Ravensmuir was silent, save for the snores of men and hounds. Madeline could hear the patter of rain upon the stones, and the lap of the sea against the shore. The wind had died down, though still it rained mightily.
Her sisters slept deeply, their pallets surrounding her own. The younger girls had been particularly excited this night at the prospect of a wedding, and had taken cursedly long to settle onto their pallets. Elizabeth in particular had insisted upon talking to herself, as if she was truly talking to the invisible fairy. Madeline had been certain that the girl would never fall asleep.
But now, in the quiet of the night, the sole obstacle to Madeline’s departure was her aunt Rosamunde, who had declared herself sentry over them all.
Madeline rolled over and peered through her
