By the time I have finished tracing the map and memorizing key passages, the sun has long since set and I find myself shivering from the cool night air.

I grab a blanket off the bed, wrapping it around myself as I cross the room to the open window. I welcome the fresh breeze against my face, smoothing my forehead where it has been tight with tension since I began formulating a plan to release the commoners held in the Palace gaol.

Over the last several hours, I have managed to piece together an idea that, if executed seamlessly, should implement the perfect cover for a couple dozen people walking out of their prison cells and straight through the front gate of the Palace.

I pull the blanket tightly over my shoulders as I look up toward the night sky, my eyes reflexively picking through the familiar patterns etched by the stars. Out of habit I orient myself relative to my old childhood home using a technique my father taught me.

My thoughts drift back to the nights spent with my parents and my brother, all crammed into the tiny flat we shared. I remember my father taking my brother and I up to the roof to get a respite from the cramped space.

"See that right there?" His large hand encircles my own as he points my finger up toward a line of bright stars. "That is the Fireline. It was formed after the Burn, when the ashes of our old civilization floated up into the sky. Notice how it begins at the horizon and trails upward? It is forever guiding you toward the North. If you can find the Fireline, you can always find your way home."

My eyes are wide as I fight to take in the million twinkling points above us. My father's grip tightens around me, warm and secure.

"I want you to remember that, my sweet Kay. This world can sometimes seem very big, but you are never lost so long as you can find your stars."

I nod reverently while our joined hands trace the distant mass of silver highlighting the night sky. Leaning back against my father's warm, solid form, I know I am safe and loved as he hugs me close.

Here, in my plush Palace bedroom high above the City, I can almost smell the warm scent of clay on his favourite linen shirt, remnants of a day's work in the mines. I shut my eyes tight, fighting to preserve the memory as my tired mind slowly releases it back to the stars above. I open my eyes and start to pull the window shut before changing my mind and leaving it open to the fragrant night air.

As I crawl into bed, I turn the next steps over in my mind once more; with only one week left until the ball, I will have to work quickly. First, I will have to watch the guards, noting their schedules and shift changes. Next, I will figure out a way to get down to the gaol so that I will know the various impediments between the commoners and the Palace gate. While I'm down there I will take stock of the number of prisoners, both male and female, so I know how many outfits I'll have to arrange for. Finally, I will have to organize several carriages for transporting people out of the Palace during what is sure to be one of the busiest nights of the year.

It couldn't be more simple.

Sighing, I flip over in my bed and punch my pillow into submission before flopping back down again. With so many pieces to contend with, I can't help but think back to Harry and Lara's warnings about my habit of taking unnecessary risks.

I weigh the concerns of my friends against the leaden guilt that has plagued me since I began flitting around in beautiful clothes, sleeping in a comfortable bed and stuffing myself with food every day. The weeks spent pretending to be a courtier have yielded no results; I had hoped that by now, Will would have made some progress toward his rebellion but he seems content to take his precious time.

The truth is that while I have several reasons for wanting to help the people sitting in those mouldy cells belowground, one all-encompassing fact is that I need to feel like myself again. I need to remember who I am and prove that I haven't completely turned my back on the commoners.

My father's words echo in my head as sleep finally takes me:

You are never lost so long as you can find your stars.

After only a few hours of dream-filled rest, I allow Sera to dress me, then stumble out of my room into the hallway. I join the throng of ladies emerging from their own rooms, their hair carefully set and clothes less creased than my own.

I fall into step with Blushes, Glassy and Blinky, allowing their inane chit-chat to flow over me as we trod the now-familiar route down to the Great Hall for breakfast. When we arrive, I all but collapse into my usual chair and take a long sip from the steaming, caffeinated drink placed before me.

Chairs scrape roughly against the stone floor and we all rise to greet Meg and her father. Today, the King wears a wine-coloured jacket cuffed with gold filigree while Meg trails several steps behind, looking as elegant as ever in a floating crimson gown. I catch her eye as she walks by our table and she sticks her tongue out at me. I snort, coughing into my napkin while a couple of the ladies shoot me looks of disapproval.

