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Christmas day came again to the high castle. Children laughed, parents feasted, and young men battled and wooed. But finally the day came to an end.

Silence fell over Evermyst. The hounds made circles in the rushes on the floor of the great hall, then settled down to rest. In the stables, the horses snorted, blowing frosty air into the night and then resting their hind legs as they nodded over their hay.

High above the crashing surf, in the rooms below die turrets, the MacGowan rogues cuddled with their brides.

And in the nursery where Mary sucked her thumb and Claude slept without a care, Senga hummed a soundless tune.

Aye, she had done well. She had brought Anora together with her bonny laird, and she had led sweet Gilmour down the dark passage to the secret chamber she herself had cherished long ago.

Then young Isobel had met him there. Stubborn, she was, as stubborn as her mother, but in the end it had all worked out for the best. For they were happy. Aye, they were content.

There was only one left now for her to help. Just one, Senga thought, and smiled as she planned.