Chapter 9

As the days went by, Seraphina found it harder to keep up her flirtation with Lord Greymont. More to the point, she found it difficult to remember it wasn’t real. Her plan to persuade Greymont to take her with him when he left hinged on her convincing the king to let them out in the first place. For now, she wasn’t necessary to Greymont at all, which meant he needed to want her, at the very least. And the more she pretended to desire him, the more she found herself believing her own lie.

Or worse, realizing that maybe it had never been a lie to begin with.

It didn’t help that she was exhausted. Every night she waited up until the sun was pinking the horizon, praying to catch just a glimpse of Dalia. But she never came again, which left Seraphina to wonder: If it was possible she’d never been there to begin with, how could she stop coming? If she was just a figment of Seraphina’s imagination, then what had changed within Seraphina?

She had once asked Jocelyn if she missed the real Imogen. She’d been Imogen’s attendant since they were both twelve, and by all accounts, Seraphina and Imogen had very different personalities.

Jocelyn had looked wistful for a moment. “I am sad that she died. She was always kind to me. But she was...unusual. She spoke to herself, far more than she spoke to anyone else. It was my duty to keep close to her, but she would disappear in the middle of the night, only to turn up in the morning with the soles of her feet muddy and her hems stained green. Some said she had a touch of her father’s madness in her. I wouldn’t go that far but I don’t know what she would be like now, had she lived. I don’t know what this plague would have done to her.”

Seraphina sometimes wondered if by embodying Imogen, some sort of madness had crept into her own mind. If the Dalia that Seraphina had seen through her window wasn’t real, and she wasn’t a dybbuk, then what was she?

A few days before her birthday, Seraphina was in her chambers with her sisters while servants decorated the castle for the masquerade.

“I’m so hungry,” Rose moaned. She lifted a lock of golden-brown hair and frowned at it. “I think my hair is suffering. Does it look less shiny to you?”

To be fair, they were all famished. The meals had grown smaller and smaller until breakfast consisted of a lump of pickled herring and a radish.

Nina was sprawled on a fainting sofa in her underthings, bored and sullen. “I just don’t understand why we have to stay in here all day. I was finally making headway with Lord Basilton. He keeps asking me to meet him in the library.”

“Is he very fond of books?” Rose asked.

Nina rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s it, Rose. Books.”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to steal away in dark corners during the ball, and a mask to hide behind,” Seraphina said.

“I know Father wants the decorations to be a surprise for Imogen, but he won’t keep us out of the dining room for the next four days, will he?” Rose asked.

Nina sighed. “What difference does it make if there’s nothing to eat?”

Seraphina was holding her golden birthday mask, inwardly noting the irony of a mask that only covered her eyes and the top of her nose. As if anyone wouldn’t know who she was, especially with her hair freshly hennaed. Jocelyn, meanwhile, lifted her own mask to her face and sighed. It was white and covered in more of the ridiculous daisies. A fuzzy little bee affixed to a coiled wire bobbed from one of the temples.

“Lord Greymont told me he’s very excited about the ball,” Nina said, now hanging halfway off the sofa and looking at Seraphina upside down. “Very.”

“As is everyone,” Seraphina said casually. “It’s the most exciting thing to happen here since... In years.”

Jocelyn sat down next to Seraphina and stroked her hair. “How are you feeling about all of this? I know it’s not your—” she lowered her voice “—real birthday. It must feel strange to celebrate without your family.”

“I haven’t thought about it like that,” Seraphina admitted. Birthdays had never been that important to her family, unlike the High Holy Days. This time of year, autumn, was always difficult. How could she repent for her sins in good conscience, knowing she must continue to lie?

Jocelyn was still watching Seraphina with a strange look on her face. Fortunately, Rose had begun to sing, and her voice was so high and nasal it distracted all of them.

“Dance with me,” Rose said, reaching for Seraphina’s hands before going back to her wretched singing.

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” she replied with a laugh. “But I believe Nina would love a dance.”

Nina propped herself up on her elbows. “Not a chance.”

