She thrust the poker into the fire until it grew hot. Then she touched it to the back of the cabinet, charring the wood. An acrid smell filled the room.
When the panel became soft and black, she chipped at it with the end of the poker, creating a small, jagged depression. It would be slow going, she realized, but eventually, she could create a hole, then pry and chip at the edges to make it large enough to crawl through. She would bum and burrow her way to freedom.
She only hoped that after all her efforts, the door at the other end would still function.
*****
Three weeks passed, then a month. Donskoy scarcely visited her at all anymore, which came as a relief. Zosia had told him that constant rest was imperative for the health of his son, and that he should no longer join Marguerite in her bed, whatever the purpose. Lord Donskoy readily complied. His only interest was in the child; Marguerite was now just the carrier.
Zosia herself came to Marguerite's room each morning to lay a hand on her stomach and administer a potion. Yelena's visits were more frequent. She accompanied the old woman to help lift Marguerite from the bed and walk her about the room, and the mute girl returned alone three times thereafter each day, like clockwork, to bring broths and assist Marguerite with her personal matters. Each time she left, the dull click of a turning key sounded in the lock.
Between visits, Marguerite toiled at the back of cabinet, praying that no one would discover her work. She tired easily, so it was only possible to labor for a quarter hour at a time, slowly picking and chipping away at the wood. The panel seemed petrified, as hard as rock. Before returning to bed, she tried to conceal the damage by covering the hole with garments, but she knew her project would be readily discovered if anyone looked closely.
Fortunately, Marguerite had little reason to dress in finery, and few of her gowns could have covered her enormous belly anyway. And then, there was the damage, the slashed silk. Yelena had little reason to open the cabinet.
As far as her attendants knew, Marguerite still remained bedridden, moving only occasionally to a chair by the fire, and then with help. She worried that Zosia would see through her ruse, but so farf the old woman had said nothing to suggest she knew of her patient's true condition. She encouraged the mother-to-be to rest as much as possible, for the baby's sake; to all appearances, Marguerite was complying.
After a time, as the hole neared completion, Marguerite told Yelena she was feeling well enough to eat solid food. She requested hard cheese and bread. Of these, she ate half, then stowed the rest in her cabinet, She had no idea how long she would be traveling when she made her escape. But some preparations were in order.
Finally, the hole was almost large enough to crawl through. Just two more days-one if she pushed herself-and Marguerite could make her escape. If she waited any longer, she might be unable to walk. Her stomach was larger than that of any pregnant woman she had ever seen, though by her count she was only five months into her term.
Her plan was crude and desperate. She would steal down to the stables and take one of the horses, then ride out to the fork and turn right. She had never ridden past the rim. Perhaps her escape lay that way. It was not a good plan, she knew, yet it seemed her sole chance. Once the baby was born, she would be expendable. She knew it was true. And she did not wish to leave without her child.
Marguerite was comparing her own wide girth with the size of the hole in her cabinet when she heard a carriage approaching. She had heard the same sound twice before. And both times, it had heralded the arrival or departure of Jacqueline Montarri. Apparently, with Marguerite bedridden, Lord Donskoy had forgiven his friend and welcomed her back to the keep.
Marguerite went to the window and glimpsed Jacqueline's slender form emerging from her carriage, heading toward the entrance to the keep. Ljubo stood at the back of the vehicle, examining a frayed rope. It had come loose from the parcel it entwined- the long black box.
Ljubo grabbed the crate and tried to wrestle it back onto the cargo platform. The box shifted suddenly and slipped to the ground, falling open. Marguerite put her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry. The crate was empty. She realized it would probably not remain that way for long.
The moon was waxing, nearly full. That meant the currents in the mists would be bringing more "lost travelers" to the rim. Jacqueline had not come simply to see Donskoy. As usual, she intended to mix business with pleasure. And, as usual, she would not go home empty-handed.
A smile spread across Marguerite's lips, one that was uncharacteristically wicked. Suddenly she knew how she was going to escape Lord Donskoy's castle.
*****
That night, after the moon had fully risen, Marguerite heard Lord Donskoy sounding his horn outside on the grounds. His companions gathered as they had done before, preparing for another excursion. Marguerite spied on them from her window. Soon the cart and the riders departed, along with their pack of hounds. It reminded her vaguely of the hunts she had seen in Darkon-her father and his friends, riding out in pursuit of a stag. But in Donskoy's domain, the notion of a hunt was much more distinctive.
Marguerite gathered a few belongings in a makeshift sack: a water skin and food, dagger and flint, a wool cloak and a pair of leather gloves. She also included the brooch Donskoy had given her on their wedding day, the one inscribed "forever." Without funds, she might need something to trade. Then she selected a tunic that would fit over her bulging stomach and placed it in the cabinet beside her high suede boots. After that, all that remained was the waiting. Marguerite settled in a chair before the fire.
Hours later, the cart and horses returned. As the riders dismounted, Marguerite heard Jacqueline's purring voice and Donskoy's warm replies. The party had been successful; her husband was in a good mood. That meant Jacqueline would stay the night, as Marguerite had hoped. And in the morning, after a light breakfast, the dark-haired woman would depart-but this time the black box on her carriage would bear a souvenir from her trip to the rim. Marguerite crawled into her bed, satisfied.
Just after dawn, Yelena and Zosia appeared for the morning regimen, bringing her breakfast. The mute girl assisted with the nurse-maiding, then left the room.
"You have grown much stronger," said Zosia. "Perhaps you would like to step outside today. Some fresh air might do you good."
"Maybe tomorrow," said Marguerite, feigning weariness. "I don't want to take any chances." Her heart drummed and her breathing was swift. She hoped Zosia wouldn't notice.
The old woman grumbled, then lifted Marguerite's nightshift to feel her stomach. She raised her brow, then went to the black purse she always brought with her, extracting a needle attached to a string. Marguerite pushed down her shift and sat up, crossing her arms over her stomach.
"What's the needle for?" she demanded, unwilling to lie passively beneath a sharp metal object.
Zosia snorted. "I think your time is growing near. I want to confirm it."
"That's not possible," Marguerite protested.
Zosia shrugged. "The needle will inform me. I will suspend it above your belly as I ask the question, and it will spin to reveal the time of your delivery. Don't worry. There will be no pricking."
Reluctantly, Marguerite pulled her shift up for the test. Zosia began to hum, watching the needle as it turned one way and then the other, spinning in the air above Marguerite's stomach.
"Not long now," the old woman announced. She returned the needle to her purse, "hot long at all."