XXXVIII

GRACE

Breakaway – Kelly Clarkson

The wispy crackle of Grace's voice breaking for the umpteenth time threw her into a frustrated frenzy.

"It's not use, I'm never going to reach the level we need to perform this correctly!" She ranted into the empty air of the balcony.

Beside her, Lilis stirred from her comfortable lean on the railing, "Perhaps you're right, it sounds like your voice is straining. Margrove was sure that the change in air might help but I don't think it is."

Grace suppressed the slight sting at her friend's truthfulness, "This song isn't meant to be sung by a frail human. It's meant to be a majestic harmony of otherworldly tones. We cannot continue with just yours, one voice will not be enough."

The Dryad hummed in agreeance, "But there are little left who have the time to learn the song before the ball and of those that are available, there are none that will match your need. You may need to tell Margrove it is a lost cause."

"How can I?" Grace sunk her forearms onto the marble railing of the balcony, "This is the only song from Spare Oom appropriate for the ball."

Lilis followed her lead, leaning into her friends side comfortingly, "I'm sure we'll think of something. Perhaps the song can be reworked into a solo piece."

"No, it must be sung with at least two voices, I would prefer three or more but as it is we will have to stretch it to two. If only we could find another voice like yours, but fuller somehow – not that your whistly tone is not beautiful," Grace added the last hastily to not offend the Dryad.

Lilis waved her off, "Then perhaps that would leave you free to support the lower parts."

Grace nodded, "Are you sure there are none you can think of?"

"It is said our Queen Lucy has the voice of an angel, and considering your friendship with her Majesty…"

Grace's head shook fervently before Lilis could finish her sentence, "Lucy is as wrapped up in organising the ball as Queen Susan is. There's Buckley's Chance of that ever happening on such short notice."

Lilis shook out her vine strung strands of green, one of her long-wrinkled fingers catching a strand to inspect it's leaves, "Then you will need to apologise to Margrove and admit defeat or convert the song to a Solo."

Neither option was appealing. Both shrouded with a layer of failure that Grace was not yet ready to admit.

"I'm freezing out here. Let's go inside."

The Dryad smiled knowingly as Grace tugged her back to the warmth of the Music Room. Nothing further was said as the symphony of the Orchestra wafted through their ears. The unfamiliar tune was a new masterpiece of Margrove's own making.

The Faun in question stood at the apex of the semi-circle, his hands waving about in gestures and rhythms of which Grace could only stare at in awe. He'd promised to teach her how someday – only after she had obtained the required knowledge of music.

The Dryad and the Daughter of Eve seated themselves slowly on a padded bench, moving slowly as to not disturb the piles of Sheet Music sat atop the small coffee table at their feet.

"I don't think I'm ready to give up yet," Grace whispered as she ogled Margrove's movements from their seat, "There has to be someone out there who can do it. We simply need to find them."

Lilis looked to her with bolstering confidence, "Well, if you're not ready to give up then neither am I. What kind of a friend would I be to leave you in need?"

Grace grinned gratefully as she leant her head tiredly upon the Dryad's shoulder, "I would not blame you for abstaining from my stubborn foolishness."

"Why in the Lion's Name would I abstain when I could join you? One stubborn fool is mad, but two are unstoppable. We'll search the country if we have to."

At the proclamation of her faith, Grace felt her heart swell. Her arm entangled with the rough bark of her friends as she joked, "Lord help Narnia."

They laughed, hearty and tinkling in effortless harmony amongst the array of instruments filtered in the air.

However, all noises were cut short when the door to the Music Room was unexpectedly and most unceremoniously opened.

All eyes turned toward the interruption. Some in accusation, some in curiosity. Any noise dying on the open ends of instruments with a haphazard twang.

Off against a distant wall, a thicket of Dryad's bubbled with excited voices of various tones. The wispy voices all whispering similarly of the Kingly presence at the door.

King Edmund stood in the opened doorway, fingers on the brass handle as he towered confidently over the threshold.

At once, all in the room stood. Even Grace managed it in her addled state, the removal of Lilis's shoulder jolting her to attention. There was the sound of shifting fur and paper sheets scraping against stands as the crowd lowered in respectful submission.

"Rise," The King's confident voice cut against the awed silence. He regarded the room with a cool calm as the Narnians rose in unison. When his dark eyes at last landed at last on the Leader of the Orchestra, he ushered the Faun forwards with a beckoning hand.

