and landed on the balcony with the grace of a cat.

She turned, flashing Grace a broad, triumphant smile.

“Remarkable,” Grace muttered, her lips twitching despite herself.

There was one.

Grace turned to her sister. The air had grown thicker with smoke, the tapestry on the opposite wall a bright square of fire. “Now you, Lillias.”

Lillias shook her head, her face paling all over again. “I can’t.”

“You must .” Grace’s tone left no room for argument. “There’s no other way.”

“But what if I fall?”

Grace drew in a deep breath. “You may die if you fall.” Grace steadied her attention on her sister. “You will die if you stay.”

Lillias audibly swallowed, blanched, and steeling herself, approached the window.

With much less finesse, Lillias slipped her legs over the edge, wrangling with her skirts to push through the space.

Her entire body shook, but she took hold of the rope and dipped over the lip of the window, climbing down the same trek Zahra had just taken.

Her descent was slower, her movements jarring, but with skirt billowing around her, she managed.

As she neared the bottom, Grace began swinging the curtain again, attempting to get Lillias as close to the balcony as possible. Her arms burned from the effort, and her throat felt raw from smoke, but she didn’t stop. Not until she heard the sound that froze her from head to foot.

A sharp rip.

Her breath caught. “No! No, no, no.” She leaned out the window, panic rising like the flames below. “Jump, Lillias! The curtain won’t hold!”

“I can’t—”

The fabric gave way with a gut-twisting rip. Lillias shrieked as she tumbled, her body smacking against the stone railing of the balcony with a sickening thud.

Grace’s heart plummeted.

But then—praise heaven—Lillias hooked her arm over the edge of the railing like Robinson Crusoe’s hold on the chest as he drifted at sea. Good. Halfway there.

Zahra bolted to the edge, clutching the back of Lillias’ gown in an attempt to pull the woman the rest of the way over the railing onto the balcony. Lillias’ feet flailed in the air, skirt flying.

Grace was certain her sister would never have imagined looking so undignified.

Out of nowhere, a figure rushed onto the balcony. Grace’s breath hitched. Mr. Kane? What on earth—

Her tension shattered as Lillias’ voice, shrill but unmistakable, echoed upward. “Tony?”

Oh. Grace sagged against the window frame, her relief spilling out in a shaky laugh.

Tony wrapped his arms around Lillias, hauling her to the safety of the balcony. But as he crushed Lillias to his chest, murmuring something she couldn’t make out, the two of them melted into an embrace long overdue.

Grace averted her gaze as their reunion transitioned into a lip-on-lip reconciliation.

But she had little time to dwell on the reunion as another figure appeared below.

Frederick.

Her favorite face in the world.

He wrapped an arm around Zahra, his gaze lifting to meet Grace’s.

He moved to the edge of the balcony, his gaze locked onto hers, and Grace felt as if the entire inferno paused, holding its breath.

The weight of his worry, the raw desperation on his face—it was as though he were willing her to survive through sheer force of will.

Well, if her last sight was Frederick’s face and her next would be Jesus, it wasn’t the worst way to go.

But the pained expression on her dear husband’s face, the worry lining Zahra’s brow, and the smoke stinging her throat sent her into motion.

Her gaze darted around the room, searching for a solution. The tattered curtain hung useless below, fluttering in the fiery draft. But—her eyes landed on the heavy ropes used to tie back the drapes.

Ropes. Of course! She almost laughed. They hadn’t failed her yet.

She rushed to untangle them from the remaining curtain, dousing a spark from the fabric as she did.

The ropes were thick, meant to hold the weight of the drapes, and she tied them together with knots she prayed would hold.

Securing one end to the iron bracket, she tossed the rope out the window, tested the strength with a quick tug, and climbed onto the sill.

“Grace!” Frederick’s call grew over the sound of the fire.

She sent him a look, hoping it conveyed a little of how much she loved him, before she drew in a deep breath, gripped the rope with both hands, and slipped over the edge.

Her fingers burned against the coarse threads in the rope, but little by little she slid closer to her goal and farther away from the fire.

The balcony was so close, but the angle was wrong. She needed to swing closer.

Twisting her body, she pressed one foot against the castle wall and shoved off. The rope arced, and she hurtled toward Frederick. He reached for her, but his fingers fell short.

She swung back, pushed off again.

This time, his hand grazed the rope.

A jolt sent her heart slamming against her ribs. The rope slipped a few inches. Either the knots were unraveling, or the fire was claiming her anchor.

With one last propulsion off the wall, she leaned forward toward her husband and he caught her by her forearms. He pulled her over the railing and into his arms, holding her as though he’d never let go.

His face pressed into her hair, and she felt the trembling in his chest, the quick rise and fall of his breaths. She breathed in this safety, his home.

A second later, another pair of arms wrapped around her middle.

Grace looked down to find Zahra hugging them both, her face pressed against Frederick’s side.

Frederick’s smile bloomed as he looked into Grace’s face, and with a shift of movement, he placed a palm against Zahra’s head.

They were safe.

Together.

Malcolm Kane was not in the library.

Frederick’s chest tightened as he shot a glance from Grace to Tony.

“Where’s Kane?”

Tony blinked, his mouth opening uselessly for a moment, before spinning on his heel and rushing down the hallway toward the grand staircase. Frederick followed, their boots pounding against the wood until they came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs.

At the bottom stood Stephen Blake, looking for all the world like the Cheshire Cat after a banquet. He leaned casually against the newel post, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his smirk a declaration of triumph.

And there was the tableau to his left.

Lady Blair, tied up so tightly she resembled a poorly wrapped Christmas roast, glared daggers at anyone foolish enough to meet her eye.

Beside her, sprawled on the floor, lay Malcolm Kane, unconscious and similarly trussed up.

Standing guard over him was none other than Mr. Locke, a shovel in one hand and his boot planted squarely on Kane’s back as though the man were freshly tilled soil.