Ellini prepared for her departure very carefully – without, in any sense, allowing herself to think about it.

She had said she was going to leave at eight o'clock. And, though there was no reason to leave at eight o'clock other than the fact that she'd said it, she went through the preparations meticulously.

She packed her case and sent word to the Academy that the rest of her things were to be forwarded to the coaching inn on Folly Bridge. She ordered a cab to take her there, rather than allowing Jack to walk with her, because she didn't like the thought of saying goodbye to him in public. She couldn't see how it was going to work. She had no idea what either of them were going to do.

The lack of urgency made everything seem unreal. It reminded her of those serene moments before you drop a glass or stumble on the stairs, when it seems perfectly impossible that this is going to happen – you have all the time in the world to correct it – but it goes on happening, uncorrected, just the same.

And she wasn't thinking about why she was doing it. Did that mean it was a trap? Was Myrrha reeling her in for her own ends? Was Martha Harrow taking control of her feet and marching her off to settle old scores? Or was she floundering because she was trying to go against everything she'd ever been taught, and it felt so wrong that she had to switch her brain off?

She had no idea whether she could go through with it. That was the problem with this silence in her head. She didn't know what kind of conviction, if any, was behind it.

Jack went along with it, though he was having to fight harder against his anxieties. He would tag along at her elbow, asking questions, trying to get everything fixed in his mind. He kept his hands behind his back, as if he was trying not to reach out and shake her. His voice was very tight and controlled, his mouth barely open, when he spoke.

"Remind me again how Robin fits into the plan?"

"He knows Pandemonium," she said, setting her case down by the door to await the porters. "He can get me inside, and deal with any trouble from the local authorities."

"But he won't be with you when you face Myrrha? Because she can control him, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course."

"So he gets you in and then he waits quietly outside, twiddling his thumbs? What does he get out of it?"

But Jack's restless mind veered off, without waiting for an answer. She was glad of that, because she didn't have one.

"You have to get her back to Oxford, you know that, don't you? She can't be killed anywhere else. Tempt her back, or drag her back, it doesn't matter. Just get her inside the city walls."

"I know."

All day – well, since they had last made love, and certainly any time she strayed near the front door – he'd had a tight, guarded expression, as if he was trying not to say something.

And the worst part was, she knew she could have removed it in an instant. If she just turned to him and said, 'I'll stay. Don't worry. My place is here with you and Sita, just like everyone says. Just like you're trying not to say.'

If she said that, she knew all the spark – all the mobility – would return to his face. And he would be sceptical and sardonic, because he was Jack, but there would be no more tongue-biting, no more misery.

Why couldn't she say it, she wondered? Was she still thinking about the stab-wound?

She had shown him the manuscripts, in the forlorn hope that it would make him feel better, but he'd been dubious.

"Afraid? Is that the best we've got to hope for? They send a prophecy five hundred years into the future to tell us that the Princess of Pandemonium will be afraid?"

"It made me feel better," Ellini muttered.

She saw him wince and flex his fingers, as if he was annoyed with himself. He glanced at the jar of black sand on top of the piano.

Oh, what a horrible position she'd put him in! Worried to death, and then guilty whenever he expressed his worry. She'd have to get away soon. Or the other solution. The opposite.

She said goodbye to Sita, which was something she'd been dreading almost as much as saying goodbye to Jack. At least Sita had the broken leg and couldn't physically prevent her from getting out of the door.

But Sita didn't seem interested in detaining her. When Ellini stood by her bed, put on her gloves, and told her she was going, she only said, "Are you prepared?"

"Yes," said Ellini. She swung her arms and added, "As much as I can be."

Sita raised her eyebrows at this, but didn't comment. For the first time, it occurred to Ellini that her sister's trust was just as spectacular – just as unreasonable – as Jack's, considering what she'd been through.

"Well," said Sita. "When you get back, let's go someplace dull – just you, me, and Jack. Just to get used to each other."

