“I rather enjoy nonsense. What else can you make?”
“Most anything once I’ve seen a recipe for it. Pies. Tarts. Biscuits. Seed cakes, even—do you think Mr. Raven would care for one of those? I noticed he didn’t seem tempted by the macarons…” She hesitated and cast a suspicious look at Jest from the corner of her eye. “Or, would you like a seed cake? I’m not yet certain whether you’re more man or bird.”
Jest laughed. “Unfortunately, if Raven were to sample your seed cakes and find that he enjoyed them, it might ruin his impeccable ability to brood.” One of his fingertips traced the back of Cath’s hand. “As for me, I trust I would like most anything you made, if the macarons are any indication.”
She risked a bashful glance at him. Jest returned the look, before continuing, “The King mentioned some tarts you brought to the ball. I didn’t give it much thought at the time—I’d assumed your cook had been the one to make them, but now … I understand why he’s so drawn to you. You aren’t only talented, but … do you know, you’re extra beautiful when you talk about baking. You know you’re good at it, and that knowledge lights you up.”
Cath’s defenses shivered and she had to look away, flattered and flustered and …
Newly miserable.
She hadn’t thought of the King all night, what with Jest and the party and … and what had come afterward.
He was no longer simply the King, though. He was her suitor.
Now that the evening was at its end, no longer full of potential and impossibilities, her decisions seemed unbearably foolish. What could she be thinking, sneaking about with the court joker? Her parents would be mortified if they found out. Her reputation would be ruined.
“It’s only a silly hobby,” she muttered as they turned onto the drive of Rock Turtle Cove Manor. Her heels were loud on the cobblestones, so she tried to stay on her toes. Jest, on the other hand, walked like falling snowflakes. “It’s nice to be good at something, though. It’s not what my parents wanted me to be good at, but it is something.” She sighed. “Whereas you seem to be good at everything.”
“Not everything,” he said. “Would you believe I’ve never so much as held an eggbeater?”
“Scandalous!”
He grinned at her, and she was surprised at how much she wanted to tell him about the bakery she and Mary Ann were going to open. The desire to bring him into her fantasy was fast and fervent, maybe even to tell him of how she’d begun to dream of him being a part of it all. But she and Mary Ann hadn’t told anyone about their plans, other than the Duke, which had been necessary, and to tell Jest felt like it would have been a betrayal of her oldest friendship. That alone held her tongue.
“You don’t have to walk me all the way to the house,” she said, realizing that her feet were dragging more with every step.
“Stuff and nonsense. After the night we’ve had, I couldn’t imagine deserting you before you’ve been seen safely to your door. Or, window.”
Catherine was unwilling to argue. They cut across the grass, damp and soft from dew. Morning dew? The whole night had been whiled away, yet it seemed as if she had just left.
Her gaze traced the boughs of the lemon tree to her bedroom window. The glass was black as pitch. The hearth fire had burned down hours ago.
“I suppose now you’re going to grow wings and fly us up there?”
“Unfortunately my wings come only in one size, and they wouldn’t be helpful in this circumstance.” His jaw clenched, his yellow eyes raw with uncertainty. “You asked if I was man or bird, Lady Pinkerton, but I’m neither.” He drew in a long breath and turned to face her fully. “I’m a Rook, as is Raven.”
She tilted her head. “Isn’t a rook a type of bird?”
“In Hearts, perhaps.” His fingers tightened around hers. “But in Chess, we are protectors of the White Queen.”
She held his gaze, trying to puzzle through his words, unsure if this was another riddle. “Chess?”
His head shifted in what could have been a nod. “That’s where Raven and I come from.”
“Chess.” The word was little more than a breath now, spoken with awe. Chess. The Land of the Red and White Queendoms.
She had never known anyone from Chess. There were rumors that one could travel between the two lands, but there was a maze that no one knew how to get to, and a doorway said to be guarded by fate itself.
