Page 90 of Winterveil

Now entertain a conjecture of a time

When creeping murmur and the poring dark

Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,

The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fixed sentinels almost receive

The secret whispers of each other’s watch.

Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames

Each battle sees the other’s umbered face

Klaudia’s mind flared again. Adrenaline flooded her. She turned to the chorus of act two.

Now all the youth of England are on fire

When she looked up from the page, Giselle was watching her intently. “Does any of this make sense to you?”

“Yes,” Klaudia said, with a surge of certainty, “it does.”

She and Giselle both dressed hurriedly and returned to the great room. Klaudia found herself glancing again and again at the chessboard. Mere hours ago Julian had been sitting there, moving his pieces with long, dexterous fingers, staring at her unblinkingly from behind his glasses. The image kept returning to her, and it was both invigorating and nerve-racking. She hated to do something as mundane as miss him.

Klaudia hated even more to wonder what would happen if she and Giselle failed. Or what was already happening to Julian and Nadiya, wherever Deckard had taken them. She had to believe that this was all still part of the simulation, an elaborate test. She had to believe that Julian and Nadiya were both valuable enough not to risk damaging.

But Klaudia also knew there were plenty of ways to hurt someone without leaving any evidence.

Giselle looked equally nervous. Her cheeks were pale and she was visibly shaking. The clock mounted above the fireplace ticked loudly, approaching midnight.

Now entertain a conjecture of a time . . .

“Are you sure about this?” Giselle asked. “I know, I don’t have any right to doubt you, I just—”

Klaudia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I know that you’re good at this. That you’re a genius. The way Julian talks about you—Nadiya, too. You were Valeran’s top student, you . . .” Giselle’s gaze dropped to the floor. “You have a reason for being here. I don’t. I’m sorry. I can’t really help you.”

Klaudia was so taken aback she could have laughed. It seemed absurd to her that someone like Giselle would ever be uncomfortable in her company. More than ever she felt as though they were living in some bizarre, through-the-looking-glass world, where everything was backward and twisted, where an all-American former pageant queen confessed such a thing to her.

“Trust me,” Klaudia said, “nothing in my life has adequately prepared me for this.”

Giselle looked up timidly.

“All I did at Valeran was stand at a podium or sit behind a desk. I wrote essays and played games. And all I did before was read the paper and buy stocks on my father’s computer. I’m not good at this—whatever this is. I’m just trying to get us through it safely.”

Not that she had even done a particularly good job of it, so far. She had missed something, and Deckard had gotten the drop on them. She could never let it happen again.

“If anything,” Klaudia went on more slowly, “this is all my fault. I don’t blame anyone but myself.”

“It’s not,” Giselle replied, with unexpected fierceness. “You’ve done more for us than anyone else could have.”

Klaudia wasn’t sure she believed that. But the conviction in Giselle’s voice was unmistakable. There was resolve in her gaze now, too, the timidity shed.

Now all the youth of England are on fire—