Ellini kissed her on the forehead. "You're a pillar of good sense."

"Well, the thing is about pillars, you need more than one..."

"You won't be alone. I promise."

There was a faint roaring in her ears as she shut the door behind her. Could she promise that? Was she really so confident?

Well, yes, but it wasn't the kind of confidence that could bear close scrutiny. That was it. That was why she had been walking around in a trance all day, up to her elbows in packing-cases, looking askance at her own composure. If she paid attention to this feeling, it would evaporate.

She wished she hadn't thought that. She was unsteadier on her feet now.

"So Robin gets you in," said Jack, as she came down from Sita's room. He had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs, pacing up and down, and now he looked up at her as if there had been no break in the conversation. The grandfather clock stood at four minutes to eight.

"Robin gets you in, and then goes away again because he's a bloody liability. What then? Didn't you say there were two of them? Myrrha and her closest confidante? Do you think they'll be considerate enough to attack you one at a time?"

Ellini was silent for a moment, chewing her bottom lip. "I do actually, yes. It's sort of a pattern. She always lets her disciples face me alone."

"As if she's trying to get rid of them?"

"Yes. Or as if-" She hesitated. She'd been thinking about this for a while. It was plausible, but probably not likely to please Jack. "I think she may have given some of her strength – some of her magic, maybe – to each of the Wylies. And, as they're killed or defeated, perhaps she gets it back."

"So she sends this confidante out to face you," said Jack glumly, "and if she beats you, fine, but even if she doesn't, it's a move that weakens you and strengthens her. Plus, she's bought herself more time to prepare."

"Exactly."

She looked at him again. His shoulders had slumped. The tight, guarded expression seemed to be slipping.

"I know what you're going to say," she murmured. "Myrrha thinks I'm playing right into her hands, and I think she's playing right into mine. The difference is, she's wrong, and I'm right."

That got a smile from him, even if it was a despairing one.

They had reached the door now. They were standing side-by-side, looking at it, and he was leaning forwards, turning towards her a little, as if he was fighting the urge to stand in front of the door and block her path.

"So this is it," he said tonelessly.

"Nothing's it!" she protested. "I'm coming back-"

He raised a hand to hush her. "I have lots to say, mouse, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't interrupt. Here-" He took a pocket watch out of his waistcoat and handed it to her. "You can time me if you like. Just like last time."

Ellini felt a creeping sense of dread that was only slightly tempered by amusement. Was he going to try and persuade her to stay? What could she do if he did?

"Do you know I used to fantasize about what would have happened if I'd kissed you before it was too late? Up on the rooftops, or – or that time when I burst into your room and found you naked. I was very realistic about it. I never assumed we wouldn't fight. There was always an interval of questions and recriminations and shouting before we got down to the love-making – although it was obviously a shorter interval on the night I burst into your room and found you naked."

"And, when I thought it was too good to be true, I played a sort of bargaining game in my head. I would have exchanged a limb to have kissed you before it was too late, say – or I would have given the faculty of speech-"

"I'm sorry," said Ellini, unable to keep silent.

He laughed. "It's an interruption and it's ludicrous, mouse. Please listen. I'm glad it happened, you know I am. But there's a difference between being glad it happened and being able to go through it again."

"You won't!"

"I think you're right, mouse," he said, raising a hand to placate her. "I'm at peace with you going – or I've gone through periods of being at peace with it, anyway. You don't protect people by wrapping them up in cotton wool, you protect them by education, I know that. But education takes time, and I've got – what? Two minutes? So I tried to think of the most important thing I've ever learned, and I suppose it's this: you are very, very clever."

He snatched up her hands as he said this and glared full in her face, as if defying her not to pay attention.

She didn't look away. She didn't smile or shake her head. After a moment, the hold on her hands loosened, and he stepped back.

"Do with that what you will," he said. "Employ the knowledge in any way you see fit. But never doubt that it is knowledge, and not an opinion. I've tested it many times. Some of them were quite painful."