"As you were, everyone," Margrove called as he hastened towards the King.

The room did as asked, though their curious eyes did not cease to flicker between their work and the conversation happening under the shade of the doorway. Grace was unsure if this was a trait of all Narnians or if it was just the Orchestra that were particularly nosey.

The thicket of Dryad's were a lost cause, albeit they had not been set to work before the interruption and had no work to return to. They huddled so closely their skin began to mesh together like one robust tree trunk covered with multicoloured moss and vines. The only tell that they were sentient being the giggles and demure glances they threw over their shoulders.

"Perhaps we might run the bridge again?" Lilis suggested, firmly planting herself in the way of Grace's own view of the King.

Had she been gawking? It was hard to tell amongst the millions of thoughts littering her mind.

She was befuddled by his presence, furthermore the fact that he had undertook a journey to the music room in order to speak to Margrove and not her. What could be so important that it reserved an impromptu audience with the Faun? Surely the trip West was not that important?

When Lilis interfered with her sight again, Grace realised she had moved to continue gawking at the conversation between the Faun and the Just King.

What she had seen was not comforting, for they both shared fleeting looks in her direction; the urgency of their conversation clear in the set of their jaws and the look in their eyes. Whatever the matter was, it certainly concerned her.

"It's rude to stare," Lilis admonished, her eyes glistening in warning.

"It's also rude to interrupt," Grace returned with a pointed stare at her friends hinderance of her view.

The Dryad did not pick up on the subtlety, "I hardly think anyone can fault a King for an abrupt appearance in his own kingdom."

As Grace continued to watch what she could behind Lilis's head, she felt her blood churn and thicken, "I can."

Margrove took the King's hand warmly, the smile on his face relieved as the King spoke softly to him. After that, the two parted; Margrove returning with a slight hobble towards the Orchestra seats and King Edmund strutting determinedly towards the exact spot where Grace sat.

She gasped, ducking behind Lilis's head to shelter her surprise, "He's coming."

The Dryad rolled her eyes, "So much for 'I can'."

"I can and I will but not right now," Grace bit back half-heartedly, "Hide me!"

"Grace?"

The two friends froze as if they'd been caught in a misdeed. Grace bristled, the familiar sound of King Edmund's voice both unexpectedly soothing and terrifying. Hesitantly, she let her eyes meet him, her neck craning with the effort.

She didn't know what she expected on his features. Whilst the King had become easier to read with their close acquaintance over the past two weeks, Grace still found there were ways he could stretch his face that she did not know of.

The expression he wore now was known to her, though she'd seen little of the warmth in his molten dark eyes during their time together. Any time she might have, the King had been staring ahead in an attempt to avoid any eye contact.

The full brunt of the warmth had coaxed itself gently into his other features; a small crinkle at the corner of his eye that was reminiscent of the Gentle Queens, the light upturn of his lips which was his and his alone. In a word, he looked hopeful.

A sheet of parchment was proffered towards her, it's smooth texture littered with ink markings of all shapes and sizes.

"I have spoken to my Royal Sister and she has agreed to take over your duties with the Orchestra until your return," The Just King's dark eyes flickered briefly to the group of musicians who continued to blow, strum and stroke noise from their instruments, "Margrove has also agreed to your release."

So it was regarding the trip West. A heavy pit began to form in Grace's abdomen as she took the sheet, "Well then, it seems you've ordered things nicely, Your Majesty."

The King did not pick up on the uncertainty in her voice as he responded with an easy smile, "I will expect you in the Courtyard at dawn tomorrow, then."

Grace gaped in surprise, "Dawn?"

King Edmund eyed her meaningfully, "If our departure is delayed we may not make it back in time for the Christmas Ball. The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll return."

At the thought of yet another early morning, Grace visibly slumped. It would not be so bad if she could muster the appropriate enthusiasm for the journey but as it was…

When the Just King had first proposed the trip yesterday, something hadn't sat right with her. It was upon further inspection and his insistence that she realised that she didn't want to leave yet.

Grace was not ready to face a return to Spare Oom where she would have been declared missing for months now. Grace was not ready to leave a litany of untied matters in her wake of departing Narnia. Of course she still wanted to go home, that much remained mostly clear to her but was there something wrong with wanting to live in the reality she'd turned into home for a little while longer?

Spare Oom could wait, Narnia still had so much to offer.