But such rumors could all be fairy tales as far as she knew.
“If you’re a protector of the White Queen,” she said, “whatever are you doing here?”
“It’s … complicated.” He seemed to be fighting with an explanation. “The Queen sent us here on a mission of sorts. One that could determine the fate of Chess. One that could end the war between her and the Red Queen, a war that is as old as Time himself.”
Cath gaped at him, wondering how there ever could have been a time when she had looked at this man and seen only a joker—all pranks and magic.
He was from Chess.
He was on a mission that could end a war.
He was the protector of a queen.
Her heart suddenly twisted, and she was surprised at how much it hurt. “Then how long will you be in Hearts?” she asked, not caring how the unexpected sorrow showed in her question.
Jest’s eyes widened with surprise, then softened. He settled his free hand onto their entwined fingers, encasing hers completely. “I don’t know. Once our mission is complete … perhaps I’ll have a reason to come back, and to stay.”
“Won’t…” Her voice caught and she had to clear her throat to continue. “Won’t your queen need you?”
“She appointed some replacement Rooks in our absence.” His gaze shifted to some spot over Cath’s shoulder and he frowned. “Bizarre little men, the Tweedles. Always fighting over a rattle, but … I suppose they fit the role well enough. Maybe she won’t need me anymore, or Raven.” He looked back and said, with more hesitation, “If I had a reason to stay, that is.”
“Naturally.” Her lips had dried and she licked them instinctively.
Jest inhaled and dropped her hand, taking half a step back. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologize, Lady Pinkerton. I’ve kept you out too long.”
“No, I…” She folded her hands against her stomach, wondering how her fingers had gotten so cold so quickly. “Thank you for telling me your story. I promise your secret will be safe with me.” She hesitated. “Or at least, I think it’s a secret. Does the King know?”
“No one knows. Only you, and Raven of course, and Hatta and Haigha.”
Her eyes widened. “Are they from Chess too?”
Jest rocked on his heels. “Of a sort, but their secrets are not mine to tell.”
She nodded in understanding, although her curiosity gnawed at her insides.
“Anyhow, being the protecting sort, my job won’t be finished until you’re returned to your chambers.” Jest took off his three-pointed hat and set it on her head. “Hold that, if you would.”
“I should have known the hat would play a role.”
“Actually, it just gets in the way. Besides, I was right. It does look better on you.” Reaching overhead, Jest grabbed on to a low-hanging branch and pulled himself into the tree. Catherine backed up to peer into the shadows. He was pleasant to watch, so nimble and fast.
Crouching on a low bough, he held his hand toward her. “Now give me your hand.”
She traced the limbs of the tree up to her window, apprehensive. “Have you run out of magic?”
“Some things, like climbing trees, are best done without. Your hand, my lady.”
She twisted her mouth to one side. “You don’t understand. I’m not … like you.”
His hand started to sag. “Like me?”
“Graceful. Strong.”
Jest’s expression warmed.
“You might be surprised how often I’m compared to a walrus, actually. And walruses do not climb trees.”
At this, his growing smile vanis
hed. He hesitated, momentarily speechless, before retracting his hand. “Of all the nonsense I’ve heard tonight, that’s the worst of it. But suit yourself.” He straddled the tree branch, his boots kicking at the air. “Go ahead and use the front door, if you prefer. I’ll wait here.”
Cath pressed the hat down tighter to her head and scanned the tree branches again. She considered his proposal and could already hear the loud squeak of the front door that she’d been hearing all her life.
Huffing, she held her arms up toward him.
His grin returned and he shifted into a more stable position.
A flash of panic flickered through Cath’s mind as he latched on to her wrists—what if she was too heavy for him to lift?—but moments later Jest was pulling her up without any apparent difficulty. He waited until he was sure she had her footing and one hand clasped around a branch before he let go.
