Story:

The cellar, to Violet’s considerable irritation, was comfortable.

It had a low table, cushions, neatly folded bedding, and a cabinet containing cups and a glazed water pitcher. A narrow window near the ceiling admitted a pale strip of daylight. Someone had even placed a small vase of flowers beside the lamp.

It was difficult to sustain a properly indignant expression while sitting on an excellent cushion.

“This,” Kicho said, examining the room after the miko finally removed their ropes, “is a guest room.” One of their escorts paused at the door.

“A locked guest room.”

The door closed. Two sets of footsteps settled outside.

Violet looked at Kicho. Kicho looked at Violet. Then both sisters immediately began planning their escape.

By the time the strip of daylight had moved halfway across the wall, they had considered ninety-nine possibilities.

The window was too narrow. The guards did not respond to flattery. Claiming royal immunity had produced a lengthy silence from the corridor.

Ravencrest remained stubbornly beyond Violet’s reach, and Kicho’s confiscated katana had not obligingly returned merely because she concentrated very hard upon it.

Their most promising proposal involved overturning the water pitcher, requesting cleaning cloths, and somehow converting the resulting confusion into freedom.

They abandoned it when neither could explain the “somehow.”

Violet leaned back against the wall. “I hate this world.”

“You liked it considerably more before we arrived.”

“I was misinformed.”

Kicho’s stomach growled. Both sisters looked down at it. “Traitor,” Kicho muttered.