The thought churned at her mind in an uncomfortable way. It was as if she'd been stirring the contents of her thoughts in one direction all of her life and then suddenly changed. It was not an easy victory. The current of her mind continued to flow in its old direction, fighting vehemently against the spoon which had begun to force the other way.

The task was becoming easier; with the promise of long nights spent humming and composing with Margrove, the moments Lucy would steal with her where they would vent until the stars we're overtaken by sunlight, the mornings spent exclusively in the complex and shifting presence of King Edmund the Just.

The King in question who was now speaking to her friend, "You are welcome too, Lilis. I'd imagine you've wanted to check on your counterpart for a while."

The Dryad nodded fervently, "Oh, may I, your Majesty? I would like to see how the tree rot is healing."

"Of course," King Edmund agreed warmly, "Then perhaps whatever the two of you are working on may be continued?"

At the prospect, Lilis gripped Grace's hand with realisation, "Perhaps we might find the voice we are looking for?"

Grace nodded automatically, the joy upon the Dryad's face barely touching her own as her thoughts continued in a downward spiral, "Perhaps we will."

If the King noticed her absence of mind, he did not comment upon it, thought it was clear he had noticed something from the concerned look he threw her way. Nonetheless, he didn't press the matter in a public space. For that Grace was grateful.

"I'll leave you to your work then," King Edmund nodded, "See that everything on that list is packed if you own it. If there is anything you don't own, please advise me immediately."

As quickly as the King came, he left. Leaving the Daughter of Eve and her Dryad companion reeling from the fleeting conversation and its implications.

Lilis attempted to pry Grace from her shell, "This is good, isn't it? You and Margrove have spoken repeatedly of the land of War Drobe and it's connection to the West… Perhaps you might find it?"

The thought bolstered the current fighting against the spoon of her will.

"Perhaps," Grace echoed emptily as her eyes fixated on Margrove's back, "I wouldn't want to hold out any hope."

Lilis scolded her, but the effect held little on Grace's muted senses as her vision tunnelled on the Faun. What had King Edmund said to make him agree? She could feel the curiosity and irritation ball her hands into fists, her overgrown nails cutting against the soft pads of her hands.

"Will you excuse me, Lil?"

Grace did not wait for her friends answer, barely registering the feeling of the edge of her skirts hitting the floor as she stood from the cushioned bench. Within ten seconds her hand was wrapped halfway around Margrove's forearm and another ten next saw them both in the chilled air of the balcony.

Grace shivered but did not retreat from the icy breeze. The privacy the outside air provided would have to be borne if she did not wish to announce her thoughts to the entirety of the Music Room.

"You agreed?" Grace demanded upon releasing the Faun's arm.

Margrove grimaced, one hand rubbing over the skin as he replied, "Yes I did."

Grace groaned, "You were supposed to say no."

At this, the Faun's brow furrowed, "I was supposed to? When did we discuss that? Do you think I can read minds, Grace?"

Grace ignored the question, a rant building precariously like a tower of cards upon her lips, "Why on earth would you agree to my departure when we're two weeks from the Christmas Ball and well behind on the schedule?"

"Why would I?" The Faun spluttered, "What do you mean 'Why would I'? Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I am needed here," Grace explicated, "You have been tearing your hair out over planning this for weeks. I can't imagine it will be any easier for you with me gone."

"You are overestimating your value in this matter," The Faun attempted to soothe her.

The words did little to soothing Grace's anger, if anything they plunged her into a darker mind then she'd previously been in, "I am overestimating my value?"

Margrove's coal eyes widened, immediately fixating upon his mistake. He held up a finger, "Wait, you know that isn't how I meant it. I'm sorry."

The feeling of hurt held aloft in the air, not entirely settled but not removed either.

"Explain," Grace gritted through clenched teeth.

"The music is set. You and I have worked on it as much as possible," Margrove turned his palms inwards, placing them upon his chest, "Now the matter of teaching it to the orchestra lies with me. I know that you are still working with Lilis on the song from Spare Oom but His Majesty, King Edmund advised she would be joining you on the journey. Surely you can take your practice abroad?"

His expression was much like Lilis's had been moments ago. There was the shared look of concern, of bargaining. Grace was beginning to wonder if this whole matter was turning her insane. She felt it, the tumultuous battle which had raged in her mind ever since Lucy had planted the idea of staying. Now that the opportunity to imagine such a life had fallen out of the box, it had become difficult to return it again. It was as if it fought, scratching its fingers at her sanity as she tried to imprison it.