The climb was easier than she expected, though Jest was doing most of the work. He instructed her where to place her hands, which branches to grab hold of, how best to leverage her weight. It felt like being a child again, scrambling through the trees, make believing she had been born into a family of chimpanzees. She had to stifle her laughter so she wouldn’t wake anyone in the house.
Her bedroom window was still open. Jest stepped inside before turning to help her over the gap. It was the most daring part, trusting that her legs could span the distance, and she had to hold her breath until her toes were on the windowsill and Jest’s hands were on her waist, pulling her across.
Catherine gasped and fell into him, hat bells jingling. Jest’s arms encircled her and he turned, catching her mid-fall. Cath found herself hanging in his arms, her fingers digging into his shoulders, one foot still on the windowsill and the other scraping against the carpet. Her heartbeat danced between them and a tea-drunk giggle threatened to intrude into the chilly quiet of the morning.
Jest was grinning, and though it was too dark to see the color of his eyes, she could picture exactly what shade they were.
Gulping, she removed the hat and returned it to Jest’s head. “Thank you,” she murmured, hoping he knew it wasn’t just for helping her up the tree and through the window. Hoping he knew it was for everything. The thrills, the laughs, the secrets he’d shared. The night may have had moments of panic and terror, but it had also been an entire night when she didn’t have to be the daughter of a marquess.
He didn’t set her down. Didn’t let her go.
“When will I see you again?” he whispered.
A tickle erupted in her stomach.
He wanted to see her again.
Happiness coursed to the ends of her limbs.
She could be his reason to stay in Hearts. She wanted to be.
But with that thought, the gut-deep ache of her situation returned full force.
In Hearts, he was not a Rook. He was a court joker, and she was being courted by the King.
Cath planted both feet on the floor and extricated herself from his hold. He didn’t try to stop her—perhaps the worst disappointment of all.
She propped herself against a rose-covered bedpost, her legs still shaky. “We can’t,” she said, before amending, “I can’t.”
His dimples faded.
She tried again. “Tonight was…” Magnificent. Marvelous. Magical.
But also horrible and dangerous.
“Tonight can’t happen again.”
His half smile quirked, more sardonic this time. “I know. That is the way of Time.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You should go.” She was painfully aware of how easily their voices could carry through the walls. Soon Mary Ann would come to light the fire and fill the washbasin. Jest had to leave, and he couldn’t ever come back to her window again, and she could never admit to anyone this night had happened.
She had been to a real tea party. She had made friends who weren’t in the gentry. She had narrowly escaped death and watched the poor Lion being carried away into the night.
But she could never speak of these things. She, too, had a secret now to keep.
“Perhaps I’ll see you at the Turtle Days Festival?” said Jest. “If not more of His Majesty’s garden parties.”
His tone was light, but it felt forced. Clinging to optimism.
Cath shrugged, growing more tense by the moment. “I’ll be at the festival. It’s my family’s festival, after all.”
Surprised, Jest glanced around the room, taking in the elaborate crown moldings and silver candlesticks and tapestried bed curtains.
“That’s right,” he murmured. “You’re the daughter of the Marquess.”
As if he’d forgotten.
“It’s tradition that I start the dancing. I’ll be dancing the lobster quadrille. I expect … I expect I’ll be dancing with the King.” She stuck out her tongue in distaste.
Jest’s expression brightened. “As I expect I’ll be performing for him.”
He stuck his tongue out to mimic her.
One of her embarrassing snorts escaped, unwilled, and Catherine buried her face in her hands.
“What if…,” Jest started.
She lowered her hands. He had taken a step closer to her.
“You dance your lobster quadrille, and I’ll juggle some clams, and we’ll both pretend to be hidden away in a secret sea cave, where we don’t have to think about courtships or royal missions or anything but ourselves.”
“That does sound lovely,” she said, struggling to remember why this was a bad idea. Everything about him was a bad idea, and yet …
“Then I will see you at the festival?”