Ellini didn't know what to say. She reached for the door, without much conviction, but he pushed it shut again.

"Sorry, that was a reflex," he said, taking his hand away and shaking it, as if he was trying to get the feeling back. "I won't do it again, I promise."

Ellini looked at him, and knew he was telling the truth. He wouldn't stop her. She would really have to go.

The coldness of that certainty smacked into her like a wall of ice. She reached for the door again, and then changed her mind halfway through. Her hands found his shoulders instead. She felt a hesitation, and then a tightening about her ribs that was almost painful. He had wrapped his arms around her. And she knew, with just as much cold, hard certainty as she had known the other thing, that he couldn't let her go now.

But she didn't want him to realize. It would be awful if – if he was disappointed in himself, when she had pushed him further than any man should be pushed, and then back the other way-

"I'm not ready yet," she babbled. "I'm sorry. I've forgotten something. I'll go tomorrow, I just-"

She heard him take a shuddering breath, but when she turned up her face to his, and he rained down kisses on her, his eyes were dry. Dry but tinderbox bright. The feeling in them swept through her like wildfire. She didn't want to resist. She wanted to be obliterated. And, for a time, she was.

***

She woke up just after twelve, her back fused to the sheets with sweat, and watched him sleeping.

The covers were always off him, because he liked to sleep unfettered. He had probably terrified quite a few maidservants that way, before they learned. And, of course, he didn't freeze, because there was always a fire burning in here, recreating the tropics where he'd been happiest. It was tinting his skin now, making him look golden.

He was very peaceful – with none of the bunched-up muscles she had seen when she'd watched him sleeping in the dream-room. But there was a slight frown between his eyebrows. It had been there, too, before he'd gone to sleep. All her kisses hadn't been able to smooth it over.

She wasn't going to stand at that doorway and say goodbye to him again. She couldn't be so cruel. He would be disappointed in himself if he tried to stop her, even if she told him it was natural. Perhaps she was the one who was being unnatural.

She watched him in the firelight for longer than she needed to. Even after she was sure he was asleep, she went on watching.

She didn't bother getting dressed. She'd had all her possessions sent to the coaching inn ahead of time. Perhaps she had always known she would have to make a run for it in the middle of the night.

She slipped on her drawers and her petticoat with the barest rustle. She was good at moving soundlessly now – although not usually on carpet, or in fancy clothes. She shrugged on her coat and stuffed her shoes into the pockets. She would put them on once she'd climbed down – perhaps once she'd turned a corner and was no longer visible from the window.

It was a beautiful silver night out there: double-silvered, because there was frost as well as moonlight. The cold would strike into her bones the moment she left his room, but if she could just keep her focus on the moonlight...

She slid back the catch on the window and tried to haul it up.

For a moment, she struggled silently, and then a voice said, "You have to press the frame here. It swells up in the cold weather."

She started, but managed not to scream. He was not just awake, he was standing beside her – quite naked, quite apologetic, as though he was sorry to have startled her.

He reached over, but not to grab hold of her. To hoist the window upwards. Then he stood back so as not to impede her progress, just as naked and considerate as before. She blinked in the cold air and thought: Perhaps it was me, earlier, who couldn't let go.

***

Jack took a long, slow breath and watched it steam in the air coming through the open window. He couldn't believe he had opened it for her. He couldn't believe how cold and wide and dark the night was.

She didn't say anything, but neither did she move. After a moment, something made him say, "Get a move on, love, I'm freezing."

She laughed. It was the first motion he'd seen from her, apart from the occasional blink, since he'd surprised her at the window.

She leaned forwards, gave him a light, lingering kiss that felt like a snowflake melting on his lips, and then climbed out of the window.

He watched her all the way down. He couldn't not do that. But he shut the window when she was out of sight and got back into bed. The warmth of the fire and the covers closed over him again, but it was a long time before he could stop shivering.

***

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