"We can," Grace acceded, "But there is more work to do that just that."

Margrove sighed softly as he grasped both of her hands in his thick calloused fingers, "Yes there is. Work that Her Majesty, Queen Susan has enlisted to help with."

"Queen Susan has far more important matters to deal with."

"I think you'll find there is little below Her Majesties nose when it comes to hard earned work. The Queen is a pillar of the South where such things are celebrated. She has been in your position long before your arrival," Margrove tilted his head as he eyed Grace knowingly, "And she will remain long after you have returned to Spare Oom."

Grace tried to hold firm against the emotions inside her. The stress of it made her feel ill and it was at that moment she was glad to be near an edge where there would be little consequences should she need to empty her stomach.

Despite the green tint to his friends skin, Margrove continued, "We will be well looked after. This leaves you free of any obligations which could get in the way of you returning home."

If the first was a reminder the second was a blow. Grace head shook as she gripped the balcony railing. The cool marble doing very little to sooth the heat of her palms.

"I don't understand," Margrove's cautious tones could barely be heard over the buzzing in her ears, "I thought this is what you wanted? Why are you upset?"

"I don't know," Grace breathed a deep and shuddering breath, "I've been here for months now Margrove. What if there is nothing waiting for me when I get back. What if I regret leaving Narnia?"

"What if you- what?" The disbelief was clear in her friends voice as he placed a hand upon her clothed shoulder, "Grace, do you not wish to return home?"

The Daughter of Eve leaned heavily upon the banister, "I told you, I don't know."

"But you still wish to find the Wardrobe, right?"

The idea was equally resented and yearned for. The emotions pulling Grace so far within herself she could only manage another dull response, "I don't know."

At the third repeat, Margrove had enough. The sharp yet muted feeling of the smack upon her dress covered shoulder brought her eyes to the incredulous fire behind the Faun's.

"Come to your senses," He scolded, "What do you mean by whispering forlornly like that. 'I don't know', what a poor excuse."

"Mar, I-"

"No," The Faun cut her off, "You be quiet, it's my turn to speak. What do you mean by this behaviour? You've done nothing but cry about Spare Oom ever since you've set foot on Narnian soil and now you've somehow managed to flip it the other way around. By the Lion's Mane, I can't imagine what has altered you so suddenly."

"It isn't sudden," Grace defended, "I've been here for nearly two months."

Margrove shook his head, "Since our initial conversation of the Wardrobe you have returned to me six times asking after my Uncle's response. The most recent was a few days ago. Whatever has happened has taken place since then."

"You said your Uncle has given no reply on those matters," Grace returned.

"But we know the Wardrobe is in the West," The Faun rebuffed, "The very place that King Edmund is taking you. Why aren't you seeing this for the opportunity that it is?"

Grace's denial felt stronger than it actually was, "We don't know the Wardrobe is in the West, those are only rumours. If your Uncle had confirmed such a prospect then maybe I would be more inclined to feel excited but he hasn't and the King has not said anything about his intentions to let me go. Why would I allow myself to feel hope over nothing? Why would I give up the life I have built here with you, Lil and Lucy over a rumoured portal."

"It's not rumoured," Margrove rolled his eyes, "The Kings and Queens have travelled through it themselves."

"And not even they know where it lies," Grace whisper screamed, her eyes wide and pointed with incredulity.

"Careful," Margrove warned, "Remember where you are."

Grace took a deep breath, "I can't allow myself to hope, Mar. I have worked too hard to keep my expectations low and have only just begun to come to terms with the idea that I may never return home. This all feels too sudden."

The Faun's onyx eyes crinkled with concern as he gently wrapped an arm across her back, "You have fought against hope because previously there was no chance of your return. Now, you've managed to worm your way past the defences of the one monarch who stood in your way. The board has changed, there is no reason for you to hold on to fear any longer."

Something in Grace scoffed at the idea of King Edmund trusting her. He'd yet to officially say as such, regardless of the animosity which had dissolved between them. Further to that, there was no such look in his eye – not that Grace would know it if she saw it in their dark depths.

Perhaps there was something to what Margrove suggested. Whilst she had not seen flat out trust, there had been warmth, interest and – if her assumption of their earlier conversation was correct – hope.

Margrove watched her expression with deep seated knowing. Sometimes, Grace swore the faun could see directly into her soul.

"Your choices are not as limited as you believe them," He continued, "You should take the King's offer. Go West, see my home. Who knows, perhaps you'll stumble across my Uncle. I'm sure if you ask him kindly enough he would show you to the Waste where he first met the Queen Lucy."