She started to shake her head, to be firm in her stance that this, whatever this was, could not continue past this night, this morning, this very moment. “Jest…”
His eyebrows lifted and he looked pleased at the intimacy of his name. No Misters, no Sirs.
“You should go,” she stammered.
As if she’d summoned them, footsteps sounded outside her door.
Cath spun around. The knob jiggled.
There was a soft thump behind her and the crackle of leaves.
She glanced back and Jest was gone.
CHAPTER 22
THE DOOR OPENED and Mary Ann was there, her maid uniform silhouetted in the hallway light, along with a pail filled with kindling and long fireplace matches.
Mary Ann took two steps inside, heading for the fireplace on her silent servant’s feet—until she spotted Catherine standing in the light of the open window.
Mary Ann screamed.
The pail dropped to the floor and toppled over with a clamor, matches scattering across the carpet.
“It’s all right! It’s just me!” Catherine rushed forward, waving her arms.
Mary Ann placed a hand against her mouth and stumbled against the door frame. “Cath! Goodness! What are you—good heavens, my bones jumped right out of my skin! I thought you were the Jabberwock, climbing in through the window!”
Cath shuddered as memories of the monster cascaded over her. She tried to shake them off.
“Do I look like a monster to you?” Scurrying past her, Cath glanced down the hallway and, seeing that no alarm had yet been raised from her parents’ rooms, shut the door.
“What were you doing by the window?” Mary Ann said, her voice warbling. “It’s freezing in here. You’ll catch your death! And … what are you wearing? Are you dressed?”
“Hush, Mary Ann. You’ll wake the whole house, if you haven’t already.”
Dropping to the floor, Mary Ann started scooping up the fallen contents of her pail, while Cath bustled back to the nightstand and lit an oil lamp.
Even after righting the pail, Mary Ann stayed on her knees with her hand pressed to her chest. Cath felt bad for scaring her, but also glad that she hadn’t been Abigail.
“What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” Mary Ann finally asked, the hysteria gone from her voice.
“I was—I thought I heard something. Outs
ide.”
Mary Ann’s eyes widened again. She stood and crossed to the window. “And you act like I’m a frightened child. It really might have been the Jabberwock, you know.” She stuck her head outside and scanned the shadowed trees. “Or maybe a raccoon bandit—sneaky little things.”
“Perhaps,” Catherine muttered, wondering whether Jest was still out there, sneaking.
Mary Ann shut the window, then turned and eyed Catherine’s dress. It was the same she’d worn to the King’s garden party the day before, but the hem was now stained with tea and wet with dew and her knees were muddied where she’d scrambled through the brush to try to save the Turtle. Glancing down, Cath noticed a waxy leaf caught in the lace cuff of her sleeve. She plucked it off. Chewed her lip. Met Mary Ann’s stare again.
“You heard something?” Mary Ann drawled, suddenly skeptical. “Perhaps you were having another dream.”
“Perhaps?”
Mary Ann crossed her arms.
Starting to shiver, Cath hugged herself tight. “It really is quite crisp in here…”
It was another long, awkward moment before Mary Ann drew herself up to full height and walked with agonizing slowness toward the fireplace. Her suspicious gaze lingered on Catherine the whole time.
Cath swallowed. “Thank you, Mary Ann.”
She picked at the climbing roses, listening as Mary Ann removed the fireplace grate and set up the kindling. Within minutes, a fire had sparked and taken hold.
Cath spotted the single long-stemmed rose that Jest had left on her windowsill, now forgotten on the floor. The petals were already fading. She wondered whether Mary Ann had noticed it too, and whether she’d written it off as another figment from one of Cath’s dreams.
Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she looked back at her dearest friend. The fire’s orange-gold glow flickered over Mary Ann’s face. Her jaw was set in annoyance, and Cath felt a twinge of guilt.
She padded to the hearth and knelt down beside Mary Ann.
“I lied,” she said.