power and pointed to the small wooden chair by the fire.
Her eyes went foggy, thank fates, and she drifted over to the chair.
At my side, Carrow whispered. “Is this really the kitchen?”
“Archaic, I know.” I strode to the woman, crouching down in front of her. “Is Councilor Rasla’s daughter here?”
“Who?” Confusion flickered in her voice. “He has no daughter.”
“Tell me the truth,” I commanded, making sure that her eyes blurred and that my power was working on her.
“It is the truth, my lord. Just him. Always has been.”
I shared a look with Carrow. Between the housekeeper and this maid, I knew who I believed. Rasla’s magic had worked on her, it seemed, and her memories were gone.
“Is there anyone else in the house?” I asked. “Another maid, perhaps?”
“No one. Not now.”
That would make things easier. “Stay here for an hour, then return to your duties. Forget you ever saw us.”
She nodded slowly, settling back against the chair to wait. I stood. Carrow was already moving toward the door, heading into the rest of the house. I followed, loathing the cramped, dark interior. Even the nicest, largest houses in this period had low ceilings and heavy architecture. My tower wasn’t much different, but it had been modified to suit me and the changing times.
We entered a sitting room at the front of the house. Glittering mullioned windows provided a partial view of the street outside, but not enough light to brighten the dark wood and thick fabrics that covered the furniture. The fireplace lay cold and silent.
Carrow walked around the room, running her hands over the furniture and paintings, the lavender scent of her magic trailing behind her.
“I’m not getting much,” she said. “Mostly images of Rasla.”
She closed her eyes, her magic flaring brighter. I tasted oranges and salt, a lovely combination. Her face flushed as she tried harder to access the information she wanted.
Finally, she opened her eyes. “The daughter was here, but rarely came into this room. Let’s check upstairs.”
We passed through another small reception room and a dining room. Carrow ignored them, heading straight for the stairs. Though there were several bedrooms on the next floor—all of them as dark and dreary as the living room—none seemed like our target. One most definitely belonged to Rasla, from the look of the large bed and filled wardrobe.
“Next floor,” Carrow said.
We ascended the narrow, creaking stairs. Most of the rooms on this floor were empty. It wasn’t until we came to a locked door that Carrow grinned widely. “This is it. I’m sure of it.”
I knelt beside her at the door, inspecting the lock. It was an ancient thing, cast iron and heavy. Magic sparked around it, violent and sharp. “We’d be best off finding the key.”
Carrow tried to touch the lock, and a bright white spark popped. She yanked her hand back, shaking it. “Yep. Let’s find it.”
“We should try Rasla's bedroom.”
“Agreed. He seems like just the kind of control freak to keep it there.”
We headed back downstairs and began to hunt through the room, searching every nook and cranny that we could find. There was nothing even remotely interesting in it, from what I could see. Rasla was a miserably dull bastard in his home life. Or perhaps he was just good at hiding.
My money was on dull.
Carrow pushed a large chair aside and stood, walking across the area where the chair had been. She stopped dead in her tracks.
I frowned. “What is it?”
She shifted her weight, her head tilted to the side. Her skirts rustled. A creaking sounded from beneath her foot, and she smiled. “Just like at Seraphia’s library.”
“What do you mean?”
She knelt to inspect the board that had creaked underfoot, eventually prying it up with her fingers. She reached in and pulled out a key, then grinned at me. “Just like the box Seraphia kept under the table.”
“Clever.”
Carrow stood and we returned to the room at the top of the stairs. The key slipped easily into the lock, twisting right. It popped open, and Carrow pulled on the door.
15
Carrow
The room within was simple and quite sad. A narrow bed against one small window, a desk, and a crib. Drab brown walls and bedding.
“Oh, this is terrible.” My gaze went to the window, where I spotted iron bars in front of the mullioned glass. “Oh, hell. Rasla is a bastard.”
“What happened to her, though?” Grey walked slowly into the room. “This room has been empty for a while.”
I followed him in, my skin going cold.
Please be