Grace could envision it; a thick blockade of trees, just like Margrove had described to her, broken into a precarious circle. The pillar at the middle of living iron. The details were vague as Margrove had only heard the story whilst young, choosing instead to study the older histories of Narnian lore in his later youth.

It was there, so clear in her mind's eye, yet somehow frosted like she was seeing it through glass. The glass of her prison.

Grace's hair bobbed in the wind like dying flames, "The King has still not advised that I can leave. He has only offered to show me the West. Unless there is something that you know and I don't, I refuse to hope that I'll even be allowed to leave if we do find the Wardrobe."

A flicker of emotion crossed the Faun's face, barely perceptible before his expressions closed off again. Though she did not catch it, the brief hesitation was enough to make her question him.

Grace's grey eyes narrowed, "Do you know something?"

Margrove's expression softened into an easy smile that did not reach his coal eyes, "There is no way I possibly could. Of the two of us, you are the one that holds the King's intimate attentions. You are alone with him far more often than I."

"You're dodging the question," Grace observed.

"No," Margrove rebuffed, "I'm simply not giving you the answer you want."

Another evasion. It became difficult for Grace to see through the blur of her lashes, her eyes narrowing far into the suspicion she felt. She could question him, try to find some way to trick the answers out the Faun. Try being the operative word, in a lot of ways Margrove was just as stubborn as she was, if not more. She'd have better luck getting the information out of King Edmund, himself.

She supposed if Margrove was hiding something, the only way to find out the truth would be to follow his advice and go to the West. One answer lied in finding the Wardrobe, the other was tethered to her inevitable return when she would hound him for an answer to no end.

The first jolted against the old current of her mind. The spoon faltering slightly as she considered the outcome openly. She could go home, if that was what Margrove was so secretly trying to tell her. Within two weeks from now she could enter the doors of the Wardrobe and end up somewhere on Earth.

There was little hope in Grace's mind that she would return back to her bed, considering how far she'd travelled from her initial entry point. Is that how it worked? Was there some kind of multiversal distance that was linked between worlds. Where would she end up when she entered the Wardrobe?

The spoon rattled, a sharp reminder of the alternative. If she chose to stay, what would her life be like? Endless evenings discussing music over plates of food with Margrove? A litany of balls and processions of Queen Susan's making? A lifetime under the watchful eyes of both Kings of Narnia? There was one point that stood out amongst the rest, one that she actually felt herself yearn for.

"What happens if I get to the door and I can't do it?" Grace voiced.

The hairy arm across her back gave her a comforting squeeze, "When you reach the end of this road, I think we both know the choice you will make. Perhaps it might reinforce your decision if I were to remind you that none of us would blame you for it. Not I or Lilis or Queen Lucy the Valiant," Margrove leaned in to whisper the last, "Not even his Majesty, King Edmund."

Grace scoffed, "I don't think King Edmund will feel any kind of way about my departure apart from relief. I'd imagine he'd watch me leave personally just to ensure I'm not harbouring any confidential information regarding Narnia."

Margrove fixed her with a stern look, "If it were two weeks ago, I might agree with you… but it isn't. Time has passed and you both have come leaps and bounds from where you once were. He's trying Grace, perhaps you should let him."

An unintentional brow rose on the Daughter of Eve's disbelieving face, "Let him? How on Earth do I let a king do anything?"

"By obeying his wishes," Margrove began obviously, "And following him West."

Grace sighed, a long and drawn-out noise. Perhaps it would be fine. Perhaps they would go all the way there to find nothing and Grace would be free of this troublesome stirring of emotions.

Or maybe they would locate the Wardrobe and upon seeing it Grace would know immediately what her decision was.

Either way, there was nothing to be gained by siting at Cair Paravel, wringing her hands for the rest of her life over 'what if's'.

"Fine," Grace relented, "But I still remain that if we find the Wardrobe, I will be the one who decides. Not you or the King or anyone else."

Margrove looked at her like that much was obvious, "I do not believe that even Aslan himself would take that right from you."

Grace watched as the mention of the Great Lion alighted the Faun's features with something otherworldly, something she still could not understand.

She was shaken from her gawking when Margrove clapped his hands together.

"Now," He settled, "I'm afraid I will be little to no use on the steps of Cair Paravel in my addled state and as it is, you will need to sleep soon if you are to wake up at a reasonable hour."

