They had taken the enchanted candlelight with them. The dungeon was nearly as dark as Marigold’s room, but without even the small comforts of a bed to lie on or the busy clicks of Pettifog’s hooves on the other side of the door. It had a damp, underground smell, and Marigold could hear mice scurrying across the stone floor. “Hello?” she said in a small voice. If she had been as good as Rosalind, the mice would have hurried to help her escape; if she had been as wicked as the Miseries, they would have been frightened away. But they kept slipping past on small, indifferent paws, and somehow this made Marigold feel more hopeless than ever. She lay down on the stones and slept.

She woke up much later to the sounds of footsteps on the dungeon stairs. Marigold scrambled to her feet, hoping, but it was only Vivien, shoving Collin into the cell along with her. “We’re off to ruin Rosalind’s day!” Vivien crowed, locking up the door again. “Farewell, little nuisances.”

Sunlight was coming in through a high window now, so at least Marigold could see. Collin looked grubby and exhausted; the wizards must have had him working through the night. “Are you all right?” she asked him.

“That’s what I was about to ask you!” he said. “I’m fine, but you’ve been down here for ages already.”

“Have I?” Marigold rubbed her shoulders, which were sore from the stones.

“It’s almost midday,” said Collin. “Aren’t you hungry? I wanted to bring you something to eat as soon as I heard where you were, but the wizards wouldn’t let me. At least they’re gone now.”

They did seem to be gone. There wasn’t a sound from the fortress above. “Where’s Pettifog?” Marigold asked. “Is he locked up, too?”

“The Miseries took him to stir their cauldron. He started shouting that he wouldn’t go with them, but Elgin just tucked him under his arm and poofed away.”

“Poor Pettifog.” Marigold thought of him, kicking and squirming and covered in an undignified layer of purple dust. “They’ve got Torville, too, you know.”

Collin put his face to the bars of the door and looked out into the shadows. “Did you find out what they’re going to do to Imbervale?”

“They’re going to vanish the palace,” Marigold said stiffly, “and everyone inside it. They’ll be gone forever. Rosalind and Mother and Father and Cook, and the palace staff, and the rulers from other kingdoms who are there to make peace. And all of Rosalind’s noble suitors!” Marigold had almost forgotten about them. “That’s a hundred people at least.”

Collin looked pale. “We’ve got to get them out,” he said. “We have to save them.”

“But we’re not heroes, Collin! We’re not riding through the trees fighting dragons. We’re locked in a dungeon, and there’s nothing more we can do to stop the Miseries now.” Marigold slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor. “I suppose Rosalind will rescue everyone anyway. She’ll turn the wizards into daisies with a touch of her hand, or she’ll tame all the chipmunks in the wildwood and ask them to defend the palace.”

Collin frowned. He didn’t speak. Then, after what seemed like an age, he sat down next to her on the dungeon floor.

“Rosalind can’t do everything, you know,” he said. “She couldn’t stop the night terror. I don’t think she knows how to stop big magic — not all on her own. She doesn’t even know the wizards are on their way.”

Marigold picked at the threads of her dress. “Maybe a chipmunk will tell her.”

“You have to tell her!” Collin said. “You know more about the Miseries’ plans than anyone, and you’re a princess of Imbervale, aren’t you? If you tell everyone in the palace to get to safety, they’ll listen to you.”

Marigold wasn’t so sure about that. “I’m awful at being a princess,” she said, “and I can’t warn anyone of anything from in here.” If she were an evil wizard, she could have used an enchantment to get out of the dungeon. If she were as good as Rosalind, she could have opened the lock with a touch of her hand. But she didn’t have spells or sweetness. She didn’t even have anything useful in her pockets — except a bent propeller that had never done what it was supposed to.

Marigold sat up a little straighter. She dug out the propeller and held it between her fingers, watching its wires glint in the sunlight. She gave it a twist; it was pliant and sturdy, and it felt good in her hands. It couldn’t keep a biplane in the air no matter how much she fiddled with it, but maybe it could be useful in its own way. Marigold got up, crossed the dungeon cell, and stuck her arm through the metal lattice. The padlock was close enough to reach. Her heart (still not wicked enough) began to beat faster.

“What are you doing?” Collin asked.

Marigold smiled. “I’m making a contraption.”

Marigold had never moved so fast in her life. Her fingers flew as she unbent the wires and reshaped them, pausing every few minutes to test them in the lock. They wouldn’t slide in properly at first, but she kept tinkering, and before long, she found that she could hold one wire at the base of the keyhole and use another, carefully bent, to nudge the pins inside the lock. Marigold held her breath and jiggled the bent wire back and forth.

With a click, the lock came free. Behind her, Collin cheered. “We’d better go quickly,” she said, shoving the door open and trying not to let herself think that they might be too late already.

They raced through the empty fortress, skirting the wizards’ abandoned bags and boxes. At the foot of the grand staircase, Collin turned toward the door, but Marigold caught his arm. “We’ll use Torville’s traveling powder,” she told him. “It’s the only chance we’ve got to reach the palace before the Miseries vanish it.”