After we sit down to our breakfast, I glance over at Will's table. He appears a bit haggard this morning as well, with a couple of days' worth of stubble covering his cheeks and faint shadows bordering his eyes. He looks up just as I realize my gaze has lingered a bit too long and I bring my attention immediately to my plate, shovelling several large forkfuls of eggs into my mouth as though nothing has ever been so important.

While sketching out the Palace schematics last night, I briefly considered confiding in Will. There is no doubt that the jailbreak would be infinitely easier to pull off with his help, but I ultimately decided to keep him in the dark. For one, I couldn't imagine a scenario in which careful, single-minded Will would approve of such a risk. No, it is best that I protect him from any knowledge of my goings-on, in case something goes wrong.

Or in case he tries to stop me.

I keep my eyes downcast for the entirety of the meal. The ladies' conversation feels even more mundane than usual and I struggle to keep an expression of feigned interest on my face. When we are finally excused, I watch as the half-finished plates are cleared and our leftovers are whisked away, the sight of all that wasted food readying me to enact the first step in my plan.

We file back upstairs and I rush to grab a cloak and book before stopping by the parlour and remarking to Blinky that I am going into the garden to read. Blinky's eyelids flutter uncomprehendingly while the rest of the ladies pull out embroidery and go about their usual routine of ignoring me entirely.

Finally free of the stifling, perfumed atmosphere, I hurry down the stairs and out to the courtyard. I pull the cloak up over my head and force myself to walk leisurely through the yard and out the east exit, toward the barracks.

Over the courtyard wall, I spy the low building that houses the off-duty guards. The barracks are dark and discreet, nestled securely against the much more formidable gaol. The darkened prison is pocked with small, narrow slits for windows and is completely unadorned save for the heavy wooden door that bars it. Though it seems small and sits low to the ground, I know from studying the schematics that the level below sprawls expansively beneath the earth.

I stroll over to the far end of the yard and sink down onto a bench. I flip open my book, seemingly oblivious to the world around me. In reality, I am watching the surrounding area and taking careful note of anyone entering or leaving the barracks or the gaol.

The afternoon drags on and I take care to change my position from time to time, always keeping a sharp eye on the comings and goings of any man wearing a guard's uniform. As the sun performs its arc across the sky, I begin to regret not bringing along any food or water, but I am unwilling to leave my perch for a moment and miss a crucial detail in the routine of the guardsmen.

Eventually, the hour grows late and I hear the tread of horses' hooves and the rumbling of carriages, signalling the arrival of the evening's dinner guests. A distant, tinkling laughter and a general stirring reminds me that it is time to make myself seen again, and I reluctantly rise to my feet, rubbing my sore backside. I head back through the courtyard and up to my room, only half paying attention to my surroundings as the guards' schedule solidifies in my mind's eye.

I stand passively while Sera re-dresses me for the evening meal, forcing idle chit-chat with her as I mentally catalogue what I learned and file away the information. A warm, pleasant feeling flows through my limbs, filling me with the familiar buzzing of a plot being raised against our suppressors. This is the feeling I have anticipated for the entirety of the time that I have been here. For too long I have loafed about in inaction, every day struggling with the frustration of following someone else's scheme, of spending day after day participating in the most mundane of activities while Will and his conspirators bide their time.

I am taking this matter into my own hands and doing what I do best. Today was a good day; I took a small, but crucial, step toward learning the everyday goings-on of the Palace guards, and tomorrow I shall do the same. Soon, I will have enough information to figure out a safe moment to slip into the barracks, steal a uniform and enter the gaol. Within the week, I will be seeing the prisoners and their conditions for myself.

"Ready, miss?" There is a note of impatience in Sera's tone and I realize she has been repeating herself while I have been wrapped up in my own thoughts.

I roll my shoulders back, tilting my head at my reflection in the mirror, noting the high colour in my cheeks and the mischievous glint in my eye.

"Yes, I'm ready," I tell her.