Grace grumbled hopelessly at the thought, unsure how she was supposed to sleep with such an adventure on the tide of the morning.

In a fit of thought, the Faun hobbled back within the archway of the Music Room, the only tell that he would be returning being the finger he pointed in her direction as he disappeared. When he reemerged, it was with pink cheeks of effort and a very familiar looking instrument in the palm of one hairy hand.

Grace eyed the instrument interestedly, was Margrove going to sing her a good bye song? Given the emotion of the moment, she wasn't sure she could take such a thing without tears.

It turned out the gesture was far worse.

"Here," Margrove said, holding out the smoothed and strung wood in the air between them, "I want you to have this."

The burn of Grace's eyes was nothing compared to that of her chest as she stared at the instrument like it was a foreign entity, "Mar-"

The Faun shook his head stubbornly, "I will not take any refusal from you, Grace. It is a gift, one you will accept."

When the lute was thrust forwards again, Grace took it, the familiar warmth of the wood on the pads of her fingertips causing tears to well over her lashes.

"I don't know how to play," Grace whispered as her fingers ran over the grainy wood.

Margrove leaned forwards as if he meant to tell her some great secret, "Then you'll need to find someone to teach you."

Through the thick fog of sadness, Grace knew there was no one on Earth who could probably teach her to play with the same accuracy as one in Narnia. She then made a silent oath to herself to learn before she left. At least then, Grace would have something to take home with her. Something to remember this country by.

"Thank you," Grace choked as she clawed the bulbus bottom of the lute closer to her chest, "I don't know if it will follow me to Spare Oom, but if it does I will treasure it always."

The small smile Margrove gave her was watery too, "I won't be there tomorrow to say goodbye. If it suits you, I will say it now-"

"We don't know that I'm leaving. I could come back in two weeks just the same as I am now," Grace protested.

Margrove took her softly by the shoulders, "But we cannot be certain and I could not forgive myself if you left before we had the chance."

Grace's tears were well and truly falling now. The Lute remaining cemented to her fingers as it was thrown across the Faun's back. She burrowed herself into her friends shoulder, the whispered goodbyes and thank you's too painful to commit to memory permanently.

When they parted, both were teary eyed. A remarkable mixture of coal in the ocean as each committed the other to memory.

"I wouldn't be sane if it weren't for you, or Lucy or Lilis," Grace whispered, "How on earth will I survive without you?"

Margrove's lips pressed into a firm line to keep the lower from wobbling, "You will survive in the land you call home. The place where you belong."

His words elicited an instinctive tug. It was almost physical in nature, like someone had tied a string to an organ just below her lungs, a string which tugged her backwards with vehement fury.

Something inside Grace revolted against the sentence in a way that couldn't be denied, "I'm not so certain that is true anymore."

Margrove knew it, Grace could see it in his eyes. His words had felt just as untrue to him as they did to her.

There was no need for pretence between them, the Faun clearly saw her struggle between the person she was on Earth and in Narnia. To speak it a loud however, would be a crime to both for it was not his choice, but hers to decide.

Grace wiped at her cheek with a hasty sniffle, "Since we're sharing gifts, I have something to offer."

Ever curious, Margrove could not hide the interest that sidled aside the sadness of his features.

"There is a stack of unfinished music in my room," Grace described, "It is kept in the locked drawer of my left bedside table."

As her friends excitement started to bubble, Grace lifted a finger in warning, "It is not to be accessed unless you know for certain I am gone."

"You have my honor as your Orchestra Leader. The music will not be touched until you have left Narnia permanently."

But Grace could see the impatience in his eyes, something which she knew would probably give way nearly immediately.

In a last-ditch effort to assure her things would not be in an absolute mess when she returned, Grace levelled a final warning towards the Faun, "I mean it Margrove. I'm giving the key to Lilis. When she returns without me, she will give it to you. But if she finds that you have broken into my personal things again without my consent I will tell her to…"

The words died on her lips. There were images of things Grace could threaten him with but she knew somehow they would have little effect.

Margrove eyed her impertinently, clearly interested in whatever on earth she could threaten him with, "To… what?"

The cheek made her want to wring his neck, to tie him up with his own lute strings and hang him from the balcony. Then, Grace caught sight of the lute in question, the thinner end gripped in her palm perfectly shaped for one particular threat.

"I will tell her to shove an instrument so far up your behind you'll be screaming in G Minor for a month."