She had the sense to keep still and silent.
The wardrobe opened. Wintervale leaped down. Tituss heart imploded: the girls satchel was in plain sight under the windowsillhe had set it down earlier to open the window. But Wintervale paid no attention to the contents of his room and rushed out to the corridor.
Titus allowed himself a moment to calm down. Hurry.
The window was set deep in the facade of the house. He reopened the window and lifted the girl to the ledge. Next, her satchel in hand, he climbed out, closed the window, and latched it with a locking charm.
The fog was pervasive. She was lost in the thick, mustard-colored miasma. He felt for her but only came across a tumble of her hair.
Where is your hand?
She placed her hand in his, her fingers cold but steady. I didnt expect youd really come.
He exhaled. Then you do not know me very well.
He vaulted them both.
CHAPTER 
5
At the other end, she stumbled.
The prince caught her. I am sorry. I knew vaulting might be difficult for you just now, but I had to get you to safety right away.
He shouldnt apologize. If they were safe, then nothing else mattered.
They were in some sort of an anteroom. There was a mirror, a console table, two doors, and nothing else. He pointed his wand at the door in front of them. It opened silently, revealing a room beyond with dark red wallpaper, pale yellow chairs, and a large, empty grate before which stood a wrought iron screen with curling vines and clusters of grapes.
He lifted her again and carried her to a reclining chaise. I might have a remedy for you, he said, setting her down.
He crossed the room to another door. Astra castra, numen lumen.
The stars my camp, the deity my light.
The door opened. He walked into a room lined with drawers and shelves as far as she could see, shelves holding books, shelves holding vials, jars, and bottles, shelves holding instruments both familiar and exotic. A caged canary sat upon a long table at the center of the room. Also on the table were two valises, one brown, the second a dull red.
He disappeared briefly from her sight. She heard the sound of drawers opening and closing. He returned, sat down next to her, and cradled her head in the crook of his arm. The bitter tang of the fog clung to the wool of his jacket.
That fog, she mumbled, is it natural?
It had been thick enough to cut with a knife, alarmingly yellow in color, and smelly like pig swill.
There is no magic behind it, but it is not entirely natural eithera consequence of Britains industrialization. Here: this is to relieve the effects of vaulting.
The prince held a vial with a fine midnight-blue powder inside. He took her by the chin, his fingers warm and strong, and tipped the blue powder into her mouth. The flavor reminded her of seawater.
There is no counter-remedy for suffocation, exactly, but this is good for your general well-being.
He held out a second vial. The wellness remedy, silver-gray granules, tasted unexpectedly of oranges.
Thank you, Your Highness, she murmured.
He was already walking away, back into the room full of shelves.
What is that room? she asked.
My laboratory, he answered, opening a drawer.
What do you do there?
With his back to her, he shrugged. What anyone does in a laboratorypotions, distillations, elixirs, things of that sort.
She conducted practicals at the village school for Master Haywoodpracticals, in one form or another, were compulsory until a pupil reached fourteen. But it wasnt as if mages made their own potions at home. Commercial distilleries and potion manufacturers adequately supplied their needs. In fact, many households didnt even possess the necessary implements to make the recipes she taught.
Was it just princely eccentricity that had him equip an entire laboratory for himself, or was it something else?
The prince came out of the laboratory and closed the door behind him. He was tall and leannot thin, but tightly built. When she first saw him in her collapsed house, hed had on a plain blue tunic and dark trousers tucked into knee-high boots. Simple country attire, nothing like the elaborate state robes he donned for his official portraits.
Now he wore a black jacket with a hunter green waistcoat, black trousers, and shoes of highly polished black leatherthe jacket was more formfitting
than the tunics men wore in the Domain, the trousers, less so.
Her gaze returned to his face. Official portraits were notorious unreliable. But in this case, the pictures hadnt lied. He was handsomedark hair, deep eyes, and high cheekbones.
In his portraits he always sneered. She had once remarked to a classmate that he came across as mean-spirited, the kind of boy who would not only tell a girl she looked like a bumpkin but deliberately spill a drink on her. In person he appeared less cynical. There was a freshness to his features, an appealing boyishness, andas far as she could seeno malice at all.
Their eyes met. Her stomach fluttered.
Without a word, he opened the door behind him again. But instead of the laboratory, he walked into what appeared to be a bathroom.