“Then I suppose Jocelyn will have to do me the honors,” Rose sang, wheeling toward her. “Dance with me.”

Jocelyn acquiesced and took Rose’s hands in her own. It wasn’t clear at first who would play the man’s role, but Rose clearly had no idea how to dance anything other than the lady’s part. Jocelyn cast Seraphina a desperate glance.

Still smiling, Seraphina rose and bowed to Nina. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

“Uggghhh,” Nina groaned, but she allowed Seraphina to pull her up and spin her around. They were all in various states of undress, having grown hot with no doors or windows open for ventilation. Seraphina and Rose had their hair unpinned, and it flew out behind them as they spun, all of them singing now, laughing hysterically when Rose hit a particularly high and sour note.

They danced and twirled, colliding with each other or the furniture every few minutes. Seraphina gasped when she took the sharp corner of an end table in the hip, but Nina’s momentum kept her spinning, and all she could do was laugh at the absurdity of it.

“I must say,” Nina said between breaths, “you are a lively dancer. Have you had much practice?”

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “Ha ha.” Nina knew that she had suffered through countless dance lessons, and even now she didn’t have the grace and elegance Nina was apparently born into.

“She learned well,” Jocelyn called over her shoulder. “Just don’t pick your feet up quite so high, Imogen. There, that’s better.”

“Can someone loosen my corset?” Rose asked. “I feel like I’m going to faint.”

Her cheeks were indeed gleaming with sweat. Seraphina was grateful for a chance to rest, the lack of food combined with all the spinning leaving her light-headed, so she whirled to Rose and untied the corset laces. “Better?”

“Much!” Rose used the opportunity to grab Seraphina’s hands, forcing Nina and Jocelyn to switch partners. Jocelyn was so thin she hardly needed a corset, but she looked lovely with her skin flushed and her eyes wet with tears of mirth. Seraphina felt a stab of affection for all of them as they careened around the room, singing a bawdy song completely out of tune. In another world, in another life, they might have been friends. She would have found Rose’s frivolity charming, Nina’s vanity merely amusing. And she would have known that Jocelyn’s loyalty was borne out of love, not duty.

Suddenly, the door to the chamber burst open, admitting a guard, two servants bearing trays, the king, and Lord Greymont.

“What in God’s name is going on in here?” the king bellowed.

Rose screamed, covering her torso with a throw blanket from one of the sofas and retreating behind a curtain. Jocelyn scurried to Seraphina, doing her best to gather Seraphina’s wild hair, while Nina merely smirked at the young male servant who was having a difficult time keeping his tray steady.

“The servants have been knocking for five minutes,” the king continued. “Have you all gone mad?”

“We’re just practicing for the masquerade, Father,” Seraphina said, shrugging into a robe Jocelyn had brought to her and tying it closed. Greymont was doing his best to avert his eyes—and failing, Seraphina noticed smugly.

“Really, this behavior is not befitting of princesses. I’m very displeased.”

Seraphina dropped her eyes, shame finally settling over her. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Your Majesty, they have been trapped in here all morning,” Greymont said. “And you can’t blame them for being excited about the masquerade. It’s all anyone has spoken of for weeks.”

Seraphina glanced up through her lashes. What was he doing here, anyway?

“That’s true,” King Stuart said. “You make a good point.”

“Shall we leave the ladies to their...rest? They’ll need to keep up their strength for the festivities. Although it looks like they’ve got plenty of stamina.” Greymont had the gall to wink at Seraphina as he said this. She pulled her robe a little tighter and he grinned.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Lord Greymont. The ladies need their strength for the ball. Genny, please come and say good-night before you retire for the evening. I have a surprise for you.”

“Of course, Father.”

As soon as the men left, Rose peeked out from behind the curtain. “Is it safe to come out now? I can’t believe Lord Greymont saw me in my knickers.”

Jocelyn, Nina, and Seraphina shared a look before collapsing in a fit of giggles.

***

As directed, Seraphina went to see the king that evening for her birthday “surprise.” There had been a time when she’d loved nothing more than spontaneity. Purim was her favorite holiday, when she would deliver treats to neighbors and receive her fair share in turn. Dalia was the best at surprising her with gifts. She’d once brought Seraphina a poppy seed hamantasch, knowing Seraphina hated poppy seeds but would eat the triangular cookie anyway, to be polite. Inside, Seraphina had discovered a tiny hamsa amulet.

“To protect you,” Dalia had said, cleaning poppy seed paste off the little silver icon representing the hand of God. Seraphina had worn it every day, until it was taken from her when she arrived at Eldridge Hall.

But here, unpredictability was dangerous. Anything that deviated from the carefully constructed web of lies she’d spun put her in danger of a misstep, of angering the king.

“There you are,” he said when she stepped into his chamber. He was in bed already, claiming exhaustion, and Seraphina couldn’t help thinking that starvation for a man of his age was dangerous, even more so than for the rest of them. She couldn’t see his lips beneath his thick mustache, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes told her he was smiling. “Excited for your birthday, Genny?”

She nodded. “Yes, Father.”

“I imagine you’re looking forward to a dance with Lord Greymont?”

She laughed nervously, unsure how Greymont could possibly figure into her birthday surprise. “I suppose.”

“He’s a good lad. Intelligent. Loyal.”

“Yes, Father. I believe he is.”

“The fact that he’s handsome doesn’t hurt, either,” he added with a wink, and she looked down at her hands to hide her embarrassment. “You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman, Genny,” he went on. “You should marry the most handsome man in the world. But you are worthy of a prince.”

Something about the way he said it made her look up. “What do you mean, Father?”

“I’ve invited the Prince of Pilmand to come and meet you. You’re turning twenty, after all. I think he’ll prove an excellent match.”

Her thoughts swirled in every direction. A marriage match? Now? When she was just beginning to make headway with Greymont? How had the king even gotten in touch with someone in Pilmand? “When?” was all she could manage.

“He’ll be here in time for your birthday.” The king frowned for a moment. “At least, I hope he will...” He blinked, as if coming back to himself, and smiled. “I thought you might like to know ahead of time, to prepare yourself. Lord Greymont will be disappointed, naturally, but he will understand. You’re a princess, after all. Happy birthday, my dear.”

This was the part where she was supposed to let him kiss her forehead and go off to bed. She’d done it a thousand times before. But she couldn’t make sense of what he’d told her. The king was going to allow a stranger into the castle? Did that mean he believed the plague was over? Or was this part of his madness, a delusion that would come to nothing?

And where in the hell was Pilmand?

A snore startled her so badly she jumped. The king had fallen asleep. She kissed his forehead automatically and left his chambers.

It was time to take another trip to the cellar, she decided. There was to be a birthday feast in just a few days, one apparently fit for a foreign prince, and the king didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. Someone had to call him on it. The emperor may have no clothes, but it would be much harder to ignore if he had no food, either.

Later that night, after she’d already gone to bed and the rest of the castle was quiet, she slipped on her robe but kept her feet bare. If anyone asked what she was doing out and about at such an hour, she would tell them she’d gone looking for a snack. The chef didn’t keep any food in the kitchens at night—a rationing measure from the early days of the plague—so the cellar was logical.

Seraphina took a back staircase that was normally used for servants to make her descent. It was the fastest route, and if she did run into a servant, they weren’t likely to question her. At this time of night the castle was almost pitch-black, with only the moonlight seeping through the cracks in the boarded-up windows and a single candle to guide her.

A black cat, possibly Fig, darted past her and she startled so badly that hot wax dripped onto her hand. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, shielding the flame with her hand against any sudden drafts out of habit; there were no drafts here because there was no air coming in from the outside. If she stopped and thought about it long enough, she’d get claustrophobic, so she kept moving.

Finally, she reached the cellar door. The chef locked it at night, but Seraphina had brought a hairpin with her for the occasion. Back in her days in the Jewish quarter, when she was mischievous and resourceful, she had picked the occasional lock just to see if she could. But when rumors of the plague reached Esmoor, the people who could afford to leave did. She and Dalia had broken into the kosher bakery after the baker left, knowing all the bread would go moldy rather quickly. It hadn’t felt like a sin then. Neither did this.

The lock was ancient and opened with a few deft turns of her wrist. Seraphina gasped. The room was so full she could barely open the door. She pushed her shoulder against it as hard as she could and wedged her way in, wondering how the portly chef would manage. But perhaps he sent the wasting servants down to fetch food for him. They would have no trouble fitting through.

Seraphina raised her candle and turned in a slow circle in the space at the center of the room. The empty corner where Greymont had confronted her was now stacked high with crates. She peered inside them. Bushels of apples, loaves of bread, and cuts of dried meat assaulted her nose with their aromas. Saliva flooded her mouth, and she couldn’t stop herself from plucking a fat, golden apple off the pile.

How had the king managed this? Had the cellar been full all this time, and she and Greymont only happened to find it on an empty day? Where had it all come from? Was the king giving the servants permission to leave the castle, or were they doing it on their own?

A noise in the hall startled Seraphina out of her pondering. She hurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her, and gazed down the hall. A maid blinked at her in the light of her own candle.

“Princess Imogen?”

“Indeed,” she said haughtily, wondering how best to approach this. “What are you doing out at such an hour?”

“Chef asks one of us to check on the cellar every night. Food was going missing, despite the lock.” She glanced past Seraphina, no doubt wondering how she had gotten in, maybe if she was responsible for the missing food. At moments like these Seraphina was keenly aware that she was no better than the servants here at Eldridge. In fact, as a Jew, she would never have even gotten a job at the castle.

“Well, I’ve done the work for you tonight. Everything is in its place. Except for this apple,” Seraphina said with a grin. “I know I can trust you not to snitch on a princess.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” The maid gave a little curtsy that was far neater than Imogen’s early attempts. She was thin, and not just because she was still a girl.

“Here,” Seraphina said, handing her the apple, though her stomach cramped in protest. “I’ll have more on my birthday.” She smiled and the girl smiled uneasily back.

“Thank you, Your Highness. Good night.” The maid hurried back the way she had come, and Seraphina breathed a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, the echo of the great ebony clock’s chime reached her, causing Seraphina to nearly jump out of her skin. She’d forgotten about the keyhole and the footprints after finding the cellar empty that night. She fingered the pin in the pocket of her robe and decided to make one more stop.

The great hall was cold and dark and foreboding. Her candle had burned down to a stub. But she saw it almost as soon as she entered the room: a tiny pinprick of moonlight, shining through the keyhole in the clock.

She crossed the room quickly, her feet so cold they were numb, and inserted her pin into the lock. Several minutes passed as she wiggled the pin this way and that, wondering if this lock was too sophisticated for her unskilled burgling. But finally, she heard a click, and the door in the clock opened just a crack.

With trembling fingers, she pulled the door wider. A gust of wind hit her immediately, snuffing what was left of her candle. She gasped at the feel of cold outside air on her face. All this time, the key to freedom had been right here. This had to be how the servants who brought food got in and out. It must also be the route the few people who had managed to escape had used.

And if there was flour out there, and sugar and meat and everything else filling the cellar, then there had to be people harvesting the wheat and butchering the animals. There were survivors, and they were thriving, by the look of things.

She couldn’t go now. She didn’t even have shoes on, for heaven’s sake. But for the first time since coming to Eldridge Hall, Seraphina felt something bloom in her chest, a feeling she hadn’t known herself capable of anymore. Hope. Maybe there really was a prince coming to take her away. Maybe Lord Greymont could whisk her off to an island if the prince proved unbearable. Maybe there were other Jews who had survived. Maybe Dalia was one of them.

And maybe, just maybe, her parents had survived.

She stuck her head into the clock a little farther, sucking in the smell of fresh air through her nose, and reluctantly closed the door. She laid her palm against the keyhole and glanced up at the bird above her. With a smile, she raised one finger to her lips.

“Shhhh.”

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