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"So then I suppose you will have to trust that I am doing all I can."

"I trust you," he answers softly.Advertisement

The small sounds of night surround us, tiny creatures scurrying here and there, looking for food and warmth.

"Did you know that the Rakshana and the Order were once lovers?" I ask.

"No, I didn't," Kartik says after a few seconds' hesitation. "How . . . interesting."

"Yes. It is."

He removes a stray white thread of pith from the orange and offers me a freshly plucked section.

"Thank you," I say, taking the fruit from his fingers and placing it on my tongue. It is very sweet.

"You're welcome." He gives me a little smile. We sit for a moment, savoring the orange."Do you ever . . ."

"What?"

"I wondered if you have ever seen Amar there in the realms?"

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"No," I answer."I've never seen him."

Some sort of relief washes over Kartik. "He must have already crossed over then, don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose so." "What are the realms like?" he asks.

"Some of it is beautiful. So beautiful you don't ever want to leave it. In the garden, you can turn stones to butterflies or have a gown of silver thread that sings or ... or whatever you wish."

Kartik smiles at this."Go on."

"There is a ship, like a Viking vessel, with a gorgon's head attached. She took us through a wall of golden water that left sparkles of gold all over our skin."

"Like the gold in your hair?"

"Much finer," I say, blushing, for it's most unlike Kartik to notice anything about me.

"There are some parts that are not as nice. Strange creatures-- horrid things. I suppose that's why I must bind the magic, so that they cannot wield it."

Kartik's smile disappears."Yes. I suppose so. Miss Doyle?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think--that is, what if you were to stay there, in the realms, once you'd found the Temple?"

"What do you mean?"

Kartik rubs his fingers where the juice of the orange has turned them a chalky white. "It sounds like a very fine place to hide."

"That's an odd thing to say."

"I meant live. A fine place to live, don't you think?" Sometimes I don't understand Kartik at all.

A lantern throws its light over the straw and dirt at our feet. The lovely kitchen maid appears out of nowhere, a look of astonishment on her face."Beggin' your pardon, miss. I forgot to bring Mr. Kartik his coffee." "I was just leaving,"I say to her, practically leaping to my feet. I assume this is the aforementioned Emily. "Thank you for that, um, most, most informative, ah, instruction in . . . in . . ."

"Carriage safety?" Kartik offers.

"Yes. One cannot be too careful about such things. Good night to you," I say.

"Good night," he answers. Emily does not make any effort to leave. And as I stride past the horses, I hear her laughing gently--girlishly--at something Kartik has said.

Ginger snorts at me.

"It is impolite to stare," I say to her, before running up to my room to sulk in private.

Simon's box sits on a table beside my bed. I pull open the false bottom and see the wicked brown bottle lying there.

"You shan't be needed again," I say. The box slides easily into a corner of my cupboard, where it is lost among petticoats and

dress hems. From my window, I can see the lanterns of the mews and our carriage house. I see Emily returning from the stable, her lantern in hand. The light catches her face as she looks back to smile at Kartik, who waves to her. He glances up and I duck out of sight, quickly extinguishing my lamp. The room is swallowed in shadow.

Why should it bother me so that Kartik fancies Emily? What are we to each other but a duty? That, I suppose, is what bothers me. Oh, I should forget this business with Kartik. It is foolish.

Tomorrow is a new day, December 17. I shall dine with Simon Middleton. I will do my best to charm his mother and not make a nuisance of myself. After that, I'll go about finding the Temple, but for one evening, one glorious, carefree evening, I intend to wear a fine gown and enjoy the handsome company of Simon Middleton.

"How do you do, Mr. Middleton?" I say to the air."No," I answer, lowering my voice,"How do you do, Miss Doyle?" "Why, I'm absolutely splendid, Mr.--" The pain has me in its grip. I can't breathe. God! I can't breathe! No, no, no, please leave me alone, please! It's no use. I'm pulled out like the tide, slipping into a vision. I don't want to open my eyes. I know they're there. I can feel them. I can hear them. pqdm.com