Collin nodded, and they sprinted up the stairs. The workroom was more disastrous than ever, covered with a layer of sludge and grime from all the potions the wizards had mixed. Bottles and jugs of spell-casting ingredients lay empty on the floor, the windowpanes were splattered with something sticky and green, and Torville’s big cauldron was missing entirely. “They took it with them,” Collin said once he’d caught his breath. “That warty wizard kept complaining about how heavy it was.”

Marigold rummaged through the mess on the workroom shelves until she found the jar of traveling powder, still about a quarter full. She linked arms with Collin and tipped the powder into her hand. How much would she need? More than a pinch? Less than a palm’s worth? She didn’t want to end up on the side of a mountain again. But intention was everything, Marigold reminded herself. If her home still existed, then that was where she wanted to be, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. “Imbervale Palace!” she cried, and threw a fistful of magic into the air.

From inside the cloud of purple smoke, Marigold could hear people shouting.

“Wizards!” they cried. “Summon the royal magician! Draw your swords! That’s my sword, Theobald; don’t you have your own?”

Marigold held up her hands, and she could see Collin doing the same. “We’re not wizards!” she called out as the smoke faded away. “We’re here to help!”

They had landed in the middle of the Green Gallery. Marigold was relieved to see that at least this part of the palace hadn’t vanished yet: there were the usual fern-colored walls, the gleaming wooden panels (including the loose one), and the long meeting table, where a dozen frantic-looking people had leaped to their feet. Some had swords pointed at Marigold and Collin; others were running to hide behind the green brocade drapes. None seemed happy to be interrupted.

“You look like wizards,” said a woman in a golden gown, “and you travel like wizards.” She advanced on them, waving a heavy-looking jeweled scepter. “Go back to your own lands! You’re not wanted here.”

Marigold had never seen this woman before in her life, but she was obviously royalty. The other frantic people were dressed just as grandly and covered in just as many jewels. Marigold spotted Queen Hetty of Blumontaine toward the back of the room, accompanied by Victoria the iguana in a powder-blue traveling suit and pillbox hat. And there, next to Queen Hetty, craning to see over the heads of the others, was Marigold’s mother.

“Marigold!” Queen Amelia rushed through the crowd, practically knocking over the woman in gold, with King Godfrey at her heels. Marigold wondered if they would shout at her or turn her out of Imbervale on the spot, but to her amazement, they wrapped their arms around her. Her father was in tears; her mother peppered her with questions. “Are you well? Have you eaten? How could you have run off like that — and to Wizard Torville, of all people! What were you thinking? We’ve been desperately worried!”

They were warm and they were furious, and Marigold hated to pull away, but there wasn’t any time to waste. “We came to warn you,” she said. “Imbervale is in danger. Collin, will you go and tell the palace staff? And the guests, if you can find them?”

Collin nodded and ran out of the room. Some of the rulers had lowered their weapons, and more were coming out from behind the drapes. “Danger?” said a king in scarlet silk. “The heads of all ten kingdoms are here in this room to negotiate peace. Do you mean to say that one of us is plotting against the others?”

“It’s the wizards who are plotting.” Marigold looked around the room at the rulers’ baffled faces. “They don’t want peace. They’re going to vanish Imbervale Palace any minute now, and you all need to leave before they do.”

King Godfrey put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “No wizard can vanish our palace,” he said. “The royal magician has put up defenses —”

“But the defenses are gone!” Marigold cried. “And it’s not just one wizard, Papa; it’s a whole group of them. I’ll explain later, but right now we have to go.” Marigold took a step toward the doors, but no one else followed. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” grumbled a king with bushy white hair. “I was about to give a speech!”

“It’s my turn to speak next, Obin,” snapped the queen in the golden gown. “You’ve given three speeches already, and I’ve only had one!”

“Maybe I should go and speak to the royal magician,” Queen Amelia said, frowning. “She’ll be able to mend our defenses.”

“That would take days, Mama! We need to leave now.” Marigold looked desperately toward the doors. She wondered if Collin was having more luck, or if servants were as stubborn as royalty when it came to being rescued. “You’ve got to trust me.”

“I don’t see why we should,” said Queen Hetty sharply. “Your Majesties, this child is wicked. She came to see me with Wizard Torville on Saturday and made some serious accusations against Foggy Gorge that I later learned were nothing but lies. Isn’t that right, Victoria?”

The iguana hissed.

“I believe,” said Queen Hetty, “that the child wants to upend our peace plan by spinning wild stories. She tried in Blumontaine. She’s trying again now. And I, for one, have had enough of her fabrications. I won’t be leaving this room.” She looked at Marigold over the rim of her glasses. “Perhaps things are different in Imbervale, but in Blumontaine, we don’t tolerate wickedness.”

Marigold felt stung. “That’s not true!” she said. “You wanted to curse Foggy Gorge with quicksand! You’ve been Torville’s client for years. And the rest of you order spells from evil wizards all the time; don’t pretend that you don’t. Doesn’t that make you a little bit wicked yourselves?”

King Godfrey scratched his beard. “It’s more complicated than that, my love . . .”

“Quicksand, Hetty?” asked the queen in gold. “What a disgraceful idea.”

“No more disgraceful than the mushroom-growing curse you sent to Stickelridge,” muttered the king in